Part 13

When we consider well the nature, tendency, and general prevalence of the faults which I have enumerated among all the parties concerned in the great business of education, together with the errors so commonly committed in regard to its chief ends and purposes, or rather in the choice of means for their attainment, and then endeavor to measure the destructive power of their combined influence, the contemplation is truly appalling. It is in vain to turn our eyes to the bright region of science and the arts, displaying all their glories, and diffusing their innumerable blessings over the whole face of our happy country. None can rejoice in such a delightful prospect, nor give more heartfelt thanks to God for it, than I do. But alas! I cannot always avoid the sight of the dark, portentous, and terrific clouds of vice and crime which always obscure, in some direction or other, and often threaten to destroy this heavenly view. I cannot avoid asking myself why these things should be; nor have I the power to shut the eyes of my understanding against the soul-sickening {566} conviction, that we have abundant means at our command of making a glorious change, but will not use them. These means, I am most thoroughly persuaded, are neither more nor less, than _to require_ and _to see_, that in all places of instruction, from the lowest to the highest, the moral and religious principles of the students be made the chief—the paramount objects of pursuit. But what proportion of our schools, either public or private, will the most partial advocate of modern improvements in education say, that we shall find to be conducted on these principles? The whole number taken together, counting all kinds, will constitute a mere drop compared to the entire aggregate. For, let any individual try the experiment, by naming to himself all that he knows or has heard of, wherein the true motives and means to mental improvement are uniformly inculcated. Their great scarcity, I will venture to assert, would surprise him very much. Temporal riches—temporal honors—temporal fame, will be found, in a vast majority of them, to be the ends continually kept in view; and the fear of temporal punishment, or the desire to surpass others in science and literature, the means relied upon to insure the great literary acquirements which are to serve as so many stilts to ascend the various eminences aimed at. But let all these advantages be appreciated at ten thousand times their real intrinsic value, and what must be the final judgment pronounced upon them by reason and common sense? Why, that they are all utterly worthless, when compared with the true uses and ultimate objects of moral and religious cultivation. The sum and substance of all our sober reflections and reasonings upon this deeply interesting topic will be, that all superstructures of education, either under the parental roof, or elsewhere, not built upon the everlasting foundations of the Gospel of Christ, can be but little better than so many toy houses erected upon sand. They must all soon fall, although the best of them may possibly attain a considerable degree of elevation, splendor and magnificence. What are these indestructible foundations, the grand architect of which was no other than the Savior of the World? Neither more nor less than the love and practice of _all_ our duties, of every nature and kind whatever, springing from the love of God—from full faith in his promises—and entire reliance on his justice, his wisdom, his power, and his mercy. If we do what appears to be right, from any other motive, it is not worth a rush; and yet, almost the constant aim in a vast majority of schools is, to secure at least the appearance of right conduct by a much shorter and more practicable process. This is to manage them chiefly, by the instrumentality of a sentiment, continually at war with every principle and precept of Christianity in relation to the proper motives of human conduct. I have before noticed it; but its influence is so pernicious, so utterly destructive, as I most conscientiously believe to all just principles of education, that I can never suffer any suitable occasion to pass without raising my humble voice against it. The sentiment is—_emulation_, than which nothing can well be worse as regards the heart, which many believe to be the source of all motives. It is true, that like the physical power of steam, emulation is capable of producing truly wonderful effects; for by its operation alone, that matchless machine—man, may be propelled to the performance of almost incredible deeds. But the great question with all who believe in a future state of rewards and punishments is, how far will the most marvellous of those deeds—proceeding as they do from the usual worldly motives—go towards the procurement of eternal salvation? Not the length or breadth of a mathematical point,—if there be any truth in Scripture,—any reliance on the conclusions of right reason,—any trust to be reposed in the word of that holy immaculate Being, who is truth itself. Can it then be consistent with common sense, and a due regard to the safety of our immortal souls, any longer to neglect at least an effort to reform our prevailing systems of education: such an effort too as shall be sufficiently earnest, zealous and persevering to afford some rational prospect of success? Indeed, my friends, is it any thing short of actual madness, to delay for an instant so momentous a work, when we have every reason to believe that God has placed the remedy in our own hands, for a very great portion of the vice and consequent misery which we see in our country? The reform of which I speak, regards more _the motives_ to study and mental culture, than _the things_ generally taught. In these last, I am not disposed, were it in my power, to make much change: languages, the sciences and arts, with all kinds of accomplishments, are well taught in a large portion of our schools. But in relation to motives, every reflecting person must be convinced of the necessity of a radical change, who considers but a moment the incentives to application which are almost universally held out to our youth—even from the schools of the lowest grade to the universities themselves. These are so far from having any intimate connexion with religious principles, that they are in direct hostility to them. Thus, instead of genuine Christian humility, we have insatiate worldly ambition; in place of a permanent and ardent desire to promote the happiness of the whole human race, we have the selfish passion of seeking our own—even at the expense of others—if it cannot be otherwise obtained; and in lieu of the love of God, we are taught to estimate the love and admiration of his creatures, as the chief object of pursuit in this life. Our sons are educated to make money and acquire distinction by professions; and our girls, to get rich husbands, if they get nothing else. The great concerns of eternity, are postponed to a less busy time; a time that may never arrive to a vast majority of mankind, and which—if it does come—will probably find them as destitute of the efficient inclination to repent, as they will generally be of the power any longer to commit most of the sins which rendered repentance necessary. But even suppose life may last so long, and the inclination really _may_ come, just as the wretched victims of such a system are sinking into their graves; the only offering they can _then_ make to their God will be, “of the Devil's leavings;” and no great prophetic skill will be required to conjecture what will be the chance of acceptance.

To recommend, in detail, any effectual means for removing all the foregoing obstacles to education; to effect a radical cure of all such deadly evils, is very far beyond my ability. Indeed I have given no promise—even to make the attempt: my only effort has been, so to describe the symptoms of the various moral diseases now working so much mischief among us, that other more able moral physicians might devise the necessary {567} remedies. But I would respectfully suggest, that the prevalent—I may almost say, total—unconcern in regard to the principles of conduct taught, and left _un_taught in our schools; the minutiæ of their moral discipline; the reciprocal deception and counteraction between parents, teachers, and scholars: the directing almost all efforts to the excitement of wrong and highly culpable motives for study, must be entirely abandoned, or all the movements of pupils in pursuit of knowledge and virtue, will be departures, more and more remote from the true course,—and leading to endless mischief. Not only must universal education become the grand, the vital object of pursuit to all classes of our citizens; but the true means of making it what it should be, must also become objects of equal solicitude, of ceaseless, zealous, and ardent investigation.

But I must postpone to another opportunity, many views of this all-important subject, which I wish still to present by way of recapitulation, as well as to supply several omissions. Before I conclude however, suffer me to address a few remarks to you on our approaching Anniversary, as it will not be in my power—much as I wish it—to attend on that interesting occasion.

Some notice, I believe, having been given of such remarks being intended for our present meeting, I hope its unusual size will justify me in concluding, not only that none of our first members have become weary of their membership, but that many others who have not yet united with us, have now determined to join this Lyceum. Is any old member then ready to join me in expressing this hope, I will not say to him as Henry the 5th did to Westmoreland before the battle of Agincourt: “Wish not, good cousin, one man more;” much rather would I wish for as many more as the largest room in your town could contain. Neither can I quote Henry's language in regard to any who may be disposed to quit us, (if there are any such,) by adding,

“Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse.”

In truth we have _no_ crowns to spare for any such self-destructive purpose. It accords much better with my feelings, as well as with the confidence I have in the intelligence and public spirit of the citizens of Fredericksburg, to believe that our funds will be increased rather than diminished; that all of you desire to cherish this social institution; and that even those who make the lowest estimate of its benefits to themselves and others, still rate them as cheaply purchased by their very moderate annual subscription, the amount of which is daily lavished by hundreds of us for that which has really as little substantial good in it, as the mere “shadow of a shade.” I would assert the cheapness of the purchase in regard to every one who had acquired the knowledge only of one single useful fact, which he had not known before; and who is there among us who can truly say, that he has made no such acquisition? Much more, then, may it be urged in regard to all who feel that they now know many more such useful facts, of which twelve months ago they were entirely ignorant. The pleasure alone of witnessing once a week the highly gratifying proof, that so many of you as here meet together, are cordially united for mutual improvement, is worth incalculably more than is given for it. In this behalf, I would respectfully say to each member, are you a father, and yet unconcerned about increasing your own knowledge for the sake of augmenting that of your own offspring, yet ignorant that it is a most sacred duty? Are you a mother, and can you be destitute of that never-dying affection for the children of your bosom, which should impel you with resistless power to seek every opportunity of hearing something, be it ever so little, which you can apply for their benefit? Are you a son, a daughter, a brother, or a sister, and yet so regardless of the welfare and happiness of all connected with you, so destitute of the love of kindred, nay of self-love itself, in its only laudable form, as to have no taste, no desire, no anxiety, for moral and intellectual culture? I will not for a moment, suffer myself even to suspect that these questions could be answered in the affirmative by any to whom I now address myself. Rather let me continue to believe, even if in error, that I behold in all of the present assembly, ardent and zealous friends to all the objects of our association; friends, not for fashion sake, nor novelty, nor idle curiosity, nor a mere time killing purpose, but true, earnest, abiding friends to the great cause of mutual improvement. And by what means, I would confidently ask, so cheap, so convenient, so gratifying, as nightly meetings once a week, for an hour or two, could this cause be better promoted by persons occupied, as most of us are, in daily business and daily duties of indispensable obligation? Whatever is calculated to strengthen our convictions of the superiority of intellectual and moral enjoyments to such gratifications as are merely physical and sensual; whatever can elevate our minds so far above our animal appetites as to assure us that they were never given to be our _masters_; whatever can lead us to look beyond the present life for the final consummating of all our aspirations after happiness, and the fulfilment of our present duties to God, to man, and to ourselves, as the sole means of attaining this happiness—all these together, constitute the proper objects of education. And the more we study, the more we love, the more we strive to attain them, the greater share shall we _here_ gain of every earthly blessing—the larger portion shall we enjoy _hereafter_ of every felicity that an all-bounteous God hath promised to the most faithful of his children in the life to come. These momentous considerations, my friends, require us to devote to them all our thoughts and all our time not devoted to other equally indispensable duties; and I am ignorant of any associations that might lead us to engage in them more advantageously, during what are called our leisure hours, than Lyceums for mutual improvement, would we only avail ourselves of them, as we well might do. To effect this, all should be “_hearers_” in the cause, but many should be “_doers_” also. The exercises of such associations should never be left to be performed by only a very few of the members. They should not be so very diffident of their own powers, as always to be mere listeners; for a large portion usually have some that might be beneficially exerted. The merit of good intentions would always be awarded to them, and that should suffice, even where their efforts fell short of their own wishes. But the great means to preserve, as well as to establish associations like ours, are for their members to cherish for each other benevolence, sympathy, and brotherly love. Such a bond of union wants nothing to make it indissoluble (for it already possesses all the other {568} elements of perpetuity) but christianity. This connects and surrounds these endearing sentiments with associations which diffuse over them a brighter light, and give them an infinitely higher value than they could have without it. “Christianity not only reveals to us the Infinite One, the great Supreme, as the Father alike of all men; it not only instructs all whom it addresses in looking _over_, and as far as we may, in looking _into_, and _through_ the mighty universe, to say and to feel ‘our Father made it all;’ it not only says to each individual, and to all the race, ‘all ye are brethren;’ and requires each one to cherish for the rest a brother's interest, and sympathy, and affection; but it requires us also, when we pray, to carry with us these sympathies and affections to the throne of infinite mercy and love, and there to strengthen and hallow the feeling of our connexion with our fellow-men, through our common relation to God, by addressing him as—not _my_, but ‘_our_ Father who art in Heaven.’ Who, indeed, can feel that he is a child of God—that he has an immortal nature—that in his intellectual and moral powers, and in his capacity of eternal progress, he has also the capacity of an eternal advancement in likeness to God himself, and therefore in all which can forever exalt his nature, and secure and increase his happiness; who can feel all this, and at the same time, (what it is equally important we should feel,) that the most untaught, the poorest, and most degraded of our race, possesses the principles of a common nature with ourselves, and is equally a child of God, and as such, _our brother_;—who can thus comprehend his own soul, and thus feel his relation to his fellow-man, without feeling his heart drawn out in sympathy with human weakness, and ignorance, and want, and wretchedness, and sin?”

With these convictions deeply, and I hope indelibly engraven on my heart, I cannot bid adieu to you on the present occasion, without most earnestly entreating you to make them your own as speedily as possible, if this has not already been done. In making this request, I address myself principally to such of my auditors, of both sexes, as are still the subjects of scholastic instruction and discipline. Upon you, and others of your age, will chiefly depend the welfare and happiness of yourselves and the next generation—nay, I may add, of all future generations, since each age is most materially affected by that which has immediately preceded it. The hope of rendering _you_, my young friends, some small service, was my chief object in coming here this evening; and could I depart with the confident expectation that my humble efforts might contribute in any degree towards leading even one of you to your God, it would afford me a gratification—a joy which I have no language to express. Few are the enjoyments left, in a great majority of cases, to those who, like myself, are fast approaching the verge of their graves; but it is in the power of the young to multiply these enjoyments far beyond what they themselves are able to conceive. It is in the power of such as _you_, my youthful hearers, to furnish the generally gloomy and painful close of long protracted life with intellectual repasts infinitely more delightful than can possibly be afforded by the sensual gratifications of the most ardent of all the sinful passions of youth. It is in the power of such as yourselves to invigorate with unspeakable pleasure the feebleness of old age—to raise their sinking hearts with the most animating anticipations of your future prosperity, fame and happiness—to banish forever from their minds the utter misery of leaving you in the broad road to destruction—and even to surround the bed of a beloved and aged parent's death with joys and foretastes of future felicity to each, such as none but a mother's or father's imagination can possibly conceive. Leave not this room then, leave it not, I beseech you, without an unalterable determination to exert this power from the present moment to the end of your lives. Let your temporal destiny then be what it may,—no earthly bereavement—none of what are called the calamities and miseries of life, can possibly deprive you of that greatest of all earthly blessings—conscious rectitude; nor of that last, that highest reward of all christian hope—a never fading inheritance in a world of endless duration and perfect beatitude.

A CASE

NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS.

Barney Cunningham was dancing with all his might, while Pat O'Leary was playing Paddy Carey on his Jews Harp, and Jemmy Callahan sitting quietly looking on, smoking his pipe on the head of an empty whiskey barrel. All of a sudden the Divil got into Pat, who changed the tune to Molly put the kettle on, which, as it were, brought Barney up all standing, and caused him to bite his tongue almost through. Upon this, Barney, without saying a word, quietly marches up to Pat and gives him a black eye, and upon that Pat appeals to Jemmy Callahan whether this was not offending against good manners. Whereupon Jemmy decides, that Pat had no right to change the tune without giving the gentleman notice, and so the matter was settled to the satisfaction of all parties.

MSS. OF JOHN RANDOLPH.[1]

[Footnote 1: We are indebted for the letters now published, to the same personal friend of Mr. Randolph, who furnished us those for the July number of the Messenger. We hope to be able to procure others for September.]

LETTER IV.

GEORGE TOWN, Dec. 31,[2] 1811.

[Footnote 2: Five days after the Richmond Theatre was burnt.]