Chapter IV: Part 4

The great principle of a republic is that people _have a right to choose_ their own rulers, and ought to do it. The divine right of hereditary monarchy we deny. It is often said that the English government is as free as ours; but it is not quite true, and will not be true until every citizen is permitted to vote for his rulers. Whether so much liberty is perfectly safe for all people is well open to question; but it is a FACT here, and if people would only behave themselves properly there would be no danger whatever in it. And if there IS danger here, it comes not from native-born citizens trained under our free institutions. The sun does not shine on a broader, fairer land than this; and under that divine Providence, without whose gracious aid we could not have achieved and cannot maintain our Constitution, we have nothing whatever to fear for the present or to dread in the future, but the evil men among us――the Anarchists and Socialists, the scum and off-scouring of Europe――who, with no fear of God before their eyes, so far forget the high aims of this government and their own obligations to it as to seek to overthrow its very foundations.

The highest and best types of monarchical governments are in Europe, and it is with such that we seek comparison when we insist that ours is better.

Monarchies are hereditary. They descend from father to the oldest son and to the oldest son of the oldest son where there are sons. England has rejoiced in two female sovereigns at least, Elizabeth, and Victoria, the present sovereign; but they came to the throne because there was no son in either case to inherit. The heir-apparent, whatever his character or want of character, MUST reign when the sovereign dies, because, as they say, he rules by divine right. We insist on electing our President for a term of years, and if we like him we give him another term; if we do not like him, we drop him and try another. I wish the term of office of the President were longer, and that he could serve only one term. Perhaps it will come to that; and I think he would be a more independent, a better official under this condition.

What is the difference between the Constitution and the laws?

The Constitution is the great charter under which, and within which, the laws are made. No law that Congress may pass is worth the paper it is printed on if it is contrary to the Constitution. Such laws have been passed ignorantly, and have died.

A very simple illustration is at hand. The constitution of this College is Mr. Girard’s will. This is our charter. The laws which the Directors make must be within the provisions of the will or they will not stand. For instance, the will directs that none but _orphans_ can be admitted here; and the courts have decided that a child without a father is an orphan. The directors, therefore, cannot admit the child who has a father living. The will says that only _boys_ can be admitted; therefore no law that the Directors can make will admit a girl. Nor can the Directors make a law which will admit a colored boy; nor a boy under six nor over ten years of age; nor a boy born anywhere except in certain States of our country――Pennsylvania, New York and Louisiana. It would be UNCONSTITUTIONAL. I think now you see the difference between the Constitution and the laws.

Now, again, is our government better than a monarchy? and why?

Because the men of the present time make it, and are not bound by the traditions of far-off times. There are improvements in the science of government as in all other human inventions, as the centuries come and go. Man is progressive; he would not be worth caring for if he were not. If the present age has not produced a higher and better development in all essentials, it is our own fault, and is not because men were perfect in the past or cannot be better in the present or in the future. Therefore when our Constitution is believed not to meet the requirements of the present day there is a way to amend it, although that way is so hedged up that it cannot possibly be altered without ample time for consideration. As a matter of fact, the Constitution has been altered or amended fifteen times since its adoption; and it will be changed or amended as often as the needs of the people require it.

We believe our form of government to be better than any monarchy because _the people choose their own law-makers_. The Congress is composed of two houses or chambers: the members of the Senate, chosen by the legislatures of the States, two from each State, to serve for six years; the members of the House of Representatives (chosen by the citizens), who sit for two years only, unless re-elected. The Senate is supposed to be the more conservative body, not easily moved by popular clamor; while the Representatives, chosen directly and recently by the voters, are supposed to know the immediate wants of the people. The thought of two houses grew probably from the two houses of the British parliament.

We cannot have an _hereditary legislature_ like the House of Lords in the British parliament, whose members sit, as the sovereign rules, by divine right, as they say, and with the same result in some instances: for the sovereign may be a mere figure-head, or only the nominal ruler, while the cabinet is the real government, and the House of Lords long ago sunk far below the House of Commons in real influence. There is no better reason for this than the fact that the people have nothing to do with the House of Lords and the sovereign, except to depose and scatter them when they choose to rise in their power and assert themselves.

We can have no _orders of nobility_ under our Constitution. There can be no privileged class. All men are equal under the law. I do not mean that all persons are equal in all respects. Divine Providence has made us unequal. Some are endowed naturally with the highest mental and physical gifts and distinctions; some are strong and others weak. This has always been so and always will be so. Some have inherited or acquired riches, while others have to labor diligently to make a bare living. Some have inherited their high culture and gentle manners and noble instincts, which, in a general sense, we sometimes call culture; and others have to acquire all this for themselves――and it is not very easy to get it. So there is no such thing as absolute equality, and cannot be; but before the law, in the enjoyment of our rights and in the undisturbed possession of what we have, we are all equal, as we could not be under a monarchy. Here there is no legal bar to success; all places are open to all.

There can be no law of _primogeniture_ under our Constitution. By this law, which still prevails in England, the eldest son inherits the titles and estates of the father, while the younger sons and all the daughters must be provided for in other ways. Some of the sons are put in the church, in the army or the navy, or in the professions, such as law and medicine; but it is very rare indeed that any son of a noble house is willing to engage in any kind of business or trade, for they are not so well thought of if they become tradesmen.

There can be no _state church_, no _establishment_, under our Constitution. In England the Episcopal Church, and in Scotland the Presbyterian Church, are established by law; and until within the last seventeen years the Church of England was by law established in Ireland; and it is now established in Wales; and in other countries of Europe the Roman Catholic Church and the Lutheran Church and the Greek Church are established by law. In countries where there is a national church, it derives more or less of its support from taxing the people, many of whom do not belong to it; but in this land there is no established church; and there never can be, let us hope and believe.

Under our form of government we need no _standing army_. We owe this partly to the fact that we are so isolated geographically that we do not need to keep an army. I heard the general of our army say, a short time ago, that the regular army of the United States is a fiction――only 25,000 men. (You saw as many troops a few weeks ago in one day as are in all our army.) “The real army,” he added, “is composed of every able-bodied citizen; for all are ready to volunteer in the face of a common enemy.” Our territory is immensely large already, and it will probably be larger, but it will not again be enlarged as the result of war. When we look at the nations of Europe, and see the immense numbers of men in their standing armies, we can’t help thanking God that we are separated from them by the wide Atlantic, and that we have a republican government, and have no temptation to seek other territory, and are not likely to be attacked for any cause. In the armies of Great Britain, Germany, Russia, Austria, Italy, Turkey, are more than ten millions of men withdrawn from the cultivation of the soil and from the pursuits of commerce and manufactures. In Italy alone the standing army is said to be 750,000 men! The withdrawal of so many men from peaceful occupations makes it necessary to employ women to do work which in our country women are never asked to do. I have seen a woman drawing a boat on a canal, and a man sitting on the deck of that boat smoking his pipe and steering the boat. I have seen a woman with a huge load of fresh hay upon her head and a man walking by her side and carrying his scythe. I have seen women yoked with dogs to carts, carrying the loads that here would be put in a cart and drawn by a horse. I have seen women carrying the hod for masons on their _heads_, filled with stone and mortar. I have seen women carrying huge baskets of manure on their backs to the field, and young girls breaking stone on the highway. Did you ever hear of such things here? See what a difference! The men in the army eat up the substance which the women produce from the soil.

But nowhere else in the world is the _dignity of labor_ recognized as here. They do not know the meaning of the words. For in most other countries it is considered undignified, if not ungenteel, to be engaged in labor of any kind. A man who is not able to live without work is hardly considered a gentleman. To work with the hands is degrading; is what ought to be done by common people only, and by people who are not fit to associate with gentlemen and ladies. It is not so in this country. Here, a man who is well educated and well behaved, and upright and honorable in his dealings with men, who cultivates his mind by reading and observation, and is careful of the usages of good society, is fit company for any one. He may rise to any place within the gift of his fellow-citizens, and adorn it. This is not so elsewhere. And think of a young girl hardly out of her teens, with no special preparation for such a distinction, but educated and accomplished, becoming the wife of the President of the United States, and proving herself entirely worthy of that high position! Could any other country match this?

Now what is the effect of all this freedom of thought and action on the people? Well, it is not to be denied that there are some disadvantages. There is danger that we may over-estimate the individual in his personal rights, and not give due weight to the people as a community. There is danger of selfishness, especially among young people. There is not as much respect and reverence for age, and for those above us, and for the other sex, as there ought to be. Young people are very rude at times, when they should always be polite to their superiors in age or position. At a little city in Bavaria the boys coming out of school one day all lifted their hats to me, a stranger! That would be an astounding thing in a Philadelphia street! In riding in the neighborhood of the city here, if I speak civilly to a boy by the roadside, I am just as likely as not to get an impudent answer.

But in spite of these defects, which we hope will never be seen in a Girard College boy, the true effect of training under our republican institutions is to make men. There is a wider, freer, fuller development of what is in man than is known elsewhere. Man is much more likely to become self-reliant, self-dependent, vigorous, skillful, here――not knowing how high he may rise, and consciously or unconsciously preparing himself for anything to which he may be called. And for woman, too, where else does she meet the respect that belongs to her? Where else in the world do women find occupation in government offices, on school boards, at the head of charitable and educational institutions? With few exceptions, such as Girton College, where are there in any other country such colleges as Vassar or Wellesley, and as the Woman’s Medical College, almost under the walls of our own?

I have already kept you too long. But a few words and I am done. I am moved by the injunction of Mr. Girard in his will not only to say these things, but by this grave consideration also. Every boy who hears me to-day, within fifteen years, if he lives, unless he is cut off by crime from the privilege, will be a voter. You will go to the polls to cast your votes for those who are to have the conduct of the government in all its parts. I want to make you feel, if I can, the high destiny that awaits you. You are distinctive in this respect――you are all American boys. This can be said of no other assembly as large as this in all this broad land. You have it in your power, and I want to help you to it, and God will if you ask him――you have it in your power to become American gentlemen. And I believe that an _American gentleman_ is the very highest type of man.

God, give us men. A time like this demands
Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands:
Men whom the lust of office does not kill;
Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy;
Men who possess opinions and a will;
Men who have honor, men who will not lie;
Men who can stand before a demagogue
And scorn his treacherous flatteries without winking;
Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog
In public duty and in private thinking.

JAMES LAWRENCE CLAGHORN.

When a man has lived a long, busy, useful and successful life it seems proper that something more than the ordinary obituary notices in the daily papers is due to his memory. This thought moves me to speak to you to-day of a gentleman who died on August 25, 1884, while a Director of the Girard College, and of whom it seems appropriate that something may be said to you in this chapel.

Mr. James L. Claghorn was a distinguished citizen of Philadelphia. He was born here on the 5th of July, 1817. His father, John W. Claghorn, was a merchant of excellent standing, who in the latter years of his life gave much time and thought to benevolent institutions. At the age of fourteen years James left school to go into business. You boys know how very incomplete an education at school must be which ends when the boy is fourteen years old. But you don’t know until your own experience proves it how hard it is for a half-educated boy to compete for the high places in life or in business with boys of equal natural ability, who have had the full advantage of a liberal school education. At fourteen, then, James Claghorn turned his back on school and went to work in earnest. For it was an auction store that he entered, and the work there was usually harder work than in other kinds of stores. The hours of labor were longer――earlier and later――and the holidays more rare than in ordinary commercial houses.

There is no record of the early years of his business life; but it is not difficult to imagine the hardships to which a young lad of that time would be subjected. We can’t suppose that any indulgence was allowed him because his father was one of the partners in the firm; neither he nor his father would have permitted such distinction.

The boy must have been _industrious_; for in such a house there was no place for an idle lounger. He was not afraid of work, for he was always at it; he did not spare himself, else some other boy would have done his share and got ahead of him; he must have been _faithful_, not one who works only when his master’s eye is on him――not shirking any hard work――not forgetting to-day what he was told yesterday――not thinking too much of his rights or his own particular work, but doing anything that came to hand――looking always to the interest of the firm, and trusting the future for a recognition of his faithfulness.

And he must have been _patient_. Many rough words, many hasty and passionate words are spoken to young boys, and must have been spoken to this boy, and may have hurt him; but there is good reason to believe from the character he built up that he knew how to hold his tongue and not answer back. Not every boy has learned that useful lesson; and hence the many outbreaks of passion and the frequent discharge of boys who will “answer back” when they are reproved.

And I think also that he must have been of a bright and cheery disposition and well mannered. Some young fellows who have to make their way in the world seem not to know the importance of a good address; in other words, politeness, good breeding. Nothing impresses one so favorably at first meeting a stranger as good manners. A frank, hearty greeting, a bright, cheerful face, a manly bearing, a willingness to consider others, a desire to please for the sake of giving pleasure, are of great importance. On the contrary, sullenness, sluggishness, indifference, selfishness are all repulsive, and though allowance will be made at first for the existence of such qualities, yet they will hardly be tolerated long in a young person, and they will certainly unfit him for a successful career. I did not know Mr. Claghorn when he was a young lad; but I can hardly suppose that the kindly, genial, hearty man in middle and later life could have been a morose, sullen, sluggish, ill-mannered boy.

I have said that Mr. Claghorn left school while still a boy; but we must not infer that he supposed his education was complete with the end of his school life, for it is very evident that he must have given very much of his leisure to self-improvement. We do not know how his evenings were spent when not in the counting-house; but he must have given a good deal of time to reading; and it is not likely that the books which he read were such as are to be found now at any book-stand, and in the hands of so many boys as they go to and fro on their errands――books which are simply read without instruction, and which sometimes treat of subjects which are unreal, extravagant, coarse and brutalizing. Doubtless he was fond of fiction. All boys of fair education and refined taste are more or less fond of fiction; but we can hardly suppose that he gave too much of his time to such reading, else he could not have become the strong business man that he was. At a very early age he became fond of art, and gathered about him as his means would permit engravings and pictures such as would cultivate his taste in that direction. When he could spare the money he would buy an engraving, if the subject or the author interested him; so that he became, in the latter part of his life, the owner of one of the largest collections of engravings in the whole country. Indeed, he became a noted patron of art, and especially was he desirous of encouraging _native_ art, so that at one period he had more than two hundred paintings, the work of American artists; for at that time he was more desirous of encouraging native artists, especially if they were poor, than he was in making collections of the great masters. Many a picture he bought to help the artist, rather than for his own gratification as a collector. Further on in life he became deeply interested in the Academy of the Fine Arts, which was then in Chestnut street above Tenth. Subsequently he became its President, and very largely through his influence and his personal means that fine building at the southwest corner of Broad and Cherry street, which all of you ought to visit as opportunity is afforded, was erected as a depository of art. The splendid building of the Academy of Music at Broad and Locust street, is also largely indebted to Mr. Claghorn for its erection.

But I am anticipating, and we must now go back to Mr. Claghorn in his counting-house. No longer a boy――an apprentice――he has grown to manhood, and has become a member of the firm, taking his father’s place. Now his labors are greatly increased; the hours of business, which were long before, are longer now; he begins very early in the morning, before sunrise in the winter season, and is sometimes detained late in the evening, the long day being entirely devoted to business; and no one knows, except one who has gone through that sort of experience, how much labor is involved in such a life; but not only his labors――his responsibilities are greatly increased. He becomes the financial man in the firm; he is the head of the counting-house; he has charge of the books and the accounts. For many years no entry was made in the huge ledgers except in his own handwriting. The credit of the house of Myers & Claghorn becomes deservedly high. A time of great financial excitement and distress comes on. This house, while others are going down on the right and left like ships in a storm, stands erect with unimpaired credit, and with opportunities of helping other and weaker houses which so much needed help. The name of his firm was a synonym of all that is strong and admirable in business management.

So he passed the best years of his whole life in earnest attention to business, snatching all the leisure he could for the gratification of his passion, it may be called, for art, until the time came when, having acquired what was at that time supposed to be an abundant competency, he determined to retire from business. Now he appears to contemplate a long rest in a visit to other countries, and was making arrangements looking to a long holiday of great enjoyment, when the country became involved in the Great Rebellion. None of you, except as you read it in history, know what a convulsion passed over the country when the first gun was fired upon the flag at Fort Sumter. Mr. Claghorn, full of love for his country and unwilling to do what seemed to him almost like a desertion in her time of trial, gave up his contemplated foreign tour, and applied himself most diligently and earnestly to the duties of a true, loyal citizen in the support of the government. He was one of the earliest members of the Union League, and was largely interested in collecting money for the raising and equipping of regiments to be sent to the front. Three or four years of his life were spent in this laudable work, and in company with those of like mind he was largely instrumental in accomplishing great good. The war, however, came to an end――was fought out to its final and inevitable issue.

Now the desire to visit foreign countries returned with increased 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?

Teachers, prefects, governesses: these boys are all under your charge, and every day. The same good Providence that brought them here for education and support, brought you here also to teach them and care for them. Your work is exacting, laborious, unremitting. Some of these young boys are trying to your patience, your temper, your forbearance, almost beyond endurance. Sometimes you are discouraged by what seems to be the almost hopeless nature of your work, the untidiness, the rough manners, the ill temper, the stupidity of some of these young boys. But remember that all this is inevitable; that from the nature of the case it must be so; and remember, too, that to reduce such material to good order, to train and educate these young lives so that they shall be well educated, well informed, well mannered, polite, gentle, considerate, so they may be fairly well assured of a successful future, is a great and noble work, worthy of the ambition of the highest intelligence. This is exactly what the great founder had in his mind when he established this college and provided so munificently for its endowment. This is what his trustees most earnestly desire, and the hope of which rewards them for the many hours they give every week to the care of this great estate. We depend upon you to carry out the plan of instruction here, not only in the schools, but in the section rooms and on the play-grounds. Be to these older boys their big brothers, their best friends. Be kind to them always, even when compelled to reprove them for their many faults.