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 &[)c Reality of Cifc : 
 
 DISCOURSE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE GRADUATING CLASS 
 
 OF 
 
 PENNSYLVANIA COLLEGE. 
 
 GETTYSBURG, SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1853. 
 
 BY ILL, BAUGHER, D,D, 
 
 Published liv tlio Cla>>, 
 
 GETTYSBURG : 
 
 PRINTED BY H. C. NEINSTEJJT. 
 1854. 
 
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(ilI)c fkalitn of Cifc : 
 
 DISCOURSE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE GRADUATING CLASS 
 
 OF 
 
 PENNSYLVANIA COLLEGE, 
 
 GETTYSBURG, SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1853. 
 
 BY If. L. BAUGHEB, D.B, 
 
 Published by the Class, 
 
 GETTYSBURG : 
 PRINTED By H. C. NEINSTEJD 
 
 1.854, 
 
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 In Exchange 
 
 Peabody Inst, of Balto, 
 
 June 14 1927 
 
DISCOURSE 
 
 Prov. 12 : 28. "In the way of righteousness is life.'''' 
 
 The wisest of beings was asked the question, un- 
 der the most solemn circumstances, " what is truth?" 
 His interrogator, presuming the question too difficult 
 to be met by a satisfactory reply, did not wait for an 
 answer. When the question is asked, what is life, 
 the same difficulty presents itself, because life seems 
 to be viewed by every one in a different aspect, and 
 from a different stand-point. 
 
 Ask the child, over whose sunny brow and smiling 
 face sorrow and care have never thrown a shadow, 
 whose voice is the voice of cheerfulness, and whose 
 heart is the home of peace, and he will tell you, by 
 all the joyous feelings of health which thrill through 
 his frame, and by all the sources of pleasure that 
 are thrown in rich profusion around him, ^Life is 
 happiness." 
 
 Ask the young man, whose sensibility and whose 
 heart have been educated under the refining influ- 
 ence of the intelligent and religious household. The 
 ruggedness of whose nature maternal and sisterly 
 influences have softened, through the power of di- 
 vine truth, and whose heart has not yet experienced 
 
the chilling influence of disappointment He will 
 tell you that life is love, life is hope. 
 
 The matured man, who is battling his way through 
 the difficulties which surround him, whose brow is 
 wrinkled with care, and whose heart is filled with 
 anxiety, upon whose way perplexities press, and ob- 
 stacles oppose, and dangers threaten, and disasters 
 fall, he will tell you, with a voice of mingled serenity 
 and sorrow, " Life is care and weariness." 
 
 The old man, who lives only in the past, from 
 whose bosom repeated disappointments have driven 
 hope, who has witnessed the depravity of the world, 
 and the deceitfulness of riches, and the hollowness 
 of friendship, and the hypocrisy of the religious, and 
 the treachery of the ungodly, with trembling voice, 
 exclaims " vanity of vanities, all is vanity." Yet 
 real life is neither happiness, nor hope, nor love, nor 
 care and weariness, nor vanity. These are indeed 
 accidents which belong to life, in some of its rela- 
 tions. But surely, we can only call that life, which 
 is real life, and that only is real life which secures 
 the end contemplated by its author, and in the way 
 which he has pointed out. That way we think is 
 pointed out in the text. It is the way of righteous- 
 ness. We proceed, then, to inquire more in detail, 
 what is real life, or in what does the reality of life 
 consist ? 
 
 1. We say real life is opposed to the fictitious and 
 hypocritical These attributes are not generally 
 
found among the young and unsophisticated. Man 
 we regard as naturally truthful and honest. All his- 
 tory and observation prove this. Children and sim- 
 ple ones speak the truth, has passed into a proverb. 
 It is after the child has grown into youth, and has 
 mingled in society, that it learns, with surprise and 
 shuddering, the deceitfulness practised in the world, 
 and that it is tempted to practice deception in self 
 defence. Then it is led on, step by step, as apparent 
 advantage, or some other form of temptation pre- 
 sents itself, until the habit is formed. 
 
 Thus we see that life, as presented in nature, un- 
 educated by vice, and life as presented in the char- 
 acter of Christ, and in the precepts of God's most 
 Holy Word, is opposed to the deceitful and hypo- 
 critical. We have then the general principle, in the 
 law of nature, and the law of God, and the charac- 
 ter of Christ. 
 
 Is not the life of man, as ordinarily found in soci- 
 ety, fictitious and hypocritical ? Shame, fear, self- 
 interest, and all those feelings, which in their nature 
 are defensive and vindictive, urge to the concealment 
 of the truth. Mankind undergo a kind of regular 
 education in falsehood. From childhood to old age 
 the lesson is taught, on the one hand, to conceal 
 your feelings, and, on the other, to search out and 
 ascertain the feelings and sentiments of your neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 More than this, we are gravely told that it cannot 
 
be avoided. That, if deception were not practised, 
 the most pernicious consequences would ensue. 
 
 We are told, and the sentiment finds its confirma- 
 tion and support in the mixed state of society in 
 which we live, that many circumstances, in the ordi- 
 nary affairs of life, compel us to dissemble. Shall 
 we give offence, by expressions of disapprobation, 
 when truth would prompt their utterance ? Shall we 
 not flatter, when we can thereby please a friend ? 
 Shall we make enemies of our friends, by telling 
 them their faults, and shall we become our own ca- 
 lumniators, and thus expose ourselves, before our 
 friends to the charge of weakness, and before our 
 enemies to the laugh of scorn ? 
 
 Is this then real life, and is this the way of right- 
 eousness ? Surely no. We know that there is a 
 time and a place for all things, and therefore also to 
 speak the truth. Neither is the withholding of the 
 truth always either fictitious or hypocritical. 
 
 But hear what may have transpired in your own 
 souls, and is transpiring in the world daily. The 
 ingenuous youth, who has only experience of his own 
 innocence, utters the feelings of his soul, and they 
 fall into the depository of the artful and vicious, by 
 whom he is surrounded. Nowhere do you find such 
 simplicity of character as to disdain the advantage of 
 indiscreet disclosures. Nowhere do you find those 
 with whom, what is to be seen, or heard, or told, 
 shall pass for nothing. The inexperienced youth 
 
discovers, ere long, that the display of his passions, 
 and the expression of his sentiments should have 
 been disguised. His discourse is listened to with 
 impatience, by his less reflecting, or more vicious 
 companions. His feelings have been wounded, and 
 he shrinks abashed from repetition, and resolves to 
 be wary. Scrutinizing his motives and conduct, he 
 discovers nothing wrong. Yet, the dread of renew- 
 ed scorn leads him to conceal his passions, and pro- 
 hibits unrestrained effusions. He is now at the point 
 of transition between the real and the fictitious. He 
 may remain in silence and be innocent, but this is an 
 unnatural condition. He is unwilling to hazard re- 
 marks which may subject him to derision, and having 
 become bolder and more experienced, he begins to 
 contemplate applause. All that is required is to 
 color this particular, more highly, and to throw that 
 into a deeper shade. By a slight deviation from the 
 real and true, the narrative, like a picture, becomes 
 admirable. Admiration shows how well he under- 
 stood his audience. Neither scorn, nor inconveni- 
 ence repel him, and he plumes himself on the ad- 
 vantage which his penetration has thus, so easily, 
 obtained. The bulwark between truth and falsehood, 
 once broken down, free scope is given to invention. 
 The fictitious is substituted for the real, fancy for 
 fact; and the mine, thus opened by his skill, be- 
 comes more productive, the longer it is worked. 
 Thus is the youthful deceiver ensnared by himself 
 
Forsaking candor, he found in imagination what was 
 wanting in truth, and the delusion proved grateful. 
 
 This is but one aspect of the picture of human 
 nature and the world around us. You perceive this 
 unreal, unnatural life, in the tricks of trade, the ar- 
 tifices of politicians, and in the assumed mein and 
 aspect of godliness. You see it in the pretended 
 sufferings, and fictitious tales of woe, of injuries, or 
 injustice. You see it in the dress, and furniture, and 
 equipage, and forms of salutation, and address. 
 When, in addition to this, we consider the recom- 
 mendations of truth, the injunctions, the enact- 
 ments, and penalties on falsehood, the various forms 
 of oaths, by which men are required to swear, and 
 the dreadful sanctions annexed to the law on perju- 
 ry, one would be led to suppose that we are living 
 in a world of romance and fiction, and that this earth 
 has been well characterized by the great English 
 dramatist, as a stage, and all the men and women on 
 it as mere actors. We might add, under the influ- 
 ence of the sentiments already presented, that they 
 are all fictitious characters, each appearing what he 
 is not, and enacting a play which is to close with the 
 most solemn catastrophy the world has ever wit- 
 nessed. 
 
 Yet truth is not only above all price, but is admir- 
 ed by all, and he who, in the midst of the fictitious 
 and hypocritical, is found truthful and real, is held up 
 as an " honest man, the noblest work of God." 
 
9 
 
 The wisest of the heathen has said : " The short- 
 est and surest way to live with honor, in the world, is 
 to be, in reality, what we would appeal* to be: and, 
 if we observe, we shall find that all human virtues 
 increase and strengthen themselves, by the practice 
 and experience of them." 
 
 2. Real life is opposed to dream-life. In dreaming, 
 all the powers of the mind seem to be in active ex- 
 ercise, except the judgment. The most strange and 
 fantastic tricks does fancy play, and they are regard- 
 ed with the same degree of seriousness and sobrie- 
 ty, as though they were the most solemn acts of our 
 lives. " The most glaring incongruities of time, the 
 most palpable contradictions of place, and the gross- 
 est absurdities of circumstance, are most glibly 
 swallowed by the dreamer, without the slightest dis- 
 sent, or demurrage of the judgment." The moment 
 we are wide awake, judgment resumes her seat, and 
 we are shocked at the thought, that even in sleep, we 
 should receive such absurdities with complacency. 
 Dreaming is a state, in which there is neither aim 
 nor object before the mind, and yet, in which terri- 
 ble accidents occur, and fearful crimes are commit- 
 ted. 
 
 A large part of the human race seem to be in this 
 dream state. They have nothing definite before 
 them in life. They move as they are moved, either 
 by impulses from within, or impressions from without 
 They have no particular rule by which their conduct 
 
10 
 
 ontrollfed. Bui -wtd by thos 
 
 whom they associate. At Rome, they do as the 
 Romans, and at Athens, as the Athenians. These 
 are the votaries of pleasure, who please, that they 
 May be pleased, and who yield to the pressure from 
 without, that they may- dream away undisturbed the 
 sure of life which has been allotted to them. 
 They are as a vessel at sea, without compass, or 
 chart, or helmsman, and, on land, the same vessel, 
 without freight or ballast. Hundreds of young men 
 of talents and wealth, begin life without any definite 
 object in view, and continue it to its close. They 
 are like corks on the ocean, driven hither and thith- 
 er, at the will of the waves. Bubbles on the stream 
 of life, buoyed up by their own levity, and admired 
 for their form and color. Who would be a mere 
 cork, or bubble on life's eventful tide, to be the sport 
 of wind and wave, and the admiation of children? 
 
 There is another aspect of dream-life, in its re- 
 sults as unproductive of good as the former, yet, in 
 its progress, widely different. It is the life of the 
 imagination. The earnest desire, without the effort. 
 The soul, filled with the prospect of all beautiful and 
 glorious things, in the future, never to be realized. 
 It is the child, in playful glee, chasing the butterfly, 
 grasping here, and plunging there, to secure the wan- 
 ton rover, but grasping and plunging in vain. It is 
 the same child, weary of the fruitless chase, reclin- 
 ing on a grassy bank, and, with upturned eyes, gaz- 
 
11 
 
 into the heavens, and the clouds, varied m fo 
 and color, forming a creation of its own, building 
 cities and peopling them, giving them laws, and lit- 
 erature, and arts and arms. 
 
 Thus the student ofttimes, ambitious of a name, 
 with book before him, and eye intently fixed upon his 
 task, is led away by wanton imagination. Up the 
 
 ;"ed steep of science first, and then through the 
 mazes of professional preparation rofessional 
 
 life, she leads him. Gentle does she make the 
 cent, smooth the way, and strewn with flowers, until 
 the highest round of the ladder of fame has been 
 reached, and then, as he surveys the glorious pros- 
 pect, with kindling eye and swelling heart, and the 
 sounds of praise reach his willing ear, he awakes. 
 Alas ! it was a dream : delightful indeed, but a dream ! 
 Just so much time is lost, and so much mental disci- 
 pline has been forfeited, and so much food has been 
 furnished to folly. The task before him is unac- 
 complished, and, in its stead, there has been a splen- 
 did vision, which has passed away into thin air. Thus, 
 there are lofty conceptions, but no efforts to carry 
 them into effect. Thus, pride is fostered, with no- 
 thing to sustain it. Thus, also, does the heart be- 
 come polluted, through the imagination, and is pre- 
 pared for evil impressions from without, and the 
 realities of life are lost in the dreams of the passing 
 hour. 
 
 Ofttimes the 
 
repetition, pass over into manhood, and reach down 
 to old age, and the dreamer then only really awakes, 
 when he is standing on the verge of eternity, and is 
 permitted to look back upon the way of his life, all 
 covered with the fragments of broken vows, half- 
 formed and abandoned resolutions, lofty conceptions, 
 and fruitless efforts, nothing accomplished for him- 
 self, nothing for his fellow-men, nothing for his God. 
 His dreams now pass before him in magnificent ar- 
 ray, only to mock him, and he lies down in despair 
 and dies, the miserable victim of his imagination. 
 
 Vividly in contrast with this picture, is the reality 
 of life. Here there is aim, and purpose, and effect. 
 Here there are principles of action, and they are the 
 guides and safeguards of conduct. 
 
 If real life be found in the way of righteousness, 
 then every one who lives in earnest, who accom- 
 plishes the end of his being, must have before him, 
 as the governing motive to his conduct, the honor 
 and glory of God, and the good of man. These re- 
 ally seem to involve one another ; for, "if we love 
 not our fellow-men, whom we have seen, how can 
 we love God, whom we have not seen." 
 
 The gifts and endowments which God has bestow- 
 ed upon men, are various. To one is given wealth, 
 to another genius, and to a third skill. The circum- 
 stances by which they are surrounded, and their oc- 
 cupations in life, may be equally various, yet to all 
 who live indeed, there can be but one governing mo- 
 
13 
 
 tive. It is that which, if we can ascribe to God 
 what is applicable to man, influences him in his deal- 
 ings with men. It is this which brought the Son of 
 God from heaven, and actuated him in the labors of 
 his life, and in the sufferings of his death. The same 
 motive operates now, in his mediatorial work, as he 
 sits at the right hand of the throne of God, govern- 
 ing the affairs of the universe ; and he will have all 
 men to be influenced by the same governing motive, 
 that all his intelligent creation may be one with him, 
 and all may labor together to promote the same 
 great end. 
 
 All men cannot pursue the same avocation, be- 
 cause it is the will of God, indicated by the exist- 
 ence of society, which is his creature, that men 
 should pursue different employments, inasmuch as the 
 necessities of society are various. One man selects 
 agricultural pursuits, as the field of his labors, in- 
 fluenced by the desire to do the most good, and from 
 a well grounded conviction that his own predilections 
 and the great object of life, can thus be best promo- 
 ted by him. Another, influenced by similar motives, 
 becomes a merchant, and another a mechanic, a 
 third a physician, lawyer, or divine. Now these 
 avocations, and many other modifications of these, 
 seem to be necessary to the highest good of society. 
 All can promote the glory of God and the good of 
 man, in a high degree. The physician and the law- 
 yer may be influenced by as pure and lofty motives, 
 
as the divine. The merchant, the meehani 
 
 have nothing in their pursuits which will, ne- 
 cessarily, reflect any inferiority on them. Why 
 should not the lawyer at the bar, the physician at the 
 bedside of his patient, the mechanic at his workshop, 
 the merchant in his counting room, and the farmer in 
 his field, glorify God and benefit man equally with 
 the divine in the sacred desk. Must all christian 
 virtues be confined to the pulpit, or centre in the 
 persons of the ministers of the gospel ? Shall not 
 love to God and love to man, the fulfilling of the 
 whole Jaw. be found equally in the other walks of 
 life ? Shall not intelligent piety, py/ity, justice, mer- 
 cy, truth, disinterested benevolence, patience, resig- 
 nation, faith, hope and joy, dwell in -the heart, and 
 characterize the life of others, as well as those who 
 minister in holy things ? Assuredly ! Let not men 
 then suppose, that the glory of God and the good of 
 man must not be the object of their lives, because 
 they are not divines ; or that they can indulge in 
 pleasures and violate dutia;: which are forbidden to 
 others, because others are divines. 
 
 Real life requires us all to be divine. To dwell 
 in God, and God in us. To be filled with his full- 
 ness, that we all may be one, as the Father and the 
 Son are one. To see men animated by such a spir- 
 it, would be to realize something of heaven come 
 down to earth. Such a spirit, and such motives to 
 action, would be the destruction of party spirit in 
 
15 
 
 cliui state, of slavery, of intemperance, pro- 
 
 tity, Sabbath desecration, impurity and licentious- 
 ness in every form. Petty envy and jealousy, ill-will, 
 malice, hatred, variance, strife, slander and falsehood 
 in every form, could not exist in such an atmosphere. 
 This would be real life, the life of God in the soul. 
 This would be an earnest life, for the constraining 
 power of the love of Christ would be upon us. It 
 would pervade every thought, and fill every avenue 
 to the soul. It would nerve every purpose to do 
 good, with a resistless energy, and it would urge for- 
 ward to their e n, with an impulse which would 
 ■11 opposition. Thus would men become 
 both good and great, and the measure of their great- 
 would be the degree and quality of their good- 
 ness. Here there is no leisure for dreaming, or the 
 play of the imagination. 
 
 The pilgrim is on the road, with staff and scrip 
 and sandals, steadily, faithfully, perseveringly pursu- 
 ing his way. Flowers are blooming on either hand, 
 in richest colors, and flinging their odors on the 
 breeze, but he heeds them not. Sweetest music 
 steals upon his ravished ear, but it stays not his pro- 
 ^s= His purpose is formed, his heart is fixed, his 
 ctions are at home where all his friends are as- 
 liting for him, and thither Lis unwav- 
 bent. No power may turn him back, 
 in earn 
 The warrior is eii£ao;ed in the midst of the can- 
 
16 
 
 diet. His enemies surround him on every side. He 
 must be watchful and courageous, or he is lost. He 
 listens not to parley. He has no time to bestow up- 
 on amusements. He is engaged in a warfare from 
 which there is no release. He must either conquer 
 or die. Before him is the prize, a glittering crown, 
 endless life, eternal glory. Behind him, defeat, shame 
 and everlasting contempt. In the midst of such in- 
 fluences, pressing from every side, he must be in ear- 
 nest. He feels the reality of life, and secures the 
 end of his being. 
 
 He, then, whose life is real, is earnestly engaged 
 in doing good to his fellow-men, and thereby is glori- 
 fying God. The injury and the injustice, and the 
 insult, which others bestow upon him, have not pow- 
 er sufficient to turn him away from his purpose unto 
 revenge, however much that may be in accordance 
 with the course of the world, for his purpose is fixed. 
 
 Intimately connected with the proper object of 
 life, and of equal importance, are well ascertained 
 and established principles of right and wrong. Dream 
 life is one of passion and impulse and imagination, 
 of ease and gratification \ real life is a life of prin- 
 ciple. We mean by principle, an invariable rule of 
 conduct. A principle may be wrong, or it may be 
 right, yet, whether wrong or right, it is gratifying to 
 know the position which a man occupies, in reference 
 to the engrossing topics of the day, so that, in any 
 emergency, we are not deceived in him. Much more 
 
17 
 
 important is it for the man himself, in his relations to 
 God and his fellow-men, to have fixed principles and 
 correct principles. These, on the one hand, are a 
 guide to conduct him on the right way, and, on the 
 other, a wall of defence, to shield him from evil. 
 
 To the principle of civil and religious liberty, 
 which, for many years, was unfolding and developing 
 itself in England, and which has found its congenial 
 soil and climate in this land, do we owe the bless- 
 ings, social and civil, which we now enjoy. The he- 
 roes of our Revolution, and the heroes of the Re- 
 formation were governed by this principle. No pow- 
 er of gold, no power of sentiment, or physical force, 
 could shake it, or seduce them from under its influ- 
 ence. Thus was the principle of love to Christ, the 
 impelling and controlling power in the soul of the 
 Apostle Paul. It bore him aloft, far above selfish 
 or worldly motives. He regarded " all things but 
 loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ, 
 by whom the world was crucified to him, and he to 
 the world." It bore him forward in the race of use- 
 fulness, so that he outstripped his fellow Apostles, 
 and could say that he was not a whit behind the very 
 chief. 
 
 The gospel of the grace of God has reduced, into 
 a very short summary, and easily to be comprehend- 
 ed and remembered, the principles of real life, viz : 
 "Love to God supreme, love to our fellow-men as to 
 ourselves. Whatever ye do whether ye eat or drink, 
 
 
18 
 
 do all to the glory of God. Do to others, as ye 
 would that they should do to you." These are the 
 principles inculcated by the great teacher, who spake 
 as never man spake, and practiced by him, whose life 
 is the admiration of angels and of men. These in- 
 fluence the christian gentleman, and are to him an 
 adequate substitute for all arbitrary laws and enact- 
 ments. 
 
 3. Real life is opposed to the idle and the useless. 
 The idle and the useless are sufficiently distinguished 
 from the hypocritical and the dreaming, to constitute 
 a separate topic of discussion. There are, indeed, 
 points of resemblance and contact, which cannot be 
 conveniently avoided. 
 
 There are, in every community, those who add 
 neither utility to matter, nor advantage to the soul. 
 *Who do not really live, but vegetate. Fungi they 
 are upon the body of society^exhausting its energies, 
 and impeding its progress. Drones they are, in the 
 hive politic and ecclesiastic ; parasites, turning them- 
 selves around the pillars of church and state. They 
 may be aptly classified under the heads of jihysical, 
 intellectual, and spiritual loungers. 
 
 The physical lounger you will see at the corners of 
 the streets, in the taverns and other places of public 
 resort, wandering from shop to shop, looking into a 
 newspaper here, and opening a book there, and wear- 
 ing a face as grave and wise, and twirling his cane, 
 as officially, as if he were adjusting and directing the 
 
19 
 
 affairs of the nation. The physical lounger, like a 
 London policeman, has his regular walks and beats, 
 and therefore, may be found at any particular hour of 
 the day. Nomadic in his habits, this species is gre- 
 garious, and, whilst he may oftentimes be distinguish- 
 ed by his size, more frequently he is known by the 
 drafts, the dice, and the cards. 
 
 The intellectual lounger is one who makes preten- 
 sions to literature, and professes to be a critic in all 
 kinds of comoosition ; whose taste it might be dan- 
 gerous to question, and whose indignant scorn is 
 glaring as the meteor, and as harmless. He is to 
 be found, either in the parlor, or what he calls his 
 study. He reads, as whim or fancy may direct, not 
 for profit, but pleasure. He reads and thinks not. 
 His intellectual stomach is overloaded with food of 
 all kinds, for he is a gross feeder, and what wonder 
 then, if he become a dispeptic. What w T onder, if 
 the organ of the system, which receives and distri- 
 butes the nourishment to the different parts, become 
 deranged, that the whole system become deranged. 
 The consequence of such a state of things is, that 
 the whole nervous system passes over into an abnor- 
 mal state. The real passes over into the ideal. The 
 man is in an imaginary world, and, whilst in it, he 
 may have his conflicts and his trials, yet he really is a 
 blank in the creation of God. It is to be regretted, 
 that so many men of real talents, who, by a proper 
 mental training, would become ornaments to society, 
 
20 
 
 and benefactors to their race, become literary loung- 
 ers early in life. Instead of taxing their energies, 
 and strengthening their mental powers, and improv- 
 ing their opportunities, they waste the one and en- 
 feeble the other. Habits of idleness, thus formed 
 early in life, and strengthened by use, become rigid 
 and immovable. Life is made up of a series of tri- 
 fling and useless acts, and death closes a career of 
 sinful neglect, with the gloomy prospect of a mourn- 
 ful eternity. 
 
 The spiritual lounger possesses the general char- 
 acteristics of the species already mentioned, and 
 differs from others specifically in this, that his idle- 
 ness and unprofitableness appear in his spiritual in- 
 terests, and that of his fellow-men. In other words, 
 his soul, in its moral interests, is neglected. Indivi- 
 duals belonging to this class, are necessarily profess- 
 ed christians, and are found in all conditions, from 
 the preacher in the pulpit, down to the least assum- 
 ing in the church. But how shall they be character- 
 ized ? What an inconsistency in terms ; spiritual 
 lounger ! Here you have the idle and the unprofita- 
 ble, connected with the interests of the soul. How 
 large the class! EfFor^ is necessary, to strengthen 
 and develop the christian graces, and it is not put 
 forth. Indolence and repose, the natural state of 
 man, are preferred. The force of habit and con- 
 science produce a forced attention to the means of 
 grace, but the attendance is only that of a lounger. 
 
21 
 
 There is no reality in effort, or profit. It is an aim- 
 less, heartless, profitless exercise. Thus it is, even 
 in the preparation and performances of the sacred 
 desk, in the visits of the family, and of the sick. 
 The effect of all this is, that spiritual life sickens and 
 dies. Lofty aspirations are driven away, by the an- 
 gry puffs of passion. The individual becomes sen- 
 sual, selfish and wicked. Thus is the church injured, 
 the blessed Redeemer wounded in the house of his 
 friends, and all iniquity rejoices. The only course 
 of safety for the physical, intellectual and spiritual 
 man is, to be industrious and useful. 
 
 "He who marks from day to day, 
 In generous acts his radiant way, 
 Treads the same path the Savior trod. 
 The path to glory and to God." 
 
 5. The last aspect of this subject, which I propose 
 to present to you, is real life, as opposed to the per- 
 ishable. Real life, then, is imperishable. It stretches 
 beyond the limits of time and sense, away into the 
 boundless eternity. This whole life, in its ordinary 
 acceptation, has been called a dream. All its occu- 
 pations and relations, in this sense, are unreal. Thus 
 has our blessed Lord taught us, when he said, "call 
 no man your Father upon the earth, for one is your 
 Father which is in heaven. Neither be ye called 
 masters; for one is -your master, even Christ/' "In 
 the resurrection, they neither marry, nor are given in 
 marriage, but are as the angels of God in heaven." 
 
f)0. 
 
 "Behold they Eire my mother and brethren who do 
 the will of my father in heaven.'' 
 
 All existing social relations, therefore, are but tem- 
 porary, and are yielding to the influence of that real 
 life which came down from heaven. The world it- 
 self, which is now the object of our senses, is but a 
 shifting scene. Each day presents its acts and scene 
 and then passes away forever. The fashion of this 
 world is passing away. All forms of matter pass 
 aw T ay, never to return in the same relations. King- 
 doms, nations, forms of society, fashions, wealth, 
 beauty, fame, power, the earth itself, with all that 
 men so ardently love, and so eagerly pursue, must 
 pass away. Even faith and hope shall pass away. 
 But the soul, and that which is the object of faith 
 and hope, bound to the throne of God by indissolu- 
 ble ties, and resting upon the rock of ages, can nev- 
 er pass away. The word and the promise of God, 
 which are our confidence, cannot pass away. Truth, 
 holiness, justice, humility and love must abide long 
 as the throne of God and he who sits upon it, for 
 they are the foundations of that throne. 
 
 In this imperfect state, the real and the unreal 
 come together, and are mingled, as are the good and 
 the evil. The separation will take place, only when 
 the end has been accomplished for which this earth 
 was formed. Now, the soul, properly instructed, 
 seeks after the real and imperishable. This is found 
 in the way of righteousness. But left to itself, with- 
 
out the lessons of the great teacher, it loves the un- 
 real, the object only of sense. Kow do our affec- 
 tions attach themselves to the material and the sen- 
 sible. We love bur friends and relatives, but it is their 
 bodies which we love. We love the graceful form, 
 and the beauty of the face, the color and the features 
 and the expression. We gaze into the eye, as though 
 we would penetrate into its most profound recesses. 
 We would see the soul, and we cannot. Then we 
 cling to the body, and when God calls their spirits 
 into the real and eternal, how we cling to the perish- 
 able body, with our material notions, and employ 
 language as if the body were the beloved one. Thus 
 we become attached to the house, the farm, the 
 woodland and the water, and call them after our own 
 names. Out of this material world, God would lead 
 us, to the invisible and real. 
 
 We labor here, in this mixed state of things in 
 which our lot is cast, with the glory of God and the 
 good of man as our object, animated by the con- 
 straining love of the real, viz, a better world. If 
 then we would really live, we must set our affection 
 on things above. The soul will be regarded as of 
 infinite value. Thought, feeling, sentiment, princi- 
 ple, and all die relations of the soul to time and eter- 
 nity, will claim supreme attention. This will consti- 
 tute the beginning of real life. Thus commencing, 
 and building upon the foundation of the Apostles and 
 Prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief cor- 
 
24 
 
 ner stone, there will grow up a glorious temple unto 
 the Lord. It will be a habitation for the ever bless- 
 ed Spirit. Having its incipiency here, it will have its 
 perfection under better and more enduring influences. 
 The earthly house of this tabernacle will indeed be 
 dissolved and pass away, but, out of the perishable 
 material, there will rise up, in new form and beauty, 
 the imperishable and the eternal. Mortal shall put 
 on immortality, corruption incorruption, the material 
 the spiritual, and death and disease, and pain and 
 sorrow, and sin shall be swallowed up in victory. The 
 material, the sensible, the perishable, the fictitious 
 shall pass over into the real, and then will begin a 
 new cycle for the believer, as for the unbeliever, and 
 the termination of that cycle we cannot calculate. 
 To the one, there will be the reality of all that im- 
 agination, aided by faith and hope could conceive, 
 and to the other, the reality of all that fancy could 
 frame of the terrible in suffering and sorrow, aided 
 by the terrors which a guilty conscience and the de- 
 nunciations of God's holy law can inspire. 
 
 In conclusion, my young friends, gathering up the 
 broken fragments of this subject, as they are presen- 
 ted to us in this discussion, let us derive from them 
 the lessons of wisdom they were intended to impart. 
 
 Learn that there is a life which is an earnest and 
 real thing ; which is lifted up and exalted far above 
 all that is fictitious and dreamlike, and idle and per- 
 ishable, and that life is found in the way of righte- 
 
 

 It begins its course here, and pu: 
 humbly, patiently and perseveringly, marking its 
 through the fertile fields and desert sands of this 
 world, by generous acts and deeds of benevolence. 
 
 ^ee the sparkling rill which gushes from the moun- 
 tain-side, and pursues its peaceful course to the 
 ocean. Humbly, yet joyfully, it flows along, dispens- 
 ing blessings as it goes. Now it sparkles in the 
 sunbeams, and now with sombre willows and tangled 
 grass is covered o'er, now it leaps with shouts the 
 precipice, and anon, around the base of some huge 
 rock, it wends its way. and. as it passes o'er rocky 
 bed and fertile plain, and sandy desert, still blessing 
 as it goes, its power increases, and its influence wi- 
 dens. — for he who blesses others is blessed again in 
 turn. — until, traversing kingdoms and encircling con- 
 tinents, and bearing on its mighty bosom blessings 
 for all, with mighty shouts of joy, it ends its course 
 in the vast ocean whose huge waves return the joy- 
 ful shouts responsive. 
 
 Thus, real life-, walking in the footsteps of the 
 great teacher, is radiant with noble deeds, until it is 
 lost in the eternal blessedness of the riorhteous. 
 Pursue this life with undeviating steps, and let not 
 fictitious fairy tales, or the dreams of a diseased im- 
 agination lead you astray. Permit not idleness, and 
 her twin sister, vice, to detain you by the way ; the 
 work of life is too great, and the time too short, to 
 justify delay. Use the perishable, as not abusing it, 
 
2G 
 
 and make it tributary to the great end of life, the 
 glory of God and the good of man. 
 Go then, my young friends, 
 
 "Life is before ye ; — and as now ye stand, 
 
 Eager to spring upon the promised land, 
 
 Fair smiles the way, where yet your feet have trod, 
 
 But few light steps, upon a flowery sod ; 
 
 Round ye are youth's green bowers — and to your eyes, 
 
 Tho' horizon's line but joints the earth and skies, 
 
 Daring and triumph, pleasure, fame and joy, 
 
 Friendship unwavering, love without alloy, 
 
 Biave thoughts of noble deeds and glory won, 
 
 Like angels, beckon ye to venture on. 
 
 Life is before ye ; — from the fated road 
 
 Ye cannot ; turn then, take ye up the load, 
 
 Not yours to tread, or leave the unknown way, 
 
 Ye must go o'er it, meet ye what ye may. 
 
 Gird up your souls within you to the deed, 
 
 Angels and fellow-spirits bid ye speed ; 
 
 What, though the brightness wane, the pleasure fade. 
 
 The glory dim : Oh not of these i§ made 
 
 The awful life that to your trust is given, 
 
 Children of God ; inheritors of Heaven ! " 
 

GRADUATING CLASS FOR 1853. 
 
 Alexander Nesbitt Baugher, . Gettysburg, 
 
 Pa. ; 
 
 Peter Bergstresser, . . 
 
 . . Iselinsgrove, 
 
 
 Perdtnand Berkemeyer, . 
 
 . Saegersville, 
 
 " 
 
 Christopher Fine, . . . 
 
 . Finesville, 
 
 N.J. \ 
 
 Philip David W. Hanket, 
 
 . Gettysburg, 
 
 Pa. \ 
 
 ! 
 
 Isaac Bladen Hankey, 
 
 . . Gettysburg, 
 
 « i 
 
 Levi K. Hoch, .... 
 
 . . Skippe?isburg, 
 
 u 
 
 Thomas William Kemp, 
 
 . . Frederick, 
 
 Md. 
 
 Daniel S. Riddle, . . . 
 
 . St. Clairsville 
 
 Pa. \ 
 
 John Schwartz, 
 
 . Gettysburg, 
 
 a \ 
 
 Benjamin C. Suesserott, . 
 
 . Chambersburg, 
 
 u 
 
 i 
 
 TlMOTHY TlLGHMAN TlTUS, 
 
 . Harper's Ferry, 
 
 Va. | 
 
 i 
 
 William P. Ulery, .... 
 
 . Donegal, 
 
 Pa. \ 
 
 Asa Harris Waters-, . . . 
 
 . Pittsburg. 
 
 a \ 
 
029 8922642