/a®®[s 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE THE 
 
 : I FRANKLIN LITERARY SOCIETYi I 
 
 OF 
 
 JIFIFEIRS©! (OtDlLlLliaE 
 
 \AT ITS SEMLCENTEMIAL ANNIVERSARY, M 
 
 ]VO¥EMBER 1411i, 184^. 
 
 BY Rev. W. A. PASSAVAWT, anl JACOB WINTERS, Esq. 
 
 W ASHINGTON, PA: 
 
 Printed by John Bausman, Reporter Office. 
 
 1848. 
 
 il 
 
 
 
 
,.t>4n 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 
 DELIVERED BEFOEE THE 
 
 FRAMLIN LITERARY SOCIETY, 
 
 OF 
 
 JlFFISIEg®! (D(0)ILILIg(EE, 
 
 I AT ITS SEMI-CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY, 
 
 WOTEMBEK I4tii, 1S4'?'. 
 
 BY Rev. W. A. PASSAVANT 
 
 WASHINGTON, PAi 
 Printed by John Bausman, Reporter Office. 
 1848. 
 
 H. 
 

 €®IRIEIg§F(DM©IgH€Eo 
 
 Fraisklin Hall, Nov. 17th, 1847. 
 Rev. W. a. Pas savant — 
 
 Bear Sir: — ^The members of the | 
 Franklin Literary Society, tender yon, through us, their Com- I 
 mittee, their unanimous and sincere thanks, for the eloquent and | 
 appropriate Address, to which we have just listened with no or- I 
 dinary pleasure, and respectfully solicit a copy of the same. 
 Yours, &c., with much respect, 
 
 J. TEMPLETON M'CARTY, | 
 S. ANDERSON QUAY, \ 
 
 G. lYESTER YOUNG, \ 
 
 Committee, 
 
 Pittsburgh, Dec. 1st, 1847. 
 
 Gentlemen : — I have the honor to acknowledge your polite 
 note of the 17th ult-, requesting a copy of my Address. As it 
 w^as prepared under the pressure of many official duties, and is 
 scarcely legible, I will be happy, as soon as possible, to place a 
 copy of it at your disposal. 
 
 Injustice to myself, I should remark, that owing to not hav- 
 ing access to the early minutes, I was under the necessity of re- 
 lying for information on a manuscript history of the Franklin 
 Society, drawn up in 1840, by a Committee of wliich R. Pat- 
 terson, Esq., was the Chairman. Though a member of that 
 Committee, the w^hole merit of that able document belongs to 
 this finished scholar and classical writer. Deriving the materi- 
 als of this Address from such a source, I am not sure that I am 
 wholly free from the charge of "stealing meat with the bones," 
 and hereby acknowledge my indebtedness to this esteemed friend, 
 for much that it cantains. 
 
 Respectfully yours, &c., 
 
 W. A. PASSAVANT. 
 
 J. Templetox M'Carty,"! 
 
 S. Anderson Quay, t Committee. 
 
 i G. IvESTER Young, j 
 
 Peabody Inst, of Bal^o. 
 June 14 1927 
 
)^/ 
 
 APBEEOB 
 
 j The first rays of the morning sun, which rose in unclouded j 
 I majesty ahove the Western spurs of the Alleghenies, revealed 
 I the figure of two horsemen, slowly ascending the opposite moun- | 
 I tain. It was the last one of that rocky harrier, whicli separat- 
 i ed the East from her infant settlements in the West ! 
 \ The elder of these, who rode before, was one of that fearless \ 
 ) class, termed "Backwoodsmen," who fixed their abode on the 
 ' frontiers of civilization, and contested with the savage the right | 
 I to the soil and the privilege to live. He was dressed in a hunt- < 
 I ing-sliirt, of coarse fabric, with leggins of tlie same material, and \ 
 \ carried across his horse a rifle — his constant and inseparable 
 > companion. It was observable, that a shade of sadness, at times, \ 
 \ passed over his manly face, as if tlie recollection of some painful \ 
 \ scene was again renewed in his mind. At such times, he in- \ 
 \ stinctively raised his rifle, as if to fire, but suddenly lowering it \ 
 I again, and brushing away a tear, would thoughtfully continue 
 
 his journey. 
 I The appearance of the younger traveller, strongly contrasted 
 '; with that of his companion. He was of a tall and muscular fi- \ 
 I gure; his nose large at the base, terminated in a straight and \ 
 \ uncurved point; and the freshness of his color indicated perfect | 
 i health. The penetrating look of his dark grey eye and his ex- 
 I pansive forehead, revealed a powerful intellect, while the devel- | 
 i opment of his chest and shoulders, denoted a vigorous physical | 
 1 organization. The expression of his features bordered on se- 
 I verity, but there was an air of unaflected benevolence on his coun- \ 
 \ tenance, which left one in no doubt of the sincerity of liis char- 
 \ acter. He wore a coat of black cloth, made according to the 
 \ peculiar fashion of the last century, with hose and small-clotlies \ 
 \ of the same color. A white handkerchief, plainly tied around \ 
 
m 
 
 his neck, and an indefinable something in his manners — gave 
 him the air and appearance of a Clergyman. 
 
 It will not be difnciilt to recognize, in the individual just de- 
 scribed, the Apostle of Presbytcrianism in the West; and in his 
 companion and guide, an Elder of the same persuasion, cele- 
 brated alike for his important services in the Indian wars, and 
 in the establishment of this College. 
 
 The two horsemen have turned the last swell, ?jid reached the 
 summit of the mountain. The fi'agrance of the laurel filled tlie 
 air witli a delicious perfume, and its countless flowers occupied the 
 attention of the younger traveler. Suddenly tlie bridle-path e- 
 merged into an open space, and a vision of wondrous beauty burst 
 upon the eye ! As the blue Pacific, with its waters of stillness 
 fading into the distant clouds, overpowered the spirit of the Span- 
 ish discoverer, from his mount of vision, so, the sublime specta- 
 cle of the migjity West — spread out benePcth his eye — filled the 
 soul of the apostolic M'Mille^^ with great and sublime emo- 
 tions ! Those profound solitudes, those primative and unbroken 
 forests, stretching out in broad and boundless magnificence, far 
 as the eye could reach, vvere the appointed sphere of his future 
 labors. They were the silent retreats of liberty. They would 
 be the home of freemen. Hamlets, villages and cities would 
 spring up, as by the wand of the enchanter. ISiillions of human 
 beings would people them. States and independent sovereign- 
 ties would cover them. They would be the theatre of the sublim- 
 est spectacle the w^orld ever witnessed — the final and splendid 
 triumph of free principles ! 
 
 The Empire of the West rose in prophetic glory before his 
 eye, and e'er the vision vanished, his purpose was taken. His 
 plan was matured. He will multiply himself, and act upon it 
 through others. He will stamp upon its character tlie impress 
 of truth. He will cover it with the temples of Religion. He will 
 adorn it with the institutions of Learning. He will bless it with 
 the Christianity of the Gospel. He will wreath the altar with 
 the green olive branch of Literature ! 
 
 Years had passed away since that memorable morning. Here 
 and there, throughout the West, the woodman's axe was felling 
 the gigantic trees. Here and there, the smoke from the clear- 
 ing of some settler, peacefully curled above the surrounding for- 
 est, and the log cabin, with its fields of standing grain, gave ev- 
 idence of progressive civilization. The streams, over whose 
 waters the Indian's canoe had danced alone for centuries, now 
 
«^« 
 
 a: 
 
 
 boi'e along, at intervals, the rudely constructed bark of some 
 < family oC emigrants, and their banks echoed with the shrill rc- 
 \ parts of the hunter's rifle. In this wilderness of nature, Science 
 \ had already impressed her foat-prints. She had no Temple, 
 ^ whose spire pierced the sky, which hung like a d jme over this 
 ] broad valley — hut a lowly School House, crowning the summit 
 I of a verdant mound, near the dwelling of M'Millex, was her 
 ; first and chosen shrine- Of this humble building, it has been 
 ! said, with eq^ual beauty and trutli : — Heroic hexameters were 
 • here sung almost in hearing of the war-whoop of the sa,vage ; 
 ! and while civilization was trembling for its existence, the devo- 
 j ted Student would soothe his fears with 
 
 I "Tityre tu patulae recubans, sub tegmine fagi." 
 
 \ Honored spot, consecrated to Religion and Litera,ture ! 'Who 
 \ would not make a pilgrimage to thy sacred soil ! 
 ! In 1790, tlie Latin School was removed from the log Scliooi 
 i House, nea.r Dr. M'Millen's dv»'elling, to a substantial edifice 
 j of stone, in this village, and opened its first Session as the "Can- 
 ( oxsBURG Academy.'-' The erection of this iicademy was an 
 undertaking of no ordinary magnitude, a,t that early day. It 
 I w^as as novel as it was diiaciilt. Mo similar institution existed 
 I West of the AUeghenies. The country was new and sparsely 
 
 > settled, and the attention of the inhabitants occupied with the 
 
 > first wants of nature. Bat, no exertions were spared to bring 
 it to completion. The Churches ni)bly seconded the appeals of 
 their Pastors, and contributions flowed into the treasury from 
 
 J all parts of the settlement. It is recorded, that the enthusiasm 
 
 created by t!ie erection of this Academy, and the eloquent ap- 
 
 / peals of its ruling spirit, extended even to the female portion of 
 
 I the community, who unceasingly plied the distaff, and forward- 
 
 > ed contributions of yarn. This was exchanged by the Trustees 
 ^ for salt — a precious commodity, in those days, and brought by 
 I the traders on pack-horses over the mountains. It has been ob- 
 \ scurely hinted, that, although founded by the piety and prayers 
 
 > of its first patrons, this Institution was reared with that devotion 
 I to the bottle, which so eminently distinguished the original set- 
 1 tiers of the Monongahela country ! But, without giving place 
 I for a moment to this wicked insinuation, it is certain, that some 
 i of tlie largest contributions to the erection of the Academy, were 
 I in Wliiskey. Indeed this was almost the only ^'circulating me- 
 i dium," in Western Pennsylvania, at that day, and never did 
 ; currency meet with a freer circulation ! 
 
 ~^* 
 

 
 i Wc now leav e the history of the Academy and College, to 
 which it gave birth, and enter upon that of the Society, whose 
 Semi-Ccntcnnial Anniversary we have met to celebrate. 
 
 It is interesting to observe at how early a period the princi- 
 ple of Association developed itself in our Alma Mater. Short- 
 ly after the opening of the Latin School, a "Debating Society" 
 was formed by the Students, for their mutual improvement. — 
 The records of this Society are unfortunately lost, and we are 
 only able to state the fact of its existence. Owing, probably, to 
 the increasing number of Students, shortly after the erection of 
 the Academy, two new Literary Societies were formed — the 
 Frankli]!^ and Philo — ^the same in name, object, and charac- 
 ter, now, as when first organized. Side by side, and hand in 
 hand, these Associations have lived and labored and flourished, 
 through ail seasons of embarrassment, and times of prosperity. 
 Each has maintained its own peculiar life, and though the indi- 
 viduals who compose them, meet so often, the Societies never 
 mingle. Both have their appropriate work to accomplish, and 
 nobly have they fulfilled their destiny. For half a century they 
 have contributed largely in moulding the character of thousands 
 of the young men who visit this seat of Learning. They yet 
 flourish, an honor and ornament to the College that gave them 
 birth, like two fair sisters, clinging to tlie parent form, from 
 whose breast they draw the stream of life; and contrasting the 
 sternness of the matron with the winning loveliness of youth ! 
 
 The origin of the Frakklin Society, may be recorded in a 
 few words. The j)^o,ce — the Canonsburg Academy; tJie time 
 — ^November 14th, 1797; the hour — seven o'clock in the even- 
 ing — Sunday evening last, fifty years ago; the founders — nine 
 Students — James Carnahan, Cephas Dod, James Gal- 
 breath, Thomas Hughes, David Imbrie, Jacob Likd- 
 tY, Stephen Lindly, William Wood, and William 
 Wick. Of this first meeting, it has been truly remarked — [ 
 "Many a larger assembly has had a less lasting influence !" 
 
 The€arly laws and regulations of the Society, are unfortunate- : 
 ly lost. Some Solon, zealous in the collection of institutes, has, i 
 probably, abstracted them from the minute-book. The original ; 
 constitution, however, did not materially differ from the present \ 
 one, and the objects which convened the first assembly — " Sci- 
 entia, Amicitia et Virtus,'' have weekly assembled its members 
 for half a century. 
 
 It is a fact worthy of notice, that the first resolution ever pass- 
 
 .ii 
 
^*1\ 
 
 .^- 
 
 ed by the Society, was, that "tlic members be required to keep \ 
 its business a profound secret" So fearful were they of any \ i- \ 
 olation of this, that members were not permitted to read an cs- \ 
 say in the Academy, Avhich had already been read in Society. \ 
 \ Subsequently, when leakages were discovered, in certain quar- \ 
 ^ ters, married Students were not eligible to membership. The ^ 
 principle of secrecy, then laid down, has ever since been sacred- \ 
 \ ly recognized,* and though its application has been occasionally ; 
 \ carried to an excessive degree of strictness, the wisdom of this ; 
 I regulation must be apparent to all. | 
 
 Of the nine members who founded the Society, five were of- | 
 ] ficers — a Chairman, Clerk, Inspector, and tv/o Correctors. — | 
 The duties of the Inspector answered to those of Vice President, | 
 but it was made his duty "in j^ articular to watch over the morals | 
 i of the members and their diligence and attention to the business | 
 I of the Academy." Judgin;^ by the number of citations on the ; 
 I minutes, this duty w^as faithfully performed. It was one of the \ 
 duties of the Correctors, "to see that the minutes were well writ- j 
 ten, and to give out the words for members to sjjell.'^ The So- | 
 I ciety was divided into three classes, and these performances are 
 j thus recorded on the minutes — "one class offered compositions | 
 I and translations ; another spoke select speeches, and a third i 
 j read and spelled." Every one vvas required to read his essay | 
 \ carefully over before attempting it in Society, and if found to J 
 ; have neglected this, he was fined. Members from the lower \ 
 \ classes of the Academy, were allowed to present translations > 
 from some Latin author, in lieu of a composition of their own. | 
 Those who debated were not exempt from the performances of i 
 I their class — a fact winch indicates the low estimate in which I 
 I this exercise was then held. This order continued until 1810, 
 \ wiien important changes were made in the constitution and by- \ 
 \ laws. In 1817, the constitution was again revised and amend- I 
 \ ed, and from that period, the minutes wear a more modern dress. 
 \ The subjects of the essays are no longer transcribed — the Chair- 
 l man becomes a President, the Inspector, a Vice President, the | 
 \ Clerk, a Secretary, and the Correctors were dignified as Re- | 
 > viewers. At that time, too, a distinction was first made between | 
 J the merits of an argument and those of the question. Debate \ 
 \ was made the exclusive performance of one class, so that as | 
 many as eight members would participate in the discussion. — \ 
 I After this year, the exercise of spelling is no longer mentioned, j 
 I and the "spelling class" was remembered only with a smile at j 
 the simplicity of early times. 
 
m. 
 
 
 And licre we pause and direct your attention to the character 
 of these exercises. Would that the power were given us, to 
 wake again the long silent echoes of former days. But the 
 hreathing energy, the living voice is gone, and its earnest tones 
 have passed away witli those who gave them utterance. The 
 glow of impassioned eloquence hath ieft no traces of its power, 
 and the flashes of genius and wit, like the drops of morning dew, 
 cannot he gatlicred again. The grace, the sparkle and the form 
 are gone ! To them, as to us, who succeeded them in later years, 
 the Society was a world in miniature. Its circle hounded the 
 sphere in which they moved. It had its chiefs and suhordinates 
 — its parties and divisions — its objects of ambition and objects 
 of jealousy — its ardent friendships, and bitter animosities — its 
 noble strifes for intellectual mastery, and its topics of deep and 
 all-absorbing interest. To them, as to us, who occupied their 
 places, the observance of its laws and the performance of its du- 
 ties, seemed as vitally important, as though the destiny of an 
 Empire depended on the issue; and, like us, they entered into 
 its exciting life with the w^hole ardor and enthusiasm of youth. 
 We cannot pronounce on the merits of these early performanc- 
 es, or institute a comparison between them and those of the pre- 
 sent day. The age and manners of tlie people were widely dif- 
 ferent from ours, and these often gave a character to the exer- 
 cises of Society. But, while we, at times, involuntarily exclaim 
 — sancta simplicitasf — oftener can we discover, in the subject 
 of an essay, or the wording of a question, the presence of a se- 
 cret power, which, in after years, made itself felt in the councils 
 of the nation or the Churches of God. 
 
 In perusing tlie annals of the Society, in the first years of its 
 existence, we are struck with the tone and character of its de- 
 cisions, on some of the great questions which now agitate the 
 frame-work of American Society. To select one instance only, 
 from many — As early as 1798, the question — "Would it be po- 
 litic in the Southern States to abolish Negro Slavery?" was dis- 
 cussed and decided in the affirmative ! A vigorous writer, of 
 the last century, in speaking of the Universities of Europe, re- 
 marks, "Colleges have always been the cradles of liberal prin- 
 ciples." The truth of the observation is strikingly confirmed 
 in the history of this Institution. The atmosphere of freedom 
 floated over and around it — inspiring its sons with a quenchless 
 love of liberty, and impelled them to write upon the monstrous 
 S3^stem of human slavery, " deleiida est ' They fervently sym- 
 
m 
 
 9 
 
 w 
 
 W 
 
 ] patliised with the manly utterance of Tliomas Jefferson, on thij^ 
 \ suhject, and in the hopefulness of truthful hearts, anticipated the 
 I liour 
 
 ^ "When Heaven upon our ransomed race 
 
 ■■ Her bounteous gifts shall shower ; 
 
 ( And every land and every sea 
 
 Proclaims the blissful Jubilee — 
 
 All bonds are broke, all men are free! 
 
 On other moral suhjects, some of their decisions are strange* \ 
 ly at variance with the common verdict of society at the present \ 
 day. Thus, the question, "Would it not he more advantageous \ 
 to cease the distillation of rye and raise more wheat?" was unan* \ 
 imously decided in favor of "the Rye !" Some time after this \ 
 decision, a similar question was discussed — "Is not the use of ; 
 spirituous liquors more injurious than heneficialto a country?" \ 
 This, also, was decided "in favor of spirituous liquors !" These \ 
 decisions throw a strong light on the popular sentiment of that \ 
 day, and may he accounted for without difficulty. The busi- | 
 ness of distilling, was considered as respectable, in that day, as j 
 making flour, and the use of whiskey was as universal as coffee 
 or tea, at the present time. No one was "Sessioned," whether \ 
 Minister, Elder, or Member, for taking as much as could be ^ 
 comfortably carried about their persons — 'though drunkenness j 
 was universally discountenanced and denounced I \ 
 
 A rich vein of humor often ran through the early performan- \ 
 ces of the Society. A wider latitude, in this respect, was given j 
 to the members, timn at present; and if we may judge from the j 
 subjects of debate and [composition recorded on the minutes, \ 
 they made good use of their liberty. Thus, for instance^ one \ 
 member read a dialogue between " A Student and a Tailor" — | 
 while another presented a dialogue between "A Spider and a \ 
 Fly." A youth who had, doubtless, tasted sweeter dews than 
 those of Castalia, edified Society with an eloquent essay on 
 "Kissing." Brunot graphically described "the pleasure of hav- 
 ing a clean pocket handkerchief." White convulsed the Soci- 
 ety with laughter, by " a description of a Country Singing 
 School." Like the individual commended in the English Bards 
 and Scotch Reviewers, for his happy selection of a subject suit- 
 ed to his capacities — a stupid fellow read, as an essay, "a de- 
 scription of an Ass." Black enlightened Society "on his own 
 weakness," while Wills feelingly described "the Itch !" 
 
 If we may judge from the same records, the days of Chivalry 
 
 :m 
 
5 \ 
 
 10 
 
 Avere not yet over. There was a remnant of the old spirit which 
 kindled into enthusiasm at woman's name, and fervently knelt 
 at tlie shrine of her beauty, or broke a lance in defence of her 
 charms. Thus the question — "Is female modesty, natural or 
 artificial?" being debated at one of the first meetings of the So- 
 ciety, it was decided, by acclamation, to be natural. The ques- 
 tion, "ought a man to whij3 his wife on any occasion?" was gal- 
 lantly decided in the negative. The interesting question, "Is it 
 proper, that ladies should be deprived of courting, of which they 
 are deprived by custom in this country?" was discussed " with 
 much warmth," as the faithful Secretary informs us, and this 
 custom of our country was strongly condemned ! It has been 
 hinted, that if ladies w ould only take the invitation given by 
 Franklins of tried and sterling worth, the rooms of Collegians 
 would undergo an entire transformation. The gloomy old clois- 
 ters would smile and brighten, to enclose such angelic visitants. 
 The chivalry of '96, in the very face of the constitution, politely 
 decided, that "the fair sex of Canonsburg should be admitted into 
 the Franklin Society," while her ungallant sons of 1847, show 
 no mercy to the poor unfortunate, who has launched his bark 
 on the sea of matrimony — and, for this one oifence, debar him 
 from membersliip ! 
 
 The subjects of many of the essays, read in Society at this 
 early day, strongly bring out the same sentiment. Thus, it is 
 recorded, that Mitchell gave "a description of a beautiful dam- 
 sel j" JFDonaldf "an argument to prove that the female sex is 
 the life of society ;" Jennings wrote "on the romance of a lady f ' 
 Bates "on preserving a medium in visiting the fair sex ;" Rob- 
 erts "on female efficacy;" Chaplain "ob the choice of a wife;" 
 Sturgeon "on the felicity of the married state;" while Clmjton 
 brought the wliole Society to the highest pitch of indignation, 
 by "a love-letter," purporting to have been written by an injur- 
 ed and broken-hearted fair one ! A solitary individual, Cald' 
 well, had the fortitude to stem the popular current of opinion, 
 and chose for the subject of his essay, "the horrid practice of 
 dancing with the girls I" 
 
 We resume the thread of our history. In this age of gold- 
 dust and dollars, when Mammon rules most imperiously over 
 the thoughts, feelings, and conduct of men, it will not be unin- 
 teresting to state a few facts concerning the financial history of 
 the Society. Of this, little can be said, so badly has the busi- 
 ness been managed, and so disordered are the old accounts. — 
 
Students have never received niiicli credit for business habits, 
 and are far more worthy of a diploma for their spending, than 
 { their saving propensities — as the good people of these parts are 
 duly aware ! Like the country apprentice, just opening a shop 
 of his own, the Society, at first, "kept no books ;" and, in the 
 reports of the Inspectors, no mention is made of expenses. — 
 Eadi member, in turn, furnished candles, brought water, and 
 kept the door, at the meetings of Society. "Lifting a collection," 
 was the usual method resorted to, when funds were needed. — 
 Six years after the organization of Society, the rule was adopt- 
 ed, requiring entrance monies. The first initiation fee was on- 
 ly twenty-five cents! From 1811 to 1823, it was one dollar; 
 in the latter year it was raised to two dollars, and in 1832, a 
 further addition of several dollars was made. What it now is, 
 those who have paid it know already ; while those who are cu- 
 rious, on this point, are invited to make the discovery as the 
 speaker did. 
 
 It has been truly remarked, that the doctrine o^ fining has al- 
 ways been kept alive, with religious fervor, in the Franklin So- 
 ciety. Some of the early punishments, and the ludicrous man- 
 ner in which tliey are recorded on the old minutes, will serve to 
 illustrate the manners of the primitive Franklins. The follow- 
 ing are selected, as specimens, from many. Sinclair and Wil- 
 son were fined, one cent each, for "laughing and talking without 
 permission." Henderson was fined five cents, for "a ridiculous 
 composition," and two cents additional, "for frequently chang- 
 ing his own seat without permission." Moore was excused from < 
 performance "because he had no ink to write his composition." ; 
 Graham was punished with a fine, for "a continuation of cachi- ; 
 nations." Knott was fined six cents, for "offering a nocturnal < 
 sacrifice to Somnus ;" and Wallace the same sum, for "holding 
 the poker in his hand while debating." Among the other delin- 
 quents, at a later day, the name of the Rev. Dr. Smith occurs, 
 whose book-worm propensities, even at that early period, led 
 him into the temptation of keeping books out of the Library, be- 
 yond the constitutional time ! ; 
 
 The jurisdiction of Society extended over the conduct of its I 
 members, not only wiiile in session, but also during the inter- I 
 vals. The early minutes contain many cui-ious records in proof ^ 
 of this fact. Members were tried for profanity, playing cards, l 
 and becoming intoxicated — and, on conviction, were fined, sus- I 
 pended, or expelled, according to the aggravation of their oflence. ] 
 
 
One member was found guilty of "acting disorderly in the streets 
 I of Canonsburg," and fined accordingly. Tlie no-punishment 
 doctrine, so popular at the present day, with a certain class of 
 J self-styled Reformers, was utterly escliewed by the orignal 
 Franklins. All deviations from Zaw, both in and out of Socie- 
 ty, were dealt with according to their just deserts. The Soci- 
 ety soon became a terror to evil-doers, and a praise to those 
 who did well. Its moral influence over the Students, was, in 
 I the highest degree, salutary, and often drew from the Faculty 
 I and Trustees of the College, a public acknowledgement of its 
 I worth. 
 
 An interesting page in the history of the Society, contains the 
 I account of its judicial proceedings. The strictness of the early 
 regulations, savor rather strongly of the celebrated Blue-laws, 
 and the zeal with which they were enforced, reminds one of the 
 activity displayed by the good people of New England, in burn- 
 ing witches, and banishing Quakers, and other heretics, out of 
 their coasts. 
 
 Three lists were kept of the members. One contained the 
 names of the regular members : a second, tlie honorary, and the 
 third, called "The Black List," the names of those who were 
 under the censure of Society. The first case of suspension, oc- 
 I curred some montlis after the organization of the Society, and 
 ; was for "long continued neglect of the duties of a member." — 
 I The next trial was that of M'Giffin, "for having left society in 
 I a disorderly manner." When his trial came on, "he acknowl- 
 \ edged his fault, and, on account of his youth and inexperience, 
 j was restored, with no other punishment than reproof." Such 
 instances of leniency were not rare. A few weeks after the a- 
 bove, another M'Giffin was cited, by the Inspector, to answer 
 I the charges of "disrespect to Society, gambling for money, and 
 I violating the Sabbath day." Each of these crimes he confess- 
 I ed, but, on appearing sorrowful, was continued a member, as 
 usual. In spite of sorrow and forgiveness, however, these M'- 
 Giffins again wandered from Franklin rectitude. One was pun- 
 ished with expulsion from Society, "for absenting himself" — 
 and the other "for profanity," was deprived of "acting tlie Di- 
 alogue at the Contest I" \ 
 The next trial of consequence, was on the impeachment of / 
 James Lytle. The impeachment itself, is an amusing instance \ 
 of legal precision. Several charges were made. 1st. That he, > 
 the said James, being a member of said Society, on the 16th of \ 
 
 ^^'^^^^^^^^^^^^^Z^^ZZZ.^.Z^Z^.^^ 
 
^._ ...,._ .......,.^ ^^^ .. . 1^' 
 
 Fcbniarv, A. D., 1803, vi et armis—iVid boat, and in olhor re- \ 
 ; spcct, evilly entreat Joseph •Ileiider.soi], of said Society, uitliout i 
 i resistance being made, or actual assault given by said Josepli. | 
 I 2d. Also, that the said James, notwithstanding he was honored \ 
 \ with the office of Clerk of said Society, did, some subsequent 
 i time, to said l6th of February, wilfully drink spirituous liquors, 
 i by which he, the said James, was \Qvy much intoxicated, and 
 ; being so intoxicated, did not conceal lumscif from public vievv, 
 I but did act in a very disorderly manner." The 3d charge was 
 for betting for liquors— *'to wit, ^vhiskey and cider." The 4tli 
 charged him with '-'acting riotously at Morrorc's Tavern, and 
 I bantering James Smith to fight, eitlier in a lot or even in the 
 I streets of CanonsburgI" The 5th charge was for neglect of 
 1 liis duties as a Student and as a member of Society. On this 
 1 multifarious impeachment, Lytle was tried and found guilty. — 
 i For the four first crimes, he was fined heavily— and for the fifth 
 ; received an admonition before Society. He was, also, required 
 \ to confess sorrow for Ms past conduct, and to promise reforma- 
 j tion for the future. 
 
 I The minutes, about this period, are crowded with such cases, 
 
 \ and citation and impeachment appear to have been the order of : 
 
 > the day ! In 1808, the Chairman was impeached for not open- 
 
 \ ing and closing Society with prayer. A member was adraon- 
 
 \ ished, before Society, for saying ''hij ^N^edP' Fulton, who re- 
 
 ; ported Morgan to the proper autiiority, for profanity, was him- 
 
 i self convicted of profanity, saying "h]} GcorgeP' This appears 
 
 \ to have been a profane period in our history. Several were fm- 
 
 I ed for swearing, while some were suspended, according to the 
 
 i aggravation of the crime. Two members were found guilty of 
 
 \ "card-playing and dice-casting," for which they were suspend- 
 
 I ed four weeks. Hunter was tried on the ch.arge of "having him- 
 
 \ self Shaved on the Sabbath day,; in his room, at the house of 
 
 I Joshua Emery." Of this he was acquitted, but another mem- 
 
 j ber, convicted of the same offence, was suspended ! 
 
 ^ The darkest page in the history of the Society, occurs about 
 
 j this time. An unhappy spirit of dissention had found its way 
 
 i into the brotherhood, and the fine feelings of fi'iendship were 
 
 I turned into the bitterest hatred. Accusations were signed by 
 
 \ the members against each other, and few, if any of the officers 
 
 I escaped impeachment. A member, named Wills, who had pre- 
 
 i viously been convicted of profanity and severely punished, was 
 
 \ again cited to answer the charge of a similar offence. With this . 
 
I accusation, opened the stormiest period in theliistory of the So- I 
 
 \ ciety ! Having heen found gtiilty of the crime alleged, a pun- I 
 
 I ishmcnt was annexed hy the officers, not only unnecessarily se- ; 
 
 I vere, but in tlie highest degree arbitrary. The Society, howev- | 
 
 I er, sanctioned the decision of its officers, and refused to enter- I 
 
 I tain a motion to reconsider the whole matter. Wills, refusing ] 
 
 to submit to the punishment imposod, was expelled on the fol- \ 
 
 J lowing evening, immediately after the opening of Society. — \ 
 
 \ Smarting undei* this treatment, and evidently wishing to create \ 
 
 \ a disturbance, he sought re-admission into the Society — ^but his ] 
 
 \ request was refused. His perseverance, however, overcome all i 
 
 \ obstacles, and two weeks later, having again asked for admis- \ 
 
 \ sion, his request was granted. The question then arose, wheth- \ 
 
 I er he should be re-admitted without taking the promise to obey I 
 
 ^ the constitution, usually administered at the entrance of new \ 
 
 I members. Owing to the difference of opinion, on this point, a- \ 
 
 \ mong the members, a motion was made, that the Rev. Mr. Dun- I 
 
 \ lap, then President of the College, should have a vote, in the i 
 
 \ settlement of this question. This proposal excited the indigna- { 
 
 tion of a portion of the members to such a degree, that when the \ 
 
 motion was put to vote, it instantly occasioned the disriqition of I 
 
 the Society I The Secretary of that meeting, in recording these \ 
 
 \ disgraceful proceedings, mentions that "the vote was carried;" \ 
 
 but a "Nota Bene" is here inserted, by the President, in these \ 
 
 words : "Here is a positive falsehood, for a vote was refused to \ 
 
 Mr. Dunlap, in the case of Wills, and upon this refusal the sup- \ 
 
 \ porters of order and morality withdrew." " But when it was \ 
 
 determined," continues the Secretary, "that Mr. Wills should i 
 
 be admitted without taking the usual promise, the Society, after \ 
 
 having spent the whole evening in warm debates, dissolved, six- j 
 
 teen declaring themselves to be no more members." This oc- ^ 
 
 curred in December, 1 803. To the minutes of this meeting, the I 
 
 name of the Secretary is not attached; but the Chairman give I 
 
 \ the reason why the above N. B. was added — " to give a true > 
 
 \ idea of matters to future readers !" 
 
 I A week passed by, and the difficulty remained unsettled. The I 
 j usual evening of meeting arrived, but no Society convened. In 
 \ reality, it no longer existed, and members considered themselves 
 j free from all obligation to obey the constitution. At length, the 
 j Faculty of the College took the matter into consideration, and 
 J a reconciliation was effected between the two parties. A meet- 
 \ ing was held, two weeks after its dismemberment, and through 
 
^'ll 
 
 
 I their intervention, the Society was again re-organ i zed. Of this i 
 \ j meeting, liowever, two distinct and contradictory statements are / 
 \ contained in the minutes. One of these asserts, that it was the ; 
 i unanimous o])inion of the Faculty, that tlie Society should not , 
 \ be dissolved, but should continue to meet, as usual — -some amend- \ 
 
 > ments being made in its constitution. The other account states, | 
 
 > that "the proceedings of th.e former Franklin Society, having ■: 
 I been for some time disorderly and immoral, a number of the mem- ; 
 \ bers deeming the end for which it was instituted, defeated, pro- ; 
 
 > tested against the proceedings and witlidrew." After this-, an j 
 
 > entire cessation of business took place. The Faculty of the Col- 
 
 I lege took the state of tlie Society into consideration, and agreed < 
 \ that it should he dissolved, and a new one instituted by such of \ 
 I the old members as they should nominate. Some of these hav- \ 
 I ing been called together, agreed to obey the constitution, with i 
 I various amendments, and to constitute a new Society, bearing ; 
 I the name of the former. None vvho were members of the old ; 
 I Society, were made acquainted with the business of the new, : 
 previous to their becoming members of it; and it was resolved^ I 
 \ that the new members should not have access to the minutes of \ 
 \ the old Society." "It was also resolved, that the minutes al- ^ 
 I so be WTitten from that time, witliout any reference to the past."^ 
 ) With these distinct and contradictory accounts, to perplex and ^ 
 ] embarrass the mind of the Franklin historian, it becomes a mat- > 
 \ ter of no small difficulty to date the origin of the Society. As, ^ 
 I however, the new Association was composed of a majority of the j 
 old members, met for the same purpose, and governed by the l 
 ' same constitution, in tlie main, we shall not hesitate to trace > 
 \ back our origin, as we have always done, to November 14th, \ 
 1797. Few of the present members know any thing of this un- ^ 
 fortunate dismemberment. So strong is the golden chain of 
 friendship, which now binds all hearts together, none would have \ 
 imagined, that it had been rudely broken ! ] 
 
 I During the first years of its existence, the Society was with- 
 \ out a Library. The Avant of books does not seem to have been | 
 \ seriously felt, and no efforts were made to procure them. It is | 
 ] a singular historical fact, that the present Library originated in | 
 
 > the want of a standard of appeal, by which the merits of the class I 
 \ in spelling might be tested. To remedy this, a proposal was 1 
 
 > made on the 10th of Sept., 1799, "that a collection be lifted for 
 
 *We are indebted for the above account to the MS. history of the F. L. Society \ 
 aheady referred to. \ 
 
*"H^^^^ - , IL_._,.^ ^W 
 
 \ the ])iir})osc of inirchiising such a Dictionary as may he thought \ 
 necessary for the Society." This proposal, after lying on the j 
 minutes for one week, was duly considej'ed and adopted the suc- 
 ceeding evening. VValivcr's Dictionary Avas selected as the \ 
 standard, and for many years was used hy tlie officers, as tlie fi- | 
 nal arhiter, "when the class came out to spell !" This was the \ 
 first work purchased by the Society, and the first volume in the \ 
 Library. Around this nucleous, the fine collection of books \ 
 which now adorns the Hall of the Society, gradually clustered! \ 
 
 As early as 1813, the members imposed upon themselves the 
 payment of a certain sum each session, towards the purchase of! 
 useful books and the increase of the Library. Since then, it has \ 
 been almost exclusively from the contributions of the regular \ 
 members. The present Library numbers nearly 3,000 volumes, | 
 and comprises many of the most valuable standard works in the \ 
 English Language, in History, Poetry, Philosopljy, Theology, I 
 and the Natural Sciences. The admirable order in wliich they | 
 are kept, and the fine appearance they present, never fail to call \ 
 forth the commendation of strangers, who visit the College ', ^ 
 while the literary treasures they contain, and the advantages > 
 they afford, can be appreciated only by those who enjoy them. ; 
 
 At first, the duties of the present Librarian, were attended to j 
 by the Secretary. The Library was opened every third week, | 
 on the evening of Society. This order continued as late as 1 829y | 
 when it was resolved to open it one hour gxqyj Saturday after- I 
 noon. Owing to the increase of members, and the taste for read- ; 
 ing among the Students, it is now opened several times a week. : 
 
 For many years, the two Societies had their book case in com- ■ 
 mon. In 1821, tlie share of tlie Franklin Society was transfer- ; 
 red to the Philos, after much financiering on both sides, and the ; 
 appointment of numerous committees to settle this important ^ 
 transaction. The Society then procured "a standing Library ; 
 case, made of pine, and painted green, having the words The \ 
 Franklin Library painted in a right line along tlie door." This | 
 elegant piece of furniture continued in use, until the erection of \ 
 the new College, and as it could not be sold, was gratuitously \ 
 presented to the Faculty I • 
 
 The custom of appointing Library Committees every session, l 
 has existed ever since there was a Library. A report of such a \ 
 Committee, in 1832, of which WashixgtojV M'Cartxy, Esq. \ 
 was Chairman, still remains. This report is particularly in- | 
 teresting for the information it contains, concerning the Libra- j 
 
 w 
 
 .);»» 
 
ry, and the facetious style in which it is written. The number 
 of vohimcs in tlic Library, at that time, Avas 67 G ,* and no less 
 than 300 are reported as having been lost. The Committee de- 
 precate in the strongest terms the habit of lending books to the 
 Ladies — to which custom they ungallantly attribute the loss of 
 many of the volumes ! This caveat did not, however^ produce 
 the desired reformation, and through the gallantry of the mem- 
 bers, the Library opened its treasures^ as before, to the fair rea- 
 ders of Canonsburg and vicinity. 
 
 As Contests between Literary Societies were formerly pecu- 
 liar to Jefferson College, it becomes a matter of interest to in- 
 quire into the origin of this custom, which has been introduced 
 into the principal Institutions of Learning in the South and West. 
 From the Minutes of August, 1799, it appears, that a proposal | 
 was brought forward by W. Neile, — "that a challenge be giv- ? 
 en to the Philo L. Society for four members to be chosen out of 
 each Society, for the purpose of reading Compositions, speak- 
 ing Select Orations, and Debating at the fall Examination, be- 
 fore the Trustees, and that they publicly give their opinion which 
 Society has gained the victory." 
 
 Neile's proposition was received with enthusiasm by the chi- 
 valrous Franklins, and a challenge to a Literary Contest was 
 forthwith sent to the Pliilo Society, who at once accepted it. — 
 Such is the origin of Literary Contests in the United StatesI — 
 The honor of their suggestion belongs to a member of this Soci- 
 ety, and the honor of their introduction to the Society itself! It 
 may well be asked, "What results may not be traced to that sim- 
 ple proposal on an obscure page of our Minutes?" Who that 
 has breathed the inspiring atmosphere which this custom has in- 
 fused into College life, but will acknowledge its commanding in- 
 fluence on the minds of the young men. Doubtless, it has blast- 
 ed many ambitious hopes, and occasioned the bitterest disap- 
 pointments. Its victories, too, have sometimes been more fatal 
 to character than defeat. But these are not necessary evils, and, 
 at most, are confined to few, while its advantages are enjoyed by 
 all. They elevate the standard of Literary excellence — discov- 
 er and develope latent talent — exercise the judgment — correct 
 the taste, and furnish the mind with proper incentives to exer- I 
 tion. We hesitate not to make the assertion — and its truthful- i 
 ness will be confirmed by those who are acquainted with the | 
 facts — ^that in the Contest performances of these Societies, there | 
 are specimens of as rare and classical beauty, as can be found 
 
 :m 
 
18 
 
 in the pages of the Spectator, the orations of Burke, or the de- 
 bates of Pitt, Sheridan, and Fox ! 
 
 The Contest had not, at first, precisely the same features as 
 at present. One composer, one select oratol*, and two debaters 
 were annually chosen. We are not informed howthe debate was 
 managed, whether the honor was conferred on an individual con- 
 testor for superiority, or on two of them for their Society — as 
 would appear from the wording of the proposal. At the third 
 Contest, a composer and orator were elected, and two members 
 from each Society, "to act a dialogue ;" while, at the next Con- 
 test, two were selected to speak, one to read a composition and 
 one to take part in a dialogue. The following year, the order 
 of exercises was again changed, and the dialogue gave place to 
 debate. At the suggestion of the Trustees, the Societies, in 1 8 14, 
 made further alterations in the Contest. The debate was lim- 
 ited to two persons — -one from each Society, who were allowed 
 to occupy twenty-five minutes. This arrangement, excepting, 
 perhaps, the limitation in the time of performance, continued un- 
 til 1832, when the original oration was added to the other exer- 
 cises. It would appear, that the honor of composition was, at 
 first, considered the highest. This is probable, from the fact 
 that one member having resigned on composition, another who 
 had been elected debater, was chosen to fill his place, and a re- 
 election held for the debate. The old Minutes contain the ques- 
 tions discussed at these Contests. Some of these would puzzle 
 older and wiser heads than young shoulders usually carry. — 
 Such, for instance, is the question debated at the Contest of 1809: 
 "Is the soul created immediately at the time of its infusion into 
 the body?" 
 
 The primitive manner in which the Contests were conducted, 
 may be conjectured from various amusing details recorded on 
 the Minutes. So late as 1817, a committee was appointed "to 
 build the stage, hold the candles, snuff them, carry water, and 
 do all the little drudgeries implied in the nature of their office !" 
 Their successors — the honorable "Committee of Arrangements" 
 — who now do the honors of Society to the Judges, and fare 
 sumptuously with these dignitaries, at its expense, may congra- 
 tulate themselves on this evidence of progress. Offices half a 
 century ago, were no sinecures, and "the little drudgeries" of 
 the above resolution, w ould now be considered too formidable an 
 affair for any committee to undertake. It was then, however, 
 an honor "to hold tlio candles, snuff them, and carry the water," 
 
i 
 
 I which was confcn'ed only on members of the more advanced I 
 classes ! | 
 
 The collection and transcription of the Contest performances • 
 is of comparatively recent origin, and it is to be regretted that \ 
 many of these are irrecoverably lost. No decisions have been ; 
 preserved farther hack than the Contest of 1 8 1 9. In the thirty- \ 
 one years which elapsed between that time and 1840, (since 
 which we have not the decisions,) our sister Society has gained | 
 four more Debates and even one more Select Speech than we ; | 
 while the Franklins have borne away the palm nine times moi*e j 
 for Com])osition, and once more for Original Oration. We take 
 
 j it for granted, tliat there has been no falling off since then, and j 
 that the old Franklin is still excelsior J 
 
 The history of the Contest would be incomplete, unless refer- 
 ence w'ere made to the Articles of Convention between the two 
 Societies. In 1818, at the suggestion of the Franklin Society, | 
 the first Articles were formed. These were very incomplete, 
 and had little resemblance to those in force at a later period. — 
 
 ; The correspondence of the Societies previous to this, was mark- 
 ed by little of the high and honorable bearing w hich now^ char- 
 acterises their mutual intercourse. Tbey regarded each other 
 not as friends, engaged in a generous rivalry, but as almost en- 
 
 \ emies, in conquering whom, it was lawful to employ any species 
 and means of warfare. This unhappy jealousy often led to mu- 
 tual recrimination, and, sometimes, even resulted in open rup- 
 tures between the Societies. It is amusing to read the series of 
 terrific resolutions forwarded from one Society to the other — 
 which, at the time, smoked with wrath, but now^ lie before us 
 like spent thunderbolts ! Happy as has been the influence of 
 
 { these conventional Articles upon the Societies, it must be con- 
 
 \ fessed, that there has not been always calm and sunshine. Dif- 
 ficulties connected with the Contest, and otUer subjects, have 
 sometimes thrown their dark shadows over our sky. One of 
 these, occurring in 1827, remained unsettled until 1830, when 
 the Articles of Agreement were annulled by our sister Society. 
 The annual Contest was held as usuul, but, owing to this difli- 
 culty, no decisions were made. Other Articles were afterwards 
 agreed upon, and these again, in the memory of some now pi^- 
 sent, became, in turn, "a bone of contention." But kindness, 
 and the spirit of mutual concession, finally removed every dif- 
 ficulty, and Friendship has bound her golden chain more close- 
 ly and firmly around these Brother bands ! 
 
< AVe now come to a period in our liistory, when old things pass- 
 ; ed away, and all things become new ! The erection of the new 
 \ College, and the dedication of tlie present Hall, was the advent 
 j of our Augustan age. We have seen the Society in its infancy | 
 \ and youth — we now behold it entering upon its manhood. The 
 j name and features remain the same, but how great the change ; 
 I which hath passed upon its spirit. It hath put away childish 
 I things. Its step is firm and steady, its voice, the voice of a man, 
 ; and its deliberations, though warmed by the fervor of youth, are 
 \ tempered by the wisdom of riper years ! 
 
 Both the Literary Societies of this institution delight to refer j 
 j back to this interesting period. Never was there a brighter era \ 
 I in our common history. The enthusiasm of the members was i 
 I raised to the highest pitch. To furnish and adorn the new Hall, < 
 \ in a style worthy of the object to which it was devoted, was the \ 
 I great ambition of the members. Committee after committee was ; 
 I appointed, and resolutions upon resolutions were passed with I 
 reference to this matter. No expense was to be spared in its ; 
 I decoration. It was resolved that the floor be covered with the ; 
 I best imported carpets — that the room be furnished with settees j 
 I and sociables — that the walls be painted a light blue, with an | 
 I appropriate border — that the name of the Society be inscribed, \ 
 \ in gilt letters, above the door — that the windows, together with ^ 
 I the stage and rostrum, be hung with handsome drapery — and ^ 
 \ the Hall and Library Room be heated by suitable stoves. These, \ 
 j with a variety of minor arrangements, indicate the feelings of \ 
 I Society. The expenses of these numerous outlays, were nobly \ 
 I borne by the members, who vied with each other in their devo- ] 
 ] tion to the Society. It has been beautifully and appropriately j 
 I said: **They seemed to bend every thought and purpose to adorn \ 
 the Nuptial Hall, where they were to wed Literature; as the I 
 I young bride will visit often the destined chamber, disposing and \ 
 arranging its furniture — smoothing the pillow till it is free from ; 
 wrinkle as her own brow — and as she leaves, still lingers and \ 
 blushes at the strange flutterings of her heart." \ 
 
 The spirit of activity, which was called into life at this period, { 
 did not confine itself to the decoration of the new Hall. The < 
 Minutes, and other papers of Society, w ere collected and arrang- \ 
 ed — the Legislature was applied to for an Act of Incorporation ^ 
 (which was almost obtained,) and the whole internal frame-work \ 
 of the Society was new-modelled. The struggle of Greece for \ 
 Liberty from the grievous thraldom of the Turk, at that time? i 
 
21 
 
 :W' 
 
 \ called fortli an enthusiastic Address from the Society, and reso- I 
 I lutions were adopted to aid tlie revival of Literature on its clas- | 
 I sic soil, and the estahlishment of a College at Athens! | 
 
 i On the 22d of June, 183£, the new Hall of the Society was ! 
 dedicated. The record of this event on the Minutes, is as fol- ' 
 lows : "'Tlie Literary Societies of the College, convened on the 
 ; banks of the Chartiers, and accompanied hy the Faculty and a 
 ;; few Honorary Members, w alked in procession, to excellent mu- ; 
 ] sic, through the streets of Canonsburg, and entered tlicir respec- 
 ] live Halls." The Dedicatory Address before the Franklin So- '', 
 \ ciety was delivered by Washixgtox M'Cartxey, Esq., after \ 
 ; whicb, the beautiful Hall was devoted to the sacred purposes of ; 
 ' LiTERATUKE, Friendship and ViRTLE, with appropriate cer- ) 
 \ emonies. '> 
 
 I The history of the Society, since this interesting period, has ; 
 been one of constant and increasing prosperity . Witliin a twelve- '■ 
 month after the dedication of the new Hall, the roll of regular 
 members numbered eighty. With each succeeding year, the \ 
 proportion of members from the higher Classes in College in- ■, 
 creased, and thus the Society grew with the growth and strength \ 
 of our Alma Plater. There was, also, a corresponding improve- ! 
 ment in the character of the exercises. The standard of Liter- j 
 \ ary excellence was greatly elevated, and a higher tone and char- \ 
 \ acter imparted to it, by the scholarship and talent of numerous i 
 \ gifted minds. The influence of the Society on the Literary tastes ] 
 \ and habits of its members, became more marked and decided. ; 
 j It dignified and made honorable the pursuits of knowledge, and j 
 ] all who sat under its refreshing shade, felt the magic of its pow- \ 
 I er. From this period, too, the Society seems to have directed < 
 I its energies to the cultivation of Science and Literature, as its 
 I proper objects, leaving to other Institutions, the correction of 
 ; moral delinquency, and tlie reformation of moral character. — 
 ; And, finally, since the same period, the spirit of partyism, and 
 i narrow clanish feeling, has gradually become weaker and faint- 
 ; er in both Societies. The time is forever past, when we stood j 
 I like 
 
 ! "Heights — whose minuig depths so intervened \ 
 
 That they could meet no more." | 
 
 I The recollection of that day is fast fading from memory, and 
 I we would not renew it. Perish the hand which would again | 
 
 throw the apple of discord among brethren of Friendship's 
 \ firm knit family ! 
 
 m 
 
^ 
 
 Our work is done. The history of tlie Society in later days, 
 and its present flourishing condition, are as familiar to many of 
 this audience, as household words. We have only to regret the 
 incompleteness of our information, and the imperfection of our 
 own labor. If, occasionally, we have indulged in digression, so 
 has Homer in his veracious narrative of the adventures of Ulys- 
 ses. If we have been prosy, so, at times, is Herodotus, the Fath- 
 er of History, whom we have endeavored to imitate, in being 
 the faitliful clironicler of the times. 
 
 On a soiled and almost illegible page of the old Minutes, the 
 following prophetic passage occurs. It bears the date of Janu- 
 ary, 1798, and concludes the report of James Caenahan, one 
 of the first Inspectors. "The Franklin Society promises to ex- 
 ceed our highest expectations : we trust it will be an honor to ] 
 the members, a benefit to the Academy, and will extend its hap- |; 
 py influence throughout America!" The venerable President j 
 of the College of New Jersey, has lived to see his prophecy ful- J 
 filled ! i 
 
 Go where we may throughout America, we meet with Stu- \ 
 dents of Jefferson College and the members of this Society. The { 
 graves of our departed brethren cover the land. > 
 
 "Their spirits wrap our dusky mountains, I 
 
 Their memory sparkles o'er our fountains." \ 
 
 Many, also, have gone to the Missions beyond the seas. Con- > 
 secrating tliemselves to the work of the apostolate, they have ': 
 fallen with their armor on, in the holy conflict for souls. The ; 
 Indian, the Ethiopian, the Scythian, the Persian, the Chinaman, | 
 have heard and obeyed their word. Christianity and Civiliza- ' 
 tion, with the blessings of Science, Virtue and the holy influen- I 
 ces of Friendship, have followed their steps. And in tliose lands \ 
 of darkness, an unknown force of moral regeneration has ap- \ 
 peared, which will develop and perpetuate itself in all coming > 
 time, and live indestructible in the midst of revolution and ruin. | 
 But they have died. And now, after life's fitful fever, they sleep 
 well ! I 
 
 Our iiTin^ brethren, and theii* name is legion, are everywhere! ^ 
 They fill all offices, and are found in every department and sit- 
 uation of life. They occupy the bench of the Judiciary — the 
 halls of the Legislature — the seats of Congress and the Senate 
 — the high places of Government, and the higher places of the 
 Church. They are Instructors, Pastors, Professors and Presi- 
 dents of Institutions of Learning, in three Continents, They 
 
^^ 
 
 m^ 
 
 23 
 
 are Ambassadors at Foreign Courts, and Members of the Learn- 
 ed Societies of Europe and America. They seem to be possess- 
 ed of the power of ubiquity. Tliough eight years have elapsed 
 since we left these sacred walls, we have never taken a journey, 
 either long or short, without meeting the face of some brother 
 Franklin ! In the stage coach, on the steam boat, in the rail 
 road car, on ship board, in the French "diligence," in the Ger- 
 man **Eilwagen'' — every where, and under every variety of cir- 
 cumstances, we have met and recognized the members of this 
 Society. 
 
 How sweet to meet in later life the companions of our youth. 
 Tender recollections are awakened by looking again upon well 
 known features. 
 
 But few recollections are more sacred than those called up by 
 meeting with some companion of College hours. A mysterious 
 brotherhood unites the sons of the same Institution. And should 
 that companion be a classmate, the connection is still closer. — 
 The hours spent in the same pursuits, over the same volume, in 
 the same company, and at the same recitation, are dear to the 
 remembrance. They were once thought tiresome, but we ever 
 recur to such friends, as green spots in the journey of life. 
 
 But should that companion and that classmate be a Franklin, 
 the mutual satisfaction would be complete. To meet with such 
 a one, w ould be — 
 
 "To grasp the hand 
 Of brother in a foreign land !" 
 
 Distance could not remove such remembrances, nor time efface 
 the impression which such a meeting would renew. The frosts 
 of age would melt from round the heart, and the affections flow 
 again, in the long forgotten channels of early years !^ 
 
 How gladly would I linger among the labyrinths of memory, 
 and impress upon your minds the lessons of wisdom which it 
 teaches ! But the lateness of tlie hour forbids any lengthened 
 remarks. The topics which have been suggested by the record 
 of the Past, are too numerous to refer to, and too intimately con- 
 nected with our internal history to enlarge upon. But, if the 
 voice of the Past, speaking to us through the history of this So- 
 ciety, and College, has given utterance to one fact more certain 
 and prominent than all others, it is, that the truth of God is the 
 appointed instrumentality for the regeneration and dviliaation of 
 
 *MSS. History of Franklin Society. 
 
 e-^'^ 
 
 :^ 
 
24 
 
 w 
 
 the world. That triitli, wliicli God has revealed in his word, 
 and written in living characters over the broad face of nature — 
 two volumes, but one book — constitute the stone and the sling, 
 to smite with death, the gigantic forms of wrong, under which 
 the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain until now. — 
 Simple weapons — yet how eifective ! None other is needed. — 
 The truth, in its illustrious simplicity — in its harmonious pro- 
 portions — in the strength of its native energy — in the sublime 
 consciousness of its own rectitude, is omnipotent. It must and 
 will prevail I 
 
 To the study and advocacy of that truth — which is mighty 
 and which maketh free — consecrate the years and energies of 
 your whole life, Ii will lead you to its great Author, and stand- 
 ing in his presence, you will look forth over the broad field of 
 the world, with the holy resohition, to live, labor, suffer, do and 
 die in the service of humanity, and to stamp upon society the 
 impress of truth, in characters which shall remain when sun 
 and moon arc no more ! 
 
 We have met on this occasion to renew the recollections of the 
 pastj and to exchange the signs and words of friendship — like 
 ships on the ocean, which exchange signals and then pursue their 
 different courses upon the pathless deep. But e'er we part, and 
 **mingle with the universe," from which we have escaped to par- 
 ticipate in the solemnities of this night, let us again unite in the 
 Student's song, and, with heart and soul, give a "TiTfli" to our 
 Alma Mater ! Then — 
 
 Gaudeamus igitur 
 Juvenes dum sumus, 
 Post jucundam juventutem, 
 Post molestam senectutem, 
 Nos habebit humus ! 
 
 Vivat Academia, 
 
 Vivant Professores 
 
 Vivat membrum quodlibet, 
 
 Vivant membra, quselibet 
 
 Semper sint in Flore! 
 Vivat et respublica, 
 Et qui iilam regit, 
 Vivat nostra civitas, 
 Maecenatum caritas, 
 Quae nos hie proteget. 
 
 ^; 
 
 .iSs 
 

 "^. 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE THE 
 
 I FRANKLIN LITERARY SOCIETY, 
 
 or 
 
 JEFIFISIRSOl €(D1LILE((&E 
 
 AT ITS SEMI-CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY, 
 
 NOTESIBER 14tb, 1S4T. 
 
 BY J. WINTERS, Esq. 
 
 m: 
 
 WASHINGTON, PAj 
 
 Printed by John Bausman, Reporter Office. 
 
 1848. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 Frankxin Hall, Nov. 14th, 1847. 
 Mr. Jacob Winters : ! 
 
 Respected and Bear Sir: — The members of the Frank- | 
 lin Literary Society beg leave to tender you, through us, their \ 
 grateful acknowledgements for the noble and impressive senti- | 
 ments contained in the eloquent Address, with which you have j 
 just favored us, and respectfully solicit a copy of the same for i 
 publication. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 J. TEMPLETON M'CARTY, 
 S. ANDERSON QUAY, , 
 G. IVESTER YOUNG, , 
 Committee* 
 
 \ Jefferson College, Nov. 15th, 1847. 
 
 \ Gentlemen .* — With some hesitancy, I send you a copy of the 
 
 \ Speech you have so politely requested. 
 
 I say with some hesitancy, for, being the almost first attempt \ 
 
 \ of the kind I ever made, I can not believe it contains much to 
 
 benefit any one. ^ 
 
 Knowing, however, that it can injure none, unless it be the I 
 
 author; and believing that its perusal may gratify some, I here- | 
 
 with send it. } 
 
 With my best wishes, gentlemen, for the welfare of you and j 
 
 your Society, I remain | 
 
 Your Servant, ) 
 
 JACOB WINTERS. | 
 I J. Templeton M'Carty,"! 
 \ S. AxuERSox Quay, J- Committee. | 
 
 I G. IVESTER YoUNG, 
 

 
 A ® ® IR ]E 
 
 ' I 
 
 Gentlemen of the Franklin Literary Society : 
 
 Conscious of my inability, I need not attempt to enlight- 
 en or instruct you, or to entertain you with any of the higiier 
 flights of oratory. My simple object shall be to make the hour 
 pass pleasantly to you — ^liappy if I succeed even in that. 
 
 To one who has passed from the scene, there is a melancholy 
 pleasure in the remembrances of his College life. He knows 
 that it was a happy period, or» at least, might have been such, 
 and that its golden opportunities will not return. 
 
 To the wise man and the worldling, who have long trodden 
 the dusty ways of the world — whose feelings have been blunted 
 by contact with its selfishness — who have found the brilliant 
 hopes and noble aspirations of their youthful hearts to be mere- 
 ly vanity, and have seen the stars that rose with them sink be- 
 hind the clouds of death — even to them there is a peculiar delight 
 in the remembrances of College life. 
 
 When age has chilled the blood andmany of the scenes of ma- 
 turer life are forgotten, these earlier memories still remain fresh 
 and beautiful, as if time, change and distance had no power over 
 them. Down deep in the heart they remain forever consecrat- 
 ed things of the past, haunting the spirit's depths like the music 
 of old songs which we loved in our childhood — like the "exqui- 
 site music of a dream." 
 
 Still more vivid would be the feelings and the delight greater, 
 could one be permitted to revisit tlie very scenes of the past and 
 to stand amid the halls of his youthful glory. With how curi- 
 ous an eye, with hov/ interested a heart, would he wander through 
 the old recitation room and Society's hall. 
 
 Pouring over the scrawled pages of old volumes with deepest 
 interest, and even the scratchings on the walls to find the name 
 
 M. 
 
 'm 
 
of some familiar friend, classmate or companion, of his College | 
 (lavs; often holding strange soliloquy with his own soul and its 
 remembrances of the past. 
 
 And though he may now be venerable — his head grey with 
 years and his brow \\Tinkled with thought, and his person cloth- 
 ed with the dignity of age and station, and you might think he 
 never indulged the dreams of a Student's heart, yet the y«>ungest 
 of you may point to him and say — 
 
 * "He bears beneath that altered brow, 
 
 The ashes of a thousand dreams; 
 Some wrought of wild Ambition's fingers, 
 Some colored of Love's pencil well." 
 
 If any such are here to-night — any old Franklin's who have \ 
 returned to the scenes of their College life to spend a pleasant | 
 hour or two in happy reminiscenses, we, in the name of our So- \ 
 ciety, bid you welcome, from our hearts, we bid you welcome to | 
 this Hall once more. Come from the weary ways of life and j 
 rest your souls once more beneath the branches of our tree of | 
 friendship. Come to our feast of reason. Be healed for a little 
 of the fever of the brain. Forget — forget the carking cares of life. 
 Come from the struggle, the strife and turmoil of the world and 
 be at peace. Feel as in the house of your friends ; for it is in- 
 deed so. We are your friends — we are your brothers and with 
 brothers' hearts we welcome you. And as those long separated 
 meet around the fireside of home, and renew their old affection 
 and talk their "battles o'er again," so is it with us and with you. 
 
 AVe meet you here old Franklins to spend a pleasant hour in 
 happy recollections of the past, and then each takes his separ- 
 ate way ', not sad or heavy-hearted, but delighted and refreshed 
 with remembrances of the far past and the innocent pleasure of 
 the present moment. 
 
 Another sentiment, too, comes in here, and should come in, 
 which purifies and chastens the pleasure of the moment — the 
 thought of the absent and of the dead. You look around here 
 for old familiar faces that you loved long since; for the cheer- 
 ing smiles and beaming eyes of the friends of old, but you find 
 them not. They are not here to-night. Gone far out into the 
 world's struggle, to return no more. Many of them — oh ! too 
 many — gone down to the darkness of death. We feel with you | 
 for their loss, and are sad with you that they are not here and \ 
 rejoice, too, in the cheering hope that, | 
 
 "After life's fitful fever ihey sleep well." I 
 
•g: 
 
 Nor is our meeting an ordinary one. I know it is a common 1 
 thing to meet in this old hall : several generations of Students \ 
 have sat in the light of these lamps. Often have we sat here \ 
 under the droppings of the Word of Truth from the lips of that ] 
 venerable man, who still stands in our midst, and like the Seer ', 
 of Isr'ael, from the Pisgah's- summit of old age, is permitted to l 
 gaze far off to the happy fields of Canaan; and while the light of | 
 that better land is streaming around his soul, and the shadow of | 
 life stretching farther and farther on, can take a backward | 
 view^ down the long slope of a useful and well-spent life. | 
 
 But though the manner of our meeting is the same, yet the ob- 
 ject for which we meet is unusual. Nor is it unimportant. It 
 concerns not merely the interests of your Association or of our 
 College or vicinity, but, in some degree, the interests of man- 
 kind. 
 
 What, gentlemen, is the object of your Association? Was it 
 
 not formed for the promotion of science, friendship and virtue? 
 
 There stands your motto — Scientia, Amidtia et Virtus — as glo- 
 
 \ rious an one as ever flashed from any banner — as high an one 
 
 as ever led men on to deeds of heroism or virtue; there it stands 
 
 to mock you wdth its bitter irony, if this is not your object. 
 
 \ These are the three grand pillars of civilized society and of 
 
 j all human happiness. Friendship, the soother of suffering — 
 
 \ the sympathizer in every pain — the firmest supporter of indi- 
 
 I vidual happiness. Science, which adds the gleam and glory 
 
 to our mortal life. Vihtue, which makes the human divine — 
 
 j the mortal god-like. 
 
 With either of these, life can be borne ; with none of them, it is 
 i utterly intolerable : with all combined, man attains his highest, 
 I his best, his happiest estate. A being, no longer calling the 
 I worm his brother and the grave his end, but gifted with an im- 
 \ mortal spirit, "looking before and after," claiming God for his 
 j father — Angels for his kindred — Heaven for his home. 
 1 Said I not well, then, that the anniversary of a Society, found- 
 ed for the promotion of these high and worthy objects, is an oc- 
 casion which bears in some degree on the interests of mankind? 
 I But, not what is the object, but as your Society endeavored 
 1 to carry out the object of its founders, is the question of most im- 
 portance to you. Has it been so ? For the answer we appeal 
 i to facts. Where are the men now whom your Society has sent 
 forth into the world? Have they become useless members of 
 community, or, like the faithless steward, buried their talents in 
 
 .^ 
 
j the earth, and forgotten the high objects for which they labored ; 
 \ here? ; 
 
 I Proudly we answer, that the reverse of this is the truth. How^ ; 
 I many of them now are faithful watchmen on the towers of Zion ^ 
 I or the messengers of peace to man ? And " Oh how beautiful \ 
 I upon the mountains are the feet of them wIk) bring glad tidings { 
 I of good things ."' How many of them are now to be found at • 
 \ the Bar and on the Bench, in our Halls of Legislation and the j 
 \ Professor's Chair? Nay ^ wherever there is human life — where : 
 S the Greenlander shivers in the blast — on the burning Savannahs 
 \ of the South and the fiery plains of the torrid zone — in India — i 
 \ in China and the Islands of the sea, and the interminable wil- ,; 
 derness of the West; where the Missionary has planted his feet ; 
 j and held aloft the banner of the Cross, with its lone star of Sal- ; 
 ; yation — ^there have been found the representatives of the old • 
 I Frankli?? Society. In every station discharging their duty | 
 1 with honesty to God, with faithfulness to their fellow-men, and j 
 j with honor to themselves. Her name is abroad in the world and 1 
 ] in connection with Jefferson College, and her sister Society, is — j 
 
 I "H)-mned and honored I 
 
 By the grateful voice of human kind." j 
 
 I Of the characters and lives of the Founders of your Society, I 
 gentlemen, we deem it proper to speak but briefly, leaving that | 
 task to the abler tongue of the Reverend gentleman who follows, j 
 The origin of your Society dates far back to early times. — J 
 Her infancy is wrapped in the gloom and mist of the *'3ack- ] 
 woods." Judging, however, from the single fact, that they were ;, 
 the Founders of your Society, we may safely believe, that they < 
 were noble and true-hearted men, willing and anxious to serve \ 
 God and man in their generation. Nay, there may have been | 
 in that little band of nine, some gifted spirits glow-ing with im- I 
 mortal love, that, had the opportunity been offered, w ould have | 
 evangelized nations and blessed mankind: a Howard, a Frank- j 
 lin, a Martyn. Or, might there not have been even a Cincin- | 
 nattus or a Burns, who, though unknown to fame, yet, j 
 
 "Walked in glory and in joy < 
 
 Following his plough upon the mountain side." I 
 
 Most of them are now^ dead and gone. A few still remain, I 
 the scattered remnants of a once noble band. Long they stood, | 
 like the oaks of our own backw oods, hardy representatives of a 
 race as noble and strong-minded men as the world ever saw — \ 
 the early settlers of Western Pennsylvania. < 
 
 
Carxahax, Galbreath, Lmbrie, Wick, Dodd, Hughes, ; 
 I LixDLEYs and Wood ! could t!ie dead of you repass the **val- \ 
 \ ley of the shadow" — could ye, freed from the imprisonment of \ 
 \ death and the obstacles of distance, stand in our midst to-night, '. 
 < how would your hearts rejoice ! This would, indeed, he a tri- j 
 ; umph for you — a triumph not bought with blood and with the ; 
 i tears of the widow and fatherless; not haunted by the ghastly j 
 I countenances of the victims of war; not wrought out amid the j 
 I convulsions of nations and the tliroes and agonies of down-trod- > 
 \ den humanity ; but a calm, bloodless, tearless triumph over ig- | 
 i norance, over darkness and the wilderness. "The wilderness \ 
 \ and the solitary place shall be glad for them and the desert re- j 
 I joice and blossom like the rose." 
 
 j In contemplating, gentlemen, the present state of your Asso- i 
 elation, contrasted with its very small beginning, it may not, / 
 I perhaps, be inappropriate to indulge a few remarks on the ivflu- \ 
 I ence of association, in general. In its most general sense, then, | 
 I association is the union either of persons or of things. But the | 
 I particular kind of association, of which we w^ish to speak, is, | 
 ! such as yours, in which men are united together for the accom- | 
 plishment of high and excellent objects, and is the opposite of j 
 Individualism. ' 
 
 These objects may be either within or beyond the range of in- I 
 dividual capacity. If within it, association gives power and ac- 
 tivity to the designs and purposes of men, which insures their 
 I accomplishment; for it is evident that an object which many j 
 I could accomplish in a day, might requii^e the labor of an indi- ] 
 \ vidual for an age. If the object is beyond individual capacity, \ 
 I the advantages of association are still greater, inasmuch as that 
 } which otherwise could not have been accomplished is done im- \ 
 mediately and most effectively. \ 
 
 \ From ignorance of this simple truth, mankind has suffered I 
 I fearfully through ages of bloodshed and crime, and lost much | 
 I that can never be recovered. I 
 
 I The comparison is not inapt, indeed, to consider mankind of i 
 \ the past as an individual in a troubled sleep — often tossing about \ 
 \ fiercely on his bed; muttering in his sleep strange and myste- \ 
 rious sayings — some of which had wisdom in them — most of 
 them nothing but folly; momentarily lashing out his huge limbs 
 as if disturbed by some dismal night-mare, and not unfrequent- 
 ly uttering deep, heart-felt sighs, and long, unearthly groans of 
 agony. Terribly the world suffered in that long and wretched 
 
 
u 
 
 :» 
 
 half-sleep, but still waked not. Now and then, as history has 
 well recorded, she seemed to be rousing herself, determined to 
 shake off the lethargy, and asked, with half-awakened stupidi- 
 ty, "what's the matter?" but without hearing or heeding the an- 
 swers that came thundering around her from Heaven, or growl- 
 ed up from Hell, fell back into her fitful doze. But, thanks to 
 Providence, the incubus that weighed dow^n the vital energies of 
 the world, seems to be passing off, and mankind waking at last 
 to a sense of their true interests. Never before was there so 
 clear and universal a perception of these interests as at the pre- 
 sent time; nor had mankind ever so effective a knowledge of 
 the means best adapted to the obtainment of tlie great end of 
 human existence — human good. 
 
 Whoever can contemplate without astonishment, the improve- 
 ment in the physical, social, moral and intellectual condition of \ 
 the race, within the last few centuries, is not worthy the name 
 of man ; at least, as defined by some Philosophers, as the only \ 
 animal capable of wondering. 
 
 Humanity seems rushing, with race-horse speed, to some glo- > 
 rious but indefinable goal — a destiny higher and happier than 
 man, ere this, had deemed possible, compared with which the \ 
 fabulous happiness of the golden age sinks into barbarous wretch- \ 
 edness. ^ 
 
 Do you ask for the evidences of this? Air, earth, and the \ 
 ocean teem with them. You can see them in the lightning, which \ 
 is now made the bearer of your despatches, swift as thought — \ 
 In the stars themselves, where. 
 
 Pinnacled dim in the intense inane," | 
 
 \ the eye of the Astronomer has tracked their devious courses. — \ 
 We perceive them in the innumerable improvements in the me- 
 chanical arts; in the increase of knowledge, and, especially, in 
 its diffusion; in the improved ideas on government and human '< 
 happiness; in the spread of the Bible, with all its blessed influ- ; 
 ences. O, gentlemen, within the date of your own short lives 
 how vastly has the world improved ! And why ? 
 
 AYhat newly discovered element is this, in the composition of | 
 human society, which, after an inaction of more than five thous- \ 
 and years, is thus renewing the world's youth? Whence comes j 
 this change over the countenance of the world? You see no long- 
 er there the wTinkles and the deathful frown and the haggard 
 eye of despair, but a joyful and life-like expression, indicative | 
 of satisfaction in the present and hope for the future, rests upon 
 
• •'7 
 
 12^^..., --.^..^..^. t .............„S 
 
 ) the face of tlie world. She smiles sweetly even in licr old age 
 \ and decrepitude, and the rosiness of youth is now blooming on 
 \ her ancient cheeks. It may be the hectic symptom of her end — \ 
 I the premonition of the eternal paleness, but still that hopeful ; 
 bloom is there, xind v, hence is it? Tv e would not, for the sake \ 
 
 > of magnifying our subject, attribute every effect to a single cause, 
 ; yet we hesitate not to say, that Association is this new element, ; 
 i or, rather, old element operating with renewed power. To the 
 \ omnipotence of associated thought and action, the world is more 
 I indebted for real advancement, in the last hundred and fifty ^ 
 I years, than to a hundred generations that preceded. Most ] 
 \ strange, we confess, that mankind did not long since discover, j 
 I that this mighty engine could be wielded for purposes of good 
 \ as well as evil, and act on that knowledge. How many a ty- 
 \ rant would it have striptof his iron sceptre— that wizard wand 
 \ wiiose touch has shrivelled up the nations? How many a slave ; 
 I would have leaped up from the galling bondage of the oppressor, j 
 \ shouting "the anthem of the free?*' ^Yhat an infinite amount ; 
 
 > of good might have been secured by it — how much evil prevent- : 
 jed? j 
 
 ■> This knowledge, though late, is not yet too late. It shall yet \ 
 i become the world's salvation. Her long and bitter experience \ 
 : is not lost. She has acquired wisdom by it — wisdom, too, of \ 
 
 • that deep and practical kind which can only come by suffering, j 
 ; and this is the sum of her experience — that advancement is the | 
 j only true progression, and that, to be happy, men must associ- \ 
 \ ate. Hence, association is the governing principle of this, the \ 
 \ world's best and wisest age. Contrast, if you please, the ages \ 
 \ before the Christian era, and long after, even the best of them, I 
 ; with the present, and mark the difference. ;, 
 j There v. as Individualism, with its cynical sneer at every thing \ 
 
 > but itself, the thing most worthy of its scorn, ruling men and na- \ 
 \ tions V, ith a bigoted despotism. A mountain or a stream made | 
 I enemies of nations, which had else, ^ 
 
 I ''Like kindred droos been mingled into one." ', 
 
 \ The Avide-sprcading benevolence — the all-embracing love of 
 < man for his fellow-creatures, the effects of whicli we feel in eve- 
 ^ ry thing around us, they felt not. 
 
 A cold and selfish patriotism quenched the cheerful flame of 
 : pliilanthropy, which the Deity had kindled in the hearts of men. > 
 
 • Heroes, Demigods, Madmen played such fantastic tricks before \ 
 high heaven as made Angels and mortals Aveep. Peace — peace > 
 
J was like a remote tradition of the blessedness of Eden. The ; 
 i ears of men had ceased to tingle at the blast of the trumpet. — ; 
 ) The amenities and charities of life were not then, as now, the • 
 mother language of humanity. Self, either in the individual or \ 
 \ national form, was the Moloch they worshipped; and oh, what \ 
 
 > rivers of blood liave streamed upon his altars I ^How often has \ 
 I the smoke of his burnt-oiferings obscured the sun ! Alas I why ; 
 \ should men still worship this heathen god? Why should men \ 
 $ be separate and belligerent? Is not the consciousness of a co?n- \ 
 I mon nature strong within us? Are we not children of the same ] 
 \ gracious Father? Are we not brethren in the same great fami- \ 
 I \j of man? Why, then, should we not act togetlier, or, at least, | 
 I not act against each other? All subsist on the same materials; \ 
 i our bodies are all composed of the same elements; our spirits < 
 
 are all rushing to the same goal, and our frames, without an ex- < 
 ception, toiling downwards to the same dust. Ye, even ye here \ 
 
 "Shall lie down | 
 
 With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, j 
 
 The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, < 
 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers, of ages past, ■ 
 
 All in oue mighty sepulchre." ' 
 
 Why, then, should we liate each other? Is it well that we, | 
 who are but creatures of yesterday and know nothing of to- < 
 morrow, should labor to shorten and embitter human life, alrea- j 
 dy short and miserable enough; or drive eacli others naked souls, 5 
 )' stained with the blood of our fellow-men, to stalk uncalled be- | 
 j neath the blasting frown of God? It seems hard for mankind J 
 I to learn the madness and folly of this, and that the most wise ) 
 I and just principle of human conduct, is "love thy neighbor as ^ 
 ; thyself" \ 
 
 \ Christianity first enforced this high principle of human ac- j 
 \ tion, and association, formed for purposes of good, is only this \ 
 \ principle operating more extensively. It is the actual deve- \ 
 \ lopment of that greatest of Christian principles, "love one ano- < 
 I ther." In fact, it is the only true love of man for his kind — \ 
 \ love in its loftiest aims — its mightiest developments — its happi- \ 
 I est effects. ; 
 
 I It has done much for the world, and it will do more. Do you \ 
 \ ask what? Hather, shall I not ask you what has it not done? | 
 
 > Christian in its influence, it has sent the Missionary to the ends 
 
 of the earth. Religious, it has builded the temples on a thous- 
 and hills. Liberal, it has haunted the tyrant to his throne of 
 
\ blood and whispered words of confusion and death in Iiis cars, 
 i till his face grew pale, like the face of the dead — his arm, that 
 ! held tlie iron sceptre, fell nerveless at his side — his blood froze 
 \ within him and He, the shadow of Omnipotence, the mighty \ 
 I mockery, reeled off forever into the darkness. Benevolent, it 
 j heals tlie sick, clothes the naked, feeds the hungiy : a fervent 
 j Apostle — preaches the Gospel to the poor. ^ 
 
 I Without this influence no extensive good can be accomplish- J 
 I ed. Individual effort may do much, but it lias ever been and / 
 must necessarily be, in narrow limits. Hence, just in propor- > 
 tion as this force has been properly applied and directed, in the \ 
 \ same ratio has Society advanced. Proved by innumerable ex- J 
 i periments and ail history, we may safely take it as the measure I 
 '{ and law of human progression. \ 
 
 ; To the diffusiveness of this spirit, the narrowness of individu- \ 
 ! alism must soon yield — is yielding — yea, has yielded, to a great \ 
 \ extent, and the nobler principle, whicli recognizes the brotlter- \ 
 \ hood of all mankind, is fast assuming its place as one of the mov- \ 
 \ ing, and living, principles of Modern Society. Its effects, too, \ 
 I must go on increasing and extending, as the world improves, for i 
 I mankind will not willingly let pass away theknov/ledge of that \ 
 ■ whicJi gives them their greatest power. It is a laborer that nev- j: 
 I er tires: to whom the sun is never set. Working — working | 
 ! ever on in the liglit and in the dai'k — under tlie roof and out in ^ 
 \ the sunshine. A Cyclops, with his sledge, eternally hammer- j 
 \ ing the world's rougli sides, to make them smooth. \ 
 
 \ Hopefully then, gentlemen, and with cheerful liearts, we may j 
 
 \ look forward to the world's best days, as yet to come, when most \ 
 
 I of the causes wdiich have made the earth a play-Jioiise for Dev- j 
 
 I ils, but a fierce battle-field for men, shall not exist,* and when, \ 
 
 \ from the grand family association of mankind, shall arise that j 
 
 I anthem of the Angels, "peace on earth — good- will to men !" j 
 
 I But, however much we may, and should, rejoice at these indi- | 
 
 cations of the increasing happiness of the human race, shall we 
 
 be merely passive spectators of the scene? shall we sit tamely ] 
 
 down while such great things are being accomplislied for the ] 
 
 world? or worse, meanly hope to enjoy that for which we have 
 
 1 not labored. 
 
 I Advice would, doubtless, come with more force from an older 
 \ and a wiser head, but sincerity will make iis eciual in this case. 
 I You, gentlemen, permit me to say, were not made for yourselves | 
 i alone. You are not merely members of a particular associa- \ 
 
m» 
 
 ;'^ _j±^ ^: 
 
 tion ,• you are not merely Fhankliks or Philos ,- you belong to < 
 the great brotbei'hood of mankind — to the world at large. On ; 
 that wide field your victories arc to be gained, er your shameful \ 
 defeat consummated. Here you are in your tent, arming for ; 
 the battle. If yon go forth half prepared, you go as David in \ 
 the cmnbrous armour of Saul — you can never conquer : better, \ 
 far better, would be the sling vdth the puny pebbles of the brook, i 
 < You are now standing on the threshold of the world, gazing '; 
 ' out upon its rugged aspect, perhaps, w ith troubled hearts : but J 
 \ oh, be strong ! Be ye valiant for the tnith. With self-sacrific- \ 
 j ing hearts — determined to conqner llrst yourselves, and then, ; 
 with high and holy purposes, to over-leap eyerj other obstacle \ 
 I in your upward w ay ; and, if not conquerors here, you will be \ 
 \ more than conquerors hereafter, in that land where the shout of \ 
 ) battle never comes and wiiere ihe song of the victor only is ; 
 j heard. i 
 
 \ Set before you the examples of the great, who ha.ve gone before. ;' 
 
 \ Not merely the powerful — not the high in station only, but the \ 
 
 \ GREAT m GOODis^Ess. Bc not deceived. It is most true, though | 
 
 a seeming paradox, that "great men are not ahvays great." — ; 
 
 Take no false coin of greatness for the true, tliough such pass | 
 
 \ current in the world. There are various kinds of them, whom \ 
 
 the world calls grea.t, but not all equally worthy of your admi- \ 
 
 ration. Some appear so because born to elevated stations. — \ 
 
 \ Others seem great from the force of external circumstances. — :; 
 
 I A few, a precious few, are great ver se, and in spite of circum- ■ 
 
 \ stance. These are the truly great, though fame may never I 
 
 "blow the blast of their renown." Nor do they often come like <> 
 
 falling stars, from heaven, but, oftencst, rise up from the low \ 
 
 vales of humility. \ 
 
 \ With strong hearts, and unqnaiiing eyes, they have dared to ; 
 
 j look upwards, through the smoke and dust of this v^ork-day \ 
 
 v/orld, to ihQ hill-tops of excellence and honor. With high, ; 
 
 cheerful souls and unconquerable energy, they have battled with ; 
 
 I all opposition, both from without and within. Steadily, firmly, \ 
 
 I hopefully, tliey have pursued their way, in darkness and sun- \ 
 
 \ shine, vrith a calm trust in God and sublime faith in themselves, ; 
 
 I sprung from the uprightness of their motives,* and thus sustain- \ 
 
 \ ed, have trodden circumstance in the dust and laughed opposi- \ 
 
 \ tion to scorn. Where the storm was fiercest and the struggle \ 
 
 I most terrible, they still advanced. Where the weak would have j 
 
 \ fainted and the stout-hearted failed, they, the upright in motive, \ 
 
m.,. _,.,.... . ^1-.-. . ^ .. ^ 
 
 ; have been heard, with manly voice, to shout back to the world '/ 
 ; their cheering battle-cry — "press on — press on!" \ 
 
 \ Such men will, must conquer , shall tread the loftiest paths of I 
 I honor and stand firmly on the toppling cliiTs of fame. Where ; 
 \ weak and drivelling spirits would grow dizzy v/ith the cleva- i 
 ! tion, they only stand the more immoveable, on the highest pla- j 
 ; ces of the earth, or — which is a truer test of character — fill its \ 
 I lowest stations with almost equal greatness'. Tiiey \ 
 
 ; "Sit upon a mount serene { 
 
 I Above the fogs of sense and passion's storms : ; 
 
 ; All the bio rk cares and tumults of this life, ] 
 
 '; liike harmless thunders bursting at their feet, \ 
 
 ' Excite their pity — not impair their peace." | 
 
 ; The world may thank God such men have been : for, to them, j 
 
 \ strengthened by opposition, purified by trial and sublimed by | 
 
 I suffering, men look with confidence in their hours of need. They ( 
 
 I are moveless pillars when the nations quake, and bulwarks in I 
 
 { the day of war: and v/hen destruction and death stalk grimly 
 
 \ abroad, and passion's storms sweep fiercely over the nations, '/ 
 
 ] thev are the "munitions of rocks." 
 
 \ 
 
 >, Some such have been the guiding lights of mankind; no swamp- \ 
 
 i fires, merely brilliant, dazzling only to blind, but blazing heav- ) 
 
 \ enward, star-like and forever — their own bright example giv- 
 
 ( ing the impulse and shaping the character of thousands, who, | 
 
 \ like them, are to be blessings to the world. 
 
 J We would have you, gentlemen, to be like these — high of soul, \ 
 
 I upright in motive, energetic, self-possessed. Passing by the I 
 
 ] petty annoyances of life with calm indifference; bearing itssuf- \ 
 
 > ferings with a manly heart, knowing they are only for a moment \ 
 
 { and that eternity is near. 
 
 \ I am aware, Fellow-Students, that but few do you justice, for 
 
 i but few understand or can appreciate the thoughts or feelings j 
 
 \ ofa Student's heart. I know, however, that even the least thought- | 
 
 \ ful among you, have oftentimes your noble aspirations — your \ 
 
 I high thoughts — your yearnings for the good, the beautiful and j 
 
 great. But these are like morning dreams. A lethargy soon $ 
 
 creeps over the spirit; your purposes are but half formed, your 
 
 i intentions never consummated. sluggard I think but for a \ 
 
 moment. Hast thou forgotten how short is human life, and that 
 
 j this is only a probationary state? Thou lazy giant, art thou 
 
 ! dreaming here, while the day is fast coming to an end and the 
 
 I shadows lengthening on earth and the night at hand, wherein 
 
 I thou canst not work? Let not this stupid lethargy repress the 
 
 !(«I(j 
 
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 14 
 
 upward tendency of thy soul. Like a young Samson, burst thy 
 bands. Aye, 
 
 "Proudly fling 
 Your fetters by and hurry on, 
 Keen as the famished eagle darts her wing. 
 The goal is still before you, and the prize 
 Still woos your eager eyes." 
 
 Up, then, in the name of God and for the sake of men. Work : 
 
 let thy soul work — on trifles, if tliou wilt, for the instrument 
 
 ajid the manner may glorify tiie object; but do something and 
 
 with thy might. Thou mayest be humble — hemmed in by cir- 
 
 I cumstanccs, or poor, perhaps, in this world's gear : still art thou 
 
 ; not richer than Golconda? Hast thou not within tliee an im- 
 
 j mortal sj)irit, whose treasures far outshine | 
 
 "The wealth of Oruius or of Indl" | 
 
 I Wilt thou let them run to waste? Shall the sneers of the world ; 
 ; quench the fire that God has kindled in thee? Shall disappoint- ; 
 j ment smother it? Shall the empty day-dreams of fancy or the | 
 j sickly creations of a false sentiment, which is the curse of the \ 
 I age, trammel the Titan in their swaddling-rags of gossamer? i 
 Let it not be so. Forbid it, manliness — forbid it, mind. ', 
 
 Thou dreamer in a Avorld of shadows — a Avorld, too, of your \ 
 I own making — hearest thou jaot the crash and clatter, while the > 
 I old fabrics of the world are crumbling around thee? Hear you j 
 j not the earth-shaking tramp of the millions of mankind, as they ; 
 \ marcli onward and still on? Wake I or thou art forever crush- ; 
 led. \ 
 
 This is the age of activity. Now, if ever, is the time for en- \ 
 ergy, and the man who lies down now to slumber or to dream, i 
 I is besotted or a fool. For lo ! yonder on the verge of heaven, \ 
 j wrapped in clouds and the red mists of morning, already looms 
 the brightest sun of time — precursor of that brighter day of 
 I which the ancient Prophet sung. Here, flitting by, through tl^e 
 \ early twilight, the myriad ghosts of defunct superstitions — the 
 ] demons of tyranny and death — the long and shadowy train of 
 \ delusion and error, troop home to hell. The watchmen on the 
 I towers shout, for the last time, the watch-cry of the night — the 
 \ long — dark night; for the sun is up, careering higher and high- 
 er, till now he's at the zenith, and the world is all a blaze with 
 light — ^rejoicing in the noon-day of Millennial glory. 
 
 With the examples before you, gentlemen, of which we have 
 just spoken — with these animating prospects to cheer you on, 
 and with the world waiting for you, we shall not fear for you. 
 
 L*^ 
 
 
 
 t9i 
 
Cheerfully and fearlessly pursue your ways, "onward and up- ; 
 ward and true to the line." Search for the truth, as i'or hid- ; 
 den treasures, and the truth shall make you free— shall make 
 you great— shall make you godlike. And though you cannot 
 always act together, and your association lierc must he dissolv- 
 ed, yet you may still be united in thought and the same in your 
 high and worthy aims— still the same Franklix Society, by 
 each endeavoring to promote the objects for which you labored 
 here. 
 
 Finally, though the voyages of your lives may be far apart, 
 and your frail barks tossed rudely on the sea of life, yet let each 
 endeavor so to guide the lielm, that when the storm is past and 
 the waters stilled, we all — no longer Franklins, no longer 
 Philos, but a more glorious brotherhood, may enter our port 
 of Heaven and rest 
 
 "Remembering not 
 
 The far moaning;* of that sea." 
 
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 "029 949 536 A 
 
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