emartctm. 
 
t>^ (o 
 
MEMORIAL 
 
 Samuel Mills Capron, 
 
 Born May 15th, 1832.— Died Jan. 4th, lij'j^. 
 
 y^DITED BY 
 
 Jo; nf f W I C H E L L . 
 
 Rari quippe bo7ii: ?mmerus vix est totidem quot 
 
 Thebaruni portce vel divitis ostia Niii. 
 
 ' Juvenal. 
 
 ', J 5 >' > J ' ' ^ ' J ^ ^ • 
 
 3 S ' 5 5 5 5 3 3 J -"i ^ ' : 
 
 HARTFORD : 
 
 The Case, Lockwood & Brainaru Co. Printers. 
 1874- 
 
^ 3oi>o 
 
 ■01 
 
 
TO THE PUPILS OF 
 
 SAMUEL M. CAPRON, 
 
 TO WHOM HE FREELY GAVE 
 
 THE STRENGTH OF HIS LIFE, 
 
 AND WHOSE WELL-DOING AND ASSURED AFFECTION 
 
 WERE HIS BEST EARTHLY REWARD, 
 
 THIS MEMORIAL IS DEDICATED 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 P*GE. 
 
 Biographical Sketch, ....... 
 
 By the Rev. W. B. Capron. 
 Samuel M. Capron— The Man and The Teacher, - - 31 
 
 By Margaret A. Blythe. 
 Scholarship and Character, - - - . . - i;8 
 
 By Prof. Thomas A. Thacher. 
 Obituary Notices of Press and Pulpit, - - . - 66 
 
 Funeral Services — Addresses of Mr. Twichell and Mayor 
 
 Robinson, - - - . . . - 88 
 
 In Memoriam — A Poem, - - . . - roc 
 
 By M. A. B. 
 At the High School, - - . . . - 108 
 
 The Holy Grail, - - - . . . - 114 
 
 By Abby M. Williams. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE REV. W. B. CAPRON, 
 
 Of Miina Madura, India. 
 
 UxBRiDGE, Mass., March i8, 1874. 
 My dear : 
 
 Instead of preparing an introductory chapter, as you 
 suggested, for the memorial of my brother, it would be 
 easier and more natural to me to write you some 
 account of his early life, or, rather, of his life on the 
 home side, and let you use what you think best. 
 
 Among the precious things treasured up in memory 
 from his death-bed, is his message to his mother — *' If I 
 do not see mother, she knows that I love her. I have 
 had a world of enjoyment at home, a world of it." I 
 dare say that you will find in this simple-hearted and 
 affectionate message a part of the secret of his happy 
 and useful life. There are thousands of happy Christian 
 
6 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 homes in New England, and thousands of Christian 
 young men and young women go forth from them to fill 
 places of usefulness for which they are fitted, and to 
 which Providence calls them. Happy the parents 
 whose children respond to their love, and fulfil their 
 fond hopes ; and happy he, who, finding a sphere for 
 which he has been carefully prepared, and where he is 
 appreciated and esteemed, turns back with gratitude to 
 the hand, which, more than any other, guided him 
 through the perils of youth, and hardly let go of him 
 when he became the loved and trusted leader of others. 
 
 My brother was born in this town, the birthplace 
 also of our parents,* and the home of our childhood, 
 the 15th of May, 1832. He was christened Samuel 
 John Mills, — a name which I remember to have 
 suggested and struggled for — and oh ! the proud 
 satisfaction when that missionary name was fairly 
 adopted into the family. 
 
 And Samuel's childhood was in beautiful corres- 
 pondence with his saintly name. The then recent 
 conversion of both father and mother, in the revival of 
 1 83 1, and their deep interest in the church and Sab- 
 bath school, and in all moral and religious enterprises, 
 are sufficient to account for Samuel's early interest and 
 enthusiasm in all such objects. He was the little 
 preacher of the family. Standing in a chair near the 
 
 * William Cargill Capron and Chloe Day, Father is trying to prove 
 his descent from Donald Cargill, the martyr. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 7 
 
 kitchen window, and with his basket of books on the 
 folded table at his right, he would go through a public 
 service in the most serious manner — prayer, reading of 
 the scriptures, singing, preaching, the benediction, every 
 part complete, and, as the phrase is, all well sustained 
 from the beginning to the end. His clear and earnest 
 voice still rings in his mother's ears, " Oh Lord, send 
 down thy Holy Spirit to-day." A looker-on would have 
 thought it strange that a child of three, or so, could 
 read, but though his eyes followed the narrative, and he 
 turned the leaves accurately, it was only a recital of 
 what his quick memory had caught from the frequent 
 reading of others. He would often go to his father s 
 place of prayer, and soon after, when his little whip was 
 missing, it would be found by the side of the chair 
 where he had knelt to pray. When reproved for going 
 to the river side, and told that he might fall into the 
 water, where he had been cutting sticks, he replied, 
 " No, I shan't, I have been praying." No doubt the 
 little books which he read brought the praying- 
 children through all right, and he did not doubt that 
 the same would be done for him. His mother remem- 
 bers that in his father's absence, when with so many 
 men at the table, she was not quite equal to the duty, 
 Samuel pleaded to be permitted to ask a blessing. She 
 remembers his fidelity at private prayer, and how trou- 
 bled she was on account of his exposure to the cold in 
 this way before retiring at night. He loved none of his 
 
8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 books SO much as his little leather-covered Testament, 
 which he read much, and had filled with slips of paper 
 as book-marks. Whenever he found anything about the 
 power or love of God, he could not rest satisfied until 
 he had shared it with some one else, and many a time 
 he followed his mother about the house till she could 
 stop and listen to his newly-discovered treasure. 
 
 The temperance reform took a strong hold of his 
 feelings, and he ,was indulged in being permitted to 
 attend the meetings when almost too young to take 
 care of himself. Once, he said, he was waked up by 
 falling off the seat, long after the meeting had closed, 
 and found that he was locked in, and had to escape 
 through the window. At another time his father 
 sought for him, as he did not return in season, and 
 found him among those who had gathered about the 
 lecturer after the meeting. He had become possessed 
 of a dollar in some way, and was subscribing for a tem- 
 perance paper. 
 
 His interest in religious things took him to all 
 special meetings, and glad was he when he could 
 accompany his father to conferences and other gather- 
 ings, where he hoped he might be converted. A few 
 weeks before his death he was telling his children that 
 when he was a little boy he heard of a revival of religion 
 in Providence, and he teased so hard to go that his father 
 and mother put him aboard the stage, and sent him off 
 alone twenty-one miles to be converted. " But I was not 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 9 
 
 converted then," he said. This romantic incident, and 
 perhaps the disappointment, are easily explained. He 
 had an uncle and aunt in Providence, to whose care and 
 Christian good judgment he was sent, and as safely en- 
 trusted as if he had been at home. He found his way 
 to the meetings, and was found among the inquirers, 
 and told his errand. But the c^ood minister, or srood 
 brother, who heard it, had his balance upset by the 
 story, and could not resist the temptation to thrill the 
 audience with the announcement that here was a little 
 boy who had come all the way from Uxbridge to Provi- 
 dence to be converted ; and having thus done what he 
 could to dis]3el the influences of the Holy Spirit from 
 the mind of his young inquirer, he probably concluded 
 by asking the Christians present to pray for him. 
 
 Samuel always referred his conversion to the period 
 when he was a member of Phillips Academy, at An- 
 dover, Mass., the last year of his preparation for college. 
 As every new history of a conversion is instructive, I 
 quote a few sentences from his letters in reference to 
 that event. " Could you believe me if I told you I 
 hoped I had found the Saviour } When I came back 
 after vacation I did so with the determination that, with 
 God's assistance, I would become a Christian before the 
 term should close. The second Sabbath in the term I 
 spent in a very thoughtful manner. It was the last day 
 of the year. Prof. Park, who had not preached for two 
 years before, preached that day. The sermon in the 
 
lO BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 afternoon on ' What is time,' (text, Rev. lo, 6,) was the 
 best I ever heard. It was after hearing such a sermon 
 that I sincerely hope I gave my heart to God. In the 
 evening one of my class-mates called in to see me, and 
 encouraged me, so that I began to hope that I had 
 truly met with a change." 
 
 On the following Tuesday evening, it appears that he 
 came out in a prayer-meeting of the students. Two 
 months later, he writes, " How blessed is it to have a 
 hope in Christ ! Would that I could find language to 
 express in any feeble degree the joy which I have ex- 
 perienced within a few weeks. I have felt a joy in the 
 service of Christ which I never dreamed of before." He 
 wrote his mother (Feb. 27, 1849) ^^^^^ ^^ ^^"^^ been 
 serious for a long time, and that when he came to An- 
 dover he felt that, unless he selected proper companions, 
 his religious feelings would soon vanish, and that he 
 became intimate with none of whose character he was 
 doubtful. This, he said, had much to do in leading his 
 thoughts to things of the highest moment. He united 
 with the church in Uxbridge in the following Septem- 
 ber, his church relations being transferred to the Cen- 
 ter Church, Hartford, in September, 1853, and to the 
 Asylum Hill Church in August, 1866. 
 
 Samuel's boyhood was remarkable for some firm and 
 lasting friendships. He had a sincere and honest inter- 
 est in the welfare of his friends, and the boys who 
 turned to him as a congenial spirit, and those who 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. I I 
 
 found in him a refuge from the various discomforts and 
 persecutions of that somewhat awkward age never for- 
 got him to the end of hfe. It is indeed surprising how 
 many, inckiding not only the intimate friends of col- 
 lege and of his subsequent life, but also those who had 
 known him best in boyhood, have written since his 
 death that they had lost in him their best-trusted and 
 most valued friend. 
 
 The completion of my college course found father in 
 circumstances which would prevent his giving to both 
 his other sons the advantage of a college education. 
 With prudence and a union of forces, one could be put 
 through. Which should it be ? If the question had 
 been left to be decided by lot, it might well have been 
 a matter of painful anxiety. My father took the course 
 of offering the prize first to the elder, who considered 
 it, and declined it in favor of his brother, and who 
 since, in his natural pride at Samuel's career, has had 
 the luxury of thinking that there is, after all, a blessed- 
 ness in giving instead of receiving. 
 
 Samuel was so well along in his studies before leav- 
 ing the Uxbridge Academy, that one year of instruc- 
 tion at Andover— that senior year, under Mr. S. H. 
 Taylor, which none of the graduates of that institution 
 forget or fail to appreciate — was sufficient to give him 
 a good preparation for Yale College, where he entered 
 at seventeen years of age, in the Fall of 1849. 
 
 College life passed very pleasantly, no doubt. With 
 
12 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 a good preparation and with a naturally well-balanced 
 mind, study came easy to him. Though specially well 
 fitted in the languages he had a taste for the mathe- 
 matics, and found a luxury in branches which so many 
 students consider dry and uninteresting. It would ap- 
 pear that he took a high rank in his class, with only 
 reasonable fidelity to study — a result which I refer to 
 his unusual power of application of the mind to books, 
 or to the thing in hand, from his very childhood. Es- 
 pecially in childhood it was an absorption which caused 
 himself and others occasional trouble. When buried 
 in his books he seemed oblivious to all noise and- con- 
 fusion. A dozen persons might pass through the room 
 without attracting his attention, and if he was wanted, 
 it took a second or third call to rouse him. Strangely 
 enough, such concentration of mind and an excellent 
 memory are not inconsistent with occasional forgetful- 
 ness — a misfortune which, in his childhood, probably, 
 and also in later life, sometimes precipitated him into 
 trouble. But much as Samuel enjoyed college life, as 
 his room-mate and very intimate friend of those four 
 years would probably testify, he lived much at home. 
 In his Junior year he writes, " Although I am sur- 
 rounded with all the advantages and pleasures of col- 
 lege life, my thoughts wander home very, very often, 
 and I sometimes wish almost that I had never left that 
 good old place." " It is pleasant to be here, but it is 
 nothing like the calm, sweet enjoyment of the family 
 circle." 
 
BIOGRAPHICx\L SKETCH. I 3 
 
 No subject occupies his letters so much as the flower 
 garden and the fruit. The beautiful plan of the garden 
 is his, and the schemes for its imj^rovement occupied 
 pretty largely his summer vacation, and went far over 
 into the Fall. Then it was barrels of apples from home 
 — better than any fruit that could be bought in Con- 
 necticut, (and quite likely more expensive,) and one 
 would suppose that no event of college life was so im- 
 portant. I have seen no allusions in his letters to col- 
 lege honors, or to his prizes, though some volumes of 
 mathematics and classics, containing the president's 
 autograph, turn up in his library. 
 
 A desire to help himself to some extent, and per- 
 haps a fancy to make some preliminary experiments in 
 teaching, led him to accept, for the most of his Junior 
 year, a position in Mr. Russell's school, which occupied 
 his time for several evenings of the week, and some- 
 what on the Sabbath. It is only worthy of mention 
 here, because he there discovered the secret of school 
 government, which served him in after years, and upon 
 a much more important stage. It was a basis of 
 thorough and accurate scholarship, interest in the wel- 
 fare of his pupils, and an affectionate but not undigni- 
 fied familiarity, fairness but firmness of discipline, and 
 an unsleeping fidelity to his duty as an instructor. 
 Not that he was so egotistical as to put anything of 
 this sort on record, but one can infer it all from his 
 familiar letters home. He tosses off a mathematical 
 
14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 problem, proposed to him by a pupil, and discovers 
 afterwards that it was intended as a test of his ability. 
 He is facile in translation, and finds that none of 
 these off-hand efforts are returned to him. 
 
 He was interested also in the spiritual welfare of the 
 pupils. He says (June, 1852), " I am now so well 
 acquainted with them all, that I can occasionally speak 
 to them upon the subject of religion. There are some 
 well-disposed boys, who seem only to lack the one 
 thing needful, and have very good ideas about religion 
 too. I hope that some of them may be led to Christ." 
 But his extra duties proved too burdensome to him, 
 and he dropped them at the end of Junior year. 
 
 It was at this period that the question of a business 
 for life naturally came up, and it is very pleasant to me 
 to find that he had some queryings at least as to his 
 duty to the heathen. In the letter last quoted from he 
 writes, " The most intimate friend* I have here in New 
 Haven expects to go as a missionary to the Armenians, 
 and urges me very hard to go with him. Do you think 
 it may be my duty to go } As the case stands now, I 
 shall probably never study theology, but he wishes me 
 to go as a teacher. You know that the schools among 
 the Armenians are already far advanced, and they will 
 soon have colleges there." He writes in July, " I do 
 not have any desire to be a doctor or a lawyer, and 
 
 * Probably Mr. Harding, now missionary of the A. B. C. F. M., in 
 Bombay. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. I 5 
 
 hardly any to be a New England minister, so that I 
 think I shall fall back on my original plan, and try to 
 make a teacher. I like that profession very well so far, 
 and I think I could do tolerably well in it." 
 
 If his name seemed to hint a missionary life, it was, 
 after all, a prophecy not unfulfilled. It was my own 
 boyish enthusiasm for missions that had given him the 
 name, and now, twenty years later, I had been started 
 out of my forgetfulness, I trust by the Spirit of God, 
 and was about to exchange a most delightful home and 
 sphere in Hartford for service in the foreign missionary 
 field. 
 
 In August, 1852, 1 resigned the post of master of the 
 Hopkins Grammar School, to take effect at the end of 
 the following term, intending then to join the Theolo- 
 gical Seminary, at Andover, where I had already 
 entered my name. Before the end of the term, how- 
 ever, the ti-ustees of the grammar school had fixed upon 
 Samuel as my successor, and, rather than that he 
 should leave college, I remained in Hartford till his 
 graduation, in the Summer of 1853, and he succeeded 
 me in the Fall. 
 
 It is not for me to narrate the events of those twenty 
 years of laborious and prosperous scliool life in Hart- 
 ford. I left him in the High School building, on Asy- 
 lum St., in charge of the old Grammar School, and the 
 classical department of the High School, and on my 
 return from India I found him at the head of both 
 
ID BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 schools, in the new and splendid building on Hopkins 
 St., which is deservedly a monument of his enterprise 
 and perseverance. 
 
 The ten years spent as master of the Grammar 
 School were comparatively unbroken, except by two 
 seasons of severe illness. In September, 1863, borne 
 down by the weight of affliction, he resigned his posi- 
 tion, and sailed for Europe for an absence of a year, 
 returning in November, 1864. 
 
 This was in the midst of our civil war, and at the 
 period of the most alarming depression of the currency. 
 His resignation had not been accepted by the Trustees 
 of the Grammar School, but feeling that the funds of 
 the school, though affording a fair salary in ante-war 
 times, would not now give a comfortable support, and 
 being urged to engage in the business of manufactur- 
 ing, he left Hartford and removed to his native place. 
 It should be said, also, that he had brought from Eu- 
 rope a stock of vigorous health, which his previous ex- 
 perience made him disinclined to risk in the confine- 
 ment of school teaching. 
 
 But the subject came up again, and in a new aspect. 
 After a time he was followed to Uxbridge by a com- 
 mittee of the High School, who contemplated a reor- 
 ganization of the school, and urged him to accept the 
 post of principal — a post of much more than his former 
 influence and responsibility, and now attended with an 
 offer of nearly double his former salary. This made 
 
BIOGRyVPHICAL SKETCH. 1/ 
 
 him take the subject again into consideration, as if a 
 new taking up the question of a business for Hfe, and 
 the result was that he resolved to give himself again to 
 the business of teaching. He had spent the winter in 
 Uxbridge, and returned to Hartford in April, 1865. 
 
 This was at the close of the war, and, the times favor- 
 ing, the High School took a new start. Pupils poured 
 in, and it was not long before we heard that the build- 
 ing on Asylum St., one of the best for its time, was too 
 strait for the occupants. Business also was increasing, 
 and the site was too noisy for a school, not to say that 
 it was worth much more than the original cost and ex- 
 penditure for business purposes. The result was the 
 sale of the old home of the High School, and the erec- 
 tion of the present building, begun in 1868, and com- 
 pleted in 1869, at an expense of $160,000. 
 
 On his first coming to Hartford from college Samuel 
 was received into the family of Rev. Dr. Hawes, where 
 I had found a home for six years, or nearly the whole 
 period of my residence in the city. But with the pur- 
 pose, as we have seen, of taking up teaching as a pro- 
 fession, he was soon looking for a home of his own, and 
 a very youthful, almost childhood friendship having 
 sufficiently ripened, he married Miss Eunice M. Chapin, 
 in November, 1854. 
 
 And Samuel was most happy in his home. All the 
 blessings with which a busy memory surrounded the 
 home of his childhood, were realized over again in 
 
I« BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 his own home at the cottage in Hawthorn St. Children 
 were born — Helen Maria, in March, 1858, and Alice 
 Louise, in March, 1862. It is the painting that hangs 
 now in the sitting room. But the pictures from their 
 father's pen, as we received them in India, were even 
 more beautiful. It has often occurred to me that, if 
 an incognito were possible, I should like the privilege 
 of publishing some of those letters under the title, 
 " Home Scenes from Overland Letters," . or, "Nellie's 
 Life, as gathered from the Home Letters of a Mission- 
 ary." You know the sequel — that fatal visitation of 
 scarlet fever — but in order that you may know Samuel 
 better, let me quote from his own account, written two 
 weeks after the children's death : 
 
 UxBRiDCxE, January 25, 1863. 
 My Dear Brother, 
 
 Nellie and Alice lie side by side over in the 
 cemetery. We laid them down to rest amid a violent storm. The sky 
 was black with clouds, which poured torrents of rain upon us, and the 
 wind blew a gale. Oh how gloomy and desolate was the scene. It 
 was "the land of darkness as darkness itself." 
 
 But, blessed be God, it was all bright above. Up through our tears, 
 and through the thick, overhanging clouds, we could see heaven 
 opened, and our loved ones safely at rest there. Nellie gave us all the 
 evidence that we could desire in one so young, that she tenderly loved 
 her Saviour. She called herself "Jesus' little lamb," and listened to no 
 stories more intently than to those about Him. As to Alice, of course 
 we cannot doubt that she has gone up to Him who said, " Suffer the 
 little children to come unto me." Strange as it may seem, I had 
 already become persuaded that Alice would develop a beautiful Chris- 
 tian character. This was not merely because we had consecrated her, 
 as we believed, entirely to Christ, and were hoping to train her up for 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 1 9 
 
 His service, but I had observed ah'eady such traits of character that I 
 
 could not help feeling and saying to E , that I believed she would 
 
 make an uncommon Christian if she lived. 
 
 Two sweeter children, it seems to me, were never given to any 
 parents, and I feel profoundly grateful that we had such unmingled joy 
 in them so long. Nellie was most truly a " sunbeam " in our house. 
 She hardly knew what it was to be unhappy. During the two months 
 that she spent at Whitinsville, though she longed to see mamma and 
 papa, yet she was buoyant and cheerful all the time. She was thoroughly 
 obedient, ardently affectionate, inexpressibly kind and tender, and 
 withal bright and very sociable. Almost every day, the moment my 
 head appeared above the brush by the railroad bank, the cottage door 
 would open, and those dear little feet would come scampering toward 
 me, carrying a little body which was a perfect picture of health and joy. 
 Then, as I bent over to take her, she would clasp her little arms about 
 my neck and kiss me, oh, so sweetly, and there she would cling until 
 I set her down again on the doorstep. Meantime she would be telling 
 me, as briskly as possible, the news about home, what her kitties had 
 been doing, or what callers there had been, and inquire what I had 
 brought, and what was the news about the war. In two minutes my 
 cares and troubles about the school vanished, and I gave myself up to 
 domestic happiness. 
 
 Her affection for Alice was truly remarkable, and I had anticipated a 
 world of pleasure in seeing those two sisters grow up together. They 
 were widely different in their characteristics, but seemed peculiarly 
 adapted to each other. Their separation seemed so dreadful that, when 
 Nellie left us, I don't know but I wished that Alice might be with 
 her. 
 
 ****** * * 
 
 You know that one of our chief objects in moving into the city was 
 that Nellie might attend the Sabbath school and church. Mrs. Brown 
 had enrolled her name. Nellie had been anticipating it for months, and 
 the next Sabbath after she was taken sick was to have been her first as 
 a scholar in the infant class. 
 
 Then Nellie was to hear Mr. Calkins' sermon to children, and it had 
 been all arranged that at the time of the next sermon Alice should be 
 
20 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 baptized, (Mr. Calkins' first baptism,) and Nellie was to occupy one of 
 the settees in front of the pews, where she could see everything. Oh, 
 how she would have enjoyed it ! Instead of that, about an hour before 
 Nellie's funeral, she was carried in her casket into the room where Alice 
 was supposed to l)e almost dying, and there, with a little circle of 
 friends standing about, sweet Alice was baptized. The service was 
 somewhat formal, but more impressive on that account, as we were 
 obliged to respond aloud, "I do," when Mr. Calkins asked us if we 
 gave her entirely up to God. 
 
 So, too, we had been anticipating the pleasure which Nellie would 
 take in all the comforts of the new house, and she was with us just long 
 enough to show how much she would have enjoyed it, and how cheerful 
 she would have made it for us. Those two days were bright days. She 
 caused us to observe at once the wonderful change which her presence 
 made, as her clear voice and elastic step were heard everywhere. Her 
 little soul was overflowing with joy, and she went caroling about, making 
 us all happy. 
 
 But undoubtedly the time was well chosen. She had been in the 
 house just long enough to make herself pleasantly associated with every 
 part of it, but not as at the cottage. There every spot of ground in the 
 beautiful yard seems to be hallowed by some reminiscence of her, and 
 the cottage was where she first began to waddle from one chair to 
 another. We feel very grateful that we are not there now. 
 
 * -*- ****** 
 
 You may be ready to think that it was well she was removed from us, 
 because we were so proud of her. If this be so, we are not at all 
 conscious of it, * * * That we laved her too well is more than 
 possible, and perhaps God has taken her to Himself in order to draw 
 our own affections up thither. 
 
 Yet I cannot but feel that we had sincerely given our children entirely 
 to God, to do with them as He should deem best, and I bless His name 
 that from the first of their sickness He has enabled us to feel fully 
 resigned to His will. The rod falls upon us, indeed, with crushing 
 . weight. Our treasures are taken from us. Our fondest hopes and 
 favorite plans are dashed to the ground. 
 
 ******** 
 
 But it was ordered, for some good purpose, that we should be left 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 21 
 
 alone, to mourn the loss of all who could address us by those endearing 
 names, "Mamma "and "Papa." (Nellie, by the way, gave a peculiar 
 fascination to those words. She had a way of saying them which went 
 straight to our hearts, and called out our tenderest affections.) * * * 
 Yes, it was ordered in wisdom and in love. " I was dumb, I opened not 
 my mouth; because thou didst it." Surely if we cannot confide in our 
 Heavenly Father, we are without any refuge. We can but say, "Though 
 He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." But the past will never be 
 reproduced again. Henceforward we shall keep our eyes fixed upon 
 the heavenly hills, for we have " laid up treasures " there. Our feet 
 will hasten on to the stream which separates us from our precious 
 children; too eager, I fear, at times, to press the farther bank. 
 
 It is wonderfully comforting to feel, as we do most fully, that Nellie 
 and Alice are really happier now than they could have been here. The 
 change has been no loss to them. When Nellie was suffering intensely 
 with the terrible disease, her piteous moans pierced me, like so many 
 spears, with real agony. But when I saw a placid smile spreading over 
 her sweet face, as she drew her last breath, I felt an unexpected and 
 inexpressible relief to know that she was at rest, beyond the reach of 
 sickness and pain. 
 
 ******** 
 
 And here it flashes upon me that I shall have no occasion again to 
 tell you how the dear children are. 
 
 Well, these mysteries will be explained sometime, and we shall be 
 led to adore the wisdom and love and grace of our blessed Master. 
 
 This letter discloses to us something of the struggle 
 in the tender heart of the father, between parental 
 grief and Christian faith. He was determined that his 
 heart should be right, but in the first agitation of 
 bereavement he little knew what spirit he was of. And 
 perhaps it is often so, when observing friends report of 
 the bereaved that they seem to be wonderfully sus- 
 tained. The summer found Samuel broken down in 
 4 
 
22 ■ BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 health and spirit, and hence the resignation of his 
 position in the Grammar School, and the trip to Europe. 
 It was a year of busy recreation, and sight-seeing, and 
 study, but through all that period the heavy cloud of 
 sorrow hung over him, darkening his path, and hiding 
 the benevolent face of his Heavenly Father. And 
 though Christian faith prevailed at last, such was his 
 disappointment that his prayer — and what he felt sure 
 was believing prayer — had not been answered in the 
 recovery of his children, that he reconstructed his 
 theory of prayer, and for years held that our petitions 
 for temporal blessings should be confined chiefly to 
 those of a general nature, and as to specific temporal 
 wants, though we might confide them to God, it was 
 not well to urge them, or lay any stress upon them, as 
 if in such things the prayer of faith could change the 
 course of His providence. This is the theory of dis- 
 appointment and submission, rather than of a childlike 
 trust, which would run to our Heavenly Father with 
 every request, little and large, and expect Him to grant 
 it if He can. Still he was pondering and learning, 
 and only a short time before his death he had a con- 
 versation with a very intimate friend on this subject, 
 and, I think, had his doubts cleared up, and was led 
 back to views for which he was very grateful. The 
 first sentence of his message to me, a day before I was 
 
 permitted to enter the sick room, was, " Tell B 
 
 that I believe in prayer." It would have sounded 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 23 
 
 Strange but for the evident allusion to a conversation 
 which we had last summer upon prayer for specific 
 temporal blessings. 
 
 On the trip to Europe Samuel had the company of 
 his wife and sister, and of other relatives and friends, 
 making a party of eight at the outset, though he stayed 
 beyond them all. They sailed from New York in the 
 Great Eastern, Sept. 8, 1863, arrived at Liverpool the 
 20th, and in Paris the 29th. Remaining in Paris 
 through the months of October and November, they 
 spent December in the south of France, including three 
 weeks at Nice, and crossed the Alps to Turin and 
 Genoa. Then it was two weeks at Naples, and two 
 months at Rome, Florence three weeks, and so on, and 
 May in Switzerland. He then proceeded to Liverpool, 
 to send Mrs. Capron and his sister to the United States, 
 and himself turned back to Germany for four months' 
 study of the German. This time was spent chiefly in 
 Halle. He took a German steamer for New York 
 about the middle of October, and reached Hartford in 
 November, in season to vote for Mr. Lincoln, for his 
 second term. 
 
 He was disappointed only on this trip by the loss of 
 a visit to England, which had been postponed to the 
 visit to the Continent, but it was made up by a most 
 delightful visit to Great Britain and Ireland, with three 
 of his pupils, in the summer vacation of 1871. 
 
 I have already alluded to Samuel's disposition to 
 
24 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 retire from teaching on his return from the year in 
 Europe. He was in vigorous health, and might hope 
 to preserve his health better by a more active life. His 
 neighbors and fellow-townsmen received him with great 
 cordiality, and with certainly a greater manifestation of 
 interest than awaited him in Hartford, and they were 
 much disappointed at his decision to leave them again 
 after those five months at home. 
 
 The last nine years spent at the High School are 
 those by which he will be best remembered in Hart- 
 ford. But his experience as an instructor had been 
 largely gained in those previous years in the Grammar 
 School department, where his time was wholly devoted 
 to teaching the classics. At that time, indeed, he had 
 almost the whole work of classical instruction to do 
 personally — from the paradigms to the final review — 
 and he felt more secure of the preparation of his pupils 
 for college than was possible with never so good assist- 
 ants, but the divided resi3onsibility of subsequent 
 years. 
 
 And the change for him might have been a dan- 
 gerous experiment, after ten years of confinement to the 
 classics (and an Andover fitting) if it had not been that 
 he had naturally an enthusiastic love for mathematics 
 and the sciences. But he took up astronomy with 
 greater ardor than Virgil, and though he had declined 
 some urgent requests to edit volumes of the classics, 
 the state of his health only kept him from volunteering 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 25 
 
 the preparation of a text-book on astronomy. But, with 
 his fideUty to the ordinary duties of school, he never 
 could have endured the extra labor of publication. I 
 suspect that the compilation of that little book of 
 school lyrics was sufficiently laborious and vexatious to 
 warn him off from the fields of authorship. There was, 
 indeed, no other field of authorship that tempted him 
 in the least, except that of school books. When men- 
 tioning to Mrs. Capron that she might find in his desk 
 papers which seemed to have been carefully prepared, 
 he added that they were on no account for publication. 
 " Writing," said he, " was never my forte." 
 
 As his intimate friend, you have for years been 
 familiar with his happy home life, and if you had not 
 been, that letter about Nellie and Alice, though so full 
 of sorrow, would disclose the fact, as it must have been, 
 when children again appeared on the scene. Clara 
 Day is now nine years old, Bertha Chapin six, and 
 William Cargill four— all too young to appreciate 
 their loss, though perhaps all will remember him. 
 
 Although I spoke of Samuel as coming home from 
 Europe in vigorous health, he was never what you 
 would call rugged and strong. Both his foreign trips 
 were of immense service to his health, and he had come 
 almost to depend on a sea voyage, longer or shorter, in 
 the summer vacation, to recruit him for the duties of a 
 new school year. It now seems unfortunate that he failed 
 of this in both of the last two summers. Still he ap- 
 
26 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 peared less prostrated last summer than usual, and none 
 of us apprehended that he would not go through the 
 winter with at least his usual health. 
 
 It is too late now for regrets, or we might wish that 
 he had favored himself somewhat when he found that 
 he was going beyond his strength. For instance, he 
 was quite unfitted for the exposure to the cold in star- 
 gazing, with his class in astronomy. He hardl}^ re- 
 flected that while the class came by sections and 
 remained but a little while, he had two or three times 
 as great exposure, because he stayed through. 
 
 It was at such an exercise, one night about the ist of 
 December, that he caught a cold which he never shook 
 off. A common cold, indeed, with him was a pretty 
 serious matter, especially in winter, and in term time, 
 and after the anxiety and care of illness in his family. 
 Ten or twelve days later, as he was struggling toward 
 the end of the term, the teachers advised him to give 
 up and lie by a few days, and he remained at home 
 nearly the whole of the week preceding Christmas 
 week, and thought that he had the better of his cold. 
 On Monday of Christmas week he returned to school, 
 having girded himself for the last two days of the term 
 and the closing examination, and came home to the 
 well-appreciated luxury of a vacation to be sick in. 
 Thursday was Christmas. He enjoyed the festivities 
 of the day with his family, and his next older brother 
 and wife, barring only the severe cold. It seems now 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 2'] 
 
 the fatal mistake that on Friday, a raw, chilly day, he 
 started down town to pay some out-standing bills for 
 the High School, in order to clear off the last obstacle 
 to a free and easy vacation. He seems to have walked 
 the whole way because he did not dare to expose him- 
 self to the danger of taking more cold in the street car, 
 and the result was, that when he returned, his feet, as 
 he said, were like ice, and his lungs were on fire. That 
 very night he felt that it was his last sickness. Mrs. 
 Capron writes that " when that dreadful pain came on 
 in his side, he said, ' Oh, E., this is a fatal stab. I 
 never had anything before like this.' He continued 
 very ill all night, though he had times of relief from 
 severe pain." 
 
 The next day, when, on the second visit of the doc- 
 tor, the disease was pronounced pneumonia, he had 
 already made arrangements for supplying his place in 
 the school, and had sent Mr. Hall several messages 
 about school matters. When he knew the doctor's 
 decision, he said, " I have not strength to battle with 
 pneumonia. I know I shall not live." 
 
 It is easy now to see that his apprehensions were 
 well founded, and that the disease which had seized 
 him with such tremendous j^ower, scarcely loosened its 
 hold upon him until he relinquished his hold on life. 
 On Tuesday morning the doctor seemed to hope that 
 the fever was broken, and again, at the end of a week 
 from the attack, on F'riday evening, January 2, the 
 
28 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 doctor went home in evident hope that the disease had 
 taken a favorable turn. But it was the dehision of but 
 a very few hours, and Saturday morning assembled us 
 by such startling news of a change for the worse, that 
 the most of us lingered at his bedside, or in the vicinity 
 of the sick room, till the end. It was the first time 
 that I had seen him. I wish that you had had the 
 same privilege ; and, now that we know the result, I 
 cannot but wish that we could have had the same free- 
 dom to speak of death that he had. 
 
 You will not infer that his apprehension of a fatal 
 termination of the disease was of the nature of fear. 
 He was the calmest and least agitated of all in that 
 sick room. Mrs. Capron writes that on Sunday after- 
 noon he wanted to talk with her about dying, and when 
 she could not conceal her agony at the thought, he 
 said, " I know it will be terrible for you, terrible. How . 
 gladly would I si3are you the sorrow if it were possible, 
 but I think we had better talk about it now we are 
 alone. We may not have another opportunity." And 
 then, in words which are, doubtless, treasured up in 
 precious memory, he alluded to their hapj^y life, and 
 his sorrow at parting from her and the dear children, 
 but assured her that death had no terrors for him — 
 that all was peace and joy. " It is no more for me to 
 die," he said, " than it would be now to rise from the 
 bed and walk out the door of this room." He spoke to 
 others of his prevailing peace. To me he said, speak- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 29 
 
 ing very slowly, and with difficulty, " I want to say 
 that my mind has been perfectly at rest. I am willing 
 to leave it all with the Lord. When I think of the 
 
 separation from E , it is dreadful, of course, but the 
 
 Lord will take care of her." At the same time he said, 
 " I have had doubts now and then, about this and that, 
 but they are all gone now." Li no distrust of his peace 
 of mind, but rather to draw him out, I said, " You don't 
 put any confidence in a good life, or anything of that 
 kind ? " " Not a bit of it," he replied, with manifest 
 disgust. " But only in Jesus Christ as the Saviour of 
 sinners ? " " That's it," he replied. He said at another 
 time. " I want to hand down to my children the testi- 
 mony of my strong personal faith in Jesus Christ." 
 
 Mrs. Capron mentions of the earlier days of his 
 illness, that " he loved to have some one pray with him 
 often, and to hear passages of Scripture. He often 
 repeated the 23d Psalm, and the hymn '' Rock of Ages." 
 The two lines — 
 
 "Nothing in my hand I bring, 
 Simply to Thy cross I cling ; " 
 
 he loved to repeat over and over again. 
 
 He left affectionate messages for some of his friends 
 — for you and others of the church ; for the teachers 
 of the High School, "Tell them I always loved that 
 old High School;" for Mr. Johnson (Chairman of the 
 High School Committee), " Tell him that he has made 
 everything very pleasant for me in my position." All 
 5 
 
30 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 that week he spoke often of his dear children, and every 
 night they came in for dear papa's good night kiss. 
 Saturday night they came as usual, but this time it was 
 not " good night," but '' good bye, my darlings, good 
 bye ; be good children. I shall go Jionic Sunday." 
 
 He had estimated very correctly the time of his 
 decease, and in a very serious manner suggested that 
 for the last half day of his life, when it was not possible 
 to change the result, opiates and stimulants should be 
 entirely omitted, in order to leave his mind clear, and 
 not needlessly protract the scene. " But," said he, " I 
 have told you what I should like, and you must do 
 what you think best." Such attention was paid to his 
 wish that his mind was unclouded to the end, or, rather, 
 till consciousness ceased. 
 
 The doctor came at about eight o'clock on Sunday 
 morning, but Samuel did not observe him, and was fast 
 ■ passing into unconsciousness. Rubbing his chilly 
 hands, so as to warm them before feeling the pulse of 
 his patient, the doctor said in a clear voice, " Good 
 morning, Mr. Capron." " Good morning," was the 
 reply ; the last words of our dear one on earth, and a 
 half hour later, (at twenty minutes before nine) he had 
 opened his eyes to the brightness of a Sabbath morning 
 in heaven. 
 
 Very affectionately yours, 
 
 W. B. CAPRON. 
 
SAMUEL M. CAPRON, 
 
 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 BY 
 
 MARGARET BLYTIIE. 
 
 The attempt to transport a person whom we have 
 known out of the reahii of hfe into that of Hterature, is 
 always a difficult one. But perhaps one never feels so 
 keenly the imperfection of the correspondence between 
 words and the thoughts which they represent, as when 
 he tries to convey to another the idea of some excep- 
 tionally symmetrical and well-balanced character. He 
 feels a difficulty like that of the portrait-painter who 
 should essay to make a characteristic and spirited 
 likeness of a faultlessly regular face. The picture 
 would be better if the subject were less beautiful. 
 
 No one can write of Mr. Capron without fearing that 
 his words will read hke an ideal sketch of the perfect 
 man. Of all the men whose lives were ever written, 
 this is he whom his biographer would least desire to 
 
32 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 overpraise. Living, he loved the truth, and shunned 
 applause ; the voice would be unfriendly that should 
 affront his ashes with a eulogy misplaced. Yet words 
 truly spoken of him, let them be guarded how they 
 may, will seem to praise him out of reason. Nor can 
 one action of his* life be named, — far less can the sum of 
 his work be reckoned, — unless one should speak of that 
 matchless character which his friends would gladly 
 leave to be its own remembrancer ; for what he did 
 was the result of what he was, and what he was, was 
 still the measure of what he could do. It is not always 
 so. Many a time the teacher, the poet, the preacher, 
 is greater than the man : but he, who surpassed other 
 men in so much, was above them not least in this, that 
 he was more real in all his qualities than they. His 
 teaching was himself. 
 
 He was not a teacher of genius, if by genius is meant 
 a development of one faculty at the expense of others. 
 He was great as the head of a school through the same 
 qualities that would have made him great anywhere 
 else. If he had been in business, he would have under- 
 stood that business so much better than anyone else 
 that he would speedily have become necessary to it. If 
 he had been the colonel of a regiment, he would have 
 been deeply feared, passionately loved, and intrepidly 
 followed by his men. If he had been a prime minister, 
 he would have been the mild unconscious autocrat of 
 his cabinet. 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 33 
 
 Most eminent teachers have had one qiiahty in com- 
 mon : a vivid enthusiasm, joined to a power of express- 
 ing it which at times amounted to an inspiration. In 
 Miss Lyon this characteristic was combined with an 
 overpowering sense of spiritual things. In another 
 woman, scarcely less distinguished, but, happily, still 
 living, it is re-enforced by personal beauty, strong mag- 
 netism, and a sympathy always warm and vital. In 
 Arnold of Rugby it was united to an exceptional 
 loftiness of mind. 
 
 If this be a law, Mr. Capron was an exception to it. 
 His enthusiasm was a deep, smouldering heat. He 
 could communicate it through the subtle channels of 
 conduct ; he could feed it by prompt, unselfish action : 
 the one thing he could not do was to express it in 
 words. His addresses to the school were admirable 
 for precision, clearness, and temperance ; they were 
 rarely instinct with fire. When he spoke on subjects 
 of importance there was an almost comic disproportion 
 between his unimpassioned words and the feeling they 
 represented, that sometimes provoked a smile of loving 
 amusement from those who knew him best. But this, 
 which would have been a defect in any other man, 
 became in him the source of a certain power. When 
 people habitually allow for some peculiarity of mind or 
 manner in others, it is in the nature of the case that 
 they should often allow too much. Let it once be 
 understood that a man never says as much as he 
 
34 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 means, and he will frequently be supposed to mean 
 many things that he never thought of. Thus Mr. 
 Capron's known reticence gave to his lightest word a 
 weight of which he was not himself aware. His praise 
 and blame sank into the mind, and were remembered 
 for years. " Mr. Capron never praised me but once," 
 says one to whom life has certainly not been unkind 
 since then ; " I wrote some Greek on the board, and he 
 said it was well done. That was more to me than all 
 the little successes I have stumbled upon since." 
 
 All his methods were marked by the simple and 
 quiet habit of his mind. He never wasted words or 
 provoked unfruitful discussion. A stranger to him and 
 to the school was standing with him one day when a 
 scholar came up to prefer a request. It was a young- 
 man from one of the upper classes, who wished to be 
 dismissed for that day at an earlier hour than usual. 
 It was the sort of case in which custom demanded a 
 note from the authorities at home, and no doubt the 
 applicant knew that, but being of a sanguine turn, had 
 probably hoped to carry his point by sheer audacity. 
 He put his request with an air of much confidence, 
 stating his case at some length and with great fluency. 
 Mr. Capron — who had probably a hundred things to do 
 at that moment, in different parts of the building — 
 showed no impatience, and did not interrupt the orator 
 by so much as a look ; only, when the tale was ended, 
 he dropped out quietly, and as it were accidentally, the 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 35 
 
 -words : " Yoii,must bring a note." The phrase was so 
 brief, the tone so matter-of-course, that the spectator of 
 this httle scene took them for entire assent, and never 
 guessed that they meant refusal, till she caught the 
 blank discomfiture in the petitioner's face. Not an- 
 other word was spoken, and it did not seem to occur to 
 either party that another was needed. Sometimes this 
 peculiarity of manner made Mr. Capron a little formid- 
 able to people who did not know him well. New 
 scholars of a timid disposition, going up to him for 
 the first time to relate their own misdeeds, would occa- 
 sionally be thrown by it into a state of terror the more 
 ludicrous as he was quite innocent of the effect he pro- 
 duced, and kindly set their agitation down to remorse. 
 If he would have blustered, or even argued, they would 
 have known what he meant, but the calm, the silence, 
 the attention, were ominous, and suggested thunder. 
 
 Much of the impression of finality that attended Mr. 
 Capron's decisions arose from that keen sense of jus- 
 tice which in him amounted almost to genius. Expe- 
 diency, of the shuffling and paltering sort, did not 
 enter into the counsels of his mind. He applied a 
 general principle to individual cases with a uniformity 
 which made it seem like a law of nature. Thus his 
 processes, into which no occult motive entered as an 
 element, could always be verified by those who were 
 interested in the result. 
 
 This was simple integrity, nothing more ; and it was 
 
36 THE MAN AND THP: TEACHER. 
 
 not with him a calculation, but the necessity of his 
 nature ; but one must have seen something of the in- 
 side working of schools, to know how much friction may 
 be saved by mere honesty. Under Mr. Capron every 
 scholar became, to a certain extent, his own judge : if 
 his wishes were thwarted, he might be dissatisfied with 
 the structure of the universe, and the general constitu- 
 tion of things ; he rarely blamed his principal. 
 
 Yet no man was less servile to routine. Exposed, 
 especially at certain seasons, to ceaseless importunities 
 from scholars and their friends, — comj^elled hourly to 
 deny, to grieve, to disappoint, — wounded through his 
 tenderness and his compassion, — he seized eagerly upon 
 any reason which justified him in relaxing rule. So 
 long as it appeared that a case, however great its hard- 
 ship, could not in fairness be taken out of the general 
 category, entreaty might distress, but could not move 
 him ; once let it be shown to be in the smallest degree 
 exceptional, and he was not only ready but anxious to 
 show indulgence. Only those who possessed his inti- 
 mate confidence knew how much he suffered from the 
 necessity of inflicting pain that was often laid upon 
 him. 
 
 Once it chanced that one of his teachers was called 
 into the room where he was holding a conference with 
 the mother of a boy who had somehow come in danger 
 of the council. Nobody knows, now, exactly what he 
 had done, or was likely to suffer ; probably nothing worse 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 37 
 
 was threatened than a month's suspension ; — and the 
 mother had come to intercede. It was the old, sad his- 
 tory ; she was a widow, she had nothing but this boy, 
 she had made great sacrifices to keep him at school, 
 and now he would lose a month, and probably his place 
 in his class, and all would be for naught. She told 
 her story with piteous tears and heartbreaking detail ; 
 it was only a boy going to be suspended, but it was 
 like the end of the world to her. Mr. Capron was very 
 gentle, very patient, but quite inflexible. Pressed with 
 other business as he was, he let her talk and cry, and 
 begin her story over and over again, but he could not 
 give her any hope. It would appear from the story 
 that the conscience of the culprit had anticipated jus- 
 tice, and that his offence had not yet been brought 
 officially before Mr. Capron, for it is remembered that 
 he said : " If the case is as you state it, I see no reason 
 for making it an exception." Here the teacher, who 
 had been set down at a corner of the table to get up 
 the statistics of the matter, j^ointed out a slight techni- 
 cal flaw in the case against the boy, which did not at 
 all diminish his real fault, but of which Mr. Capron 
 might take advantage to reprieve him, if he chose. 
 He caught at the suggestion ; his set face bright- 
 ened ; he straightened himself, pulled the papers to 
 him across the table, ran over the statement with his 
 miraculous speed and certainty. In two minutes it was 
 all settled ; the mother was drying her eyes and going 
 6 
 
38 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 out at the door, and Mr. Capron was shutting it behind 
 her. When she was fairly gone, he turned round with 
 a bright look of intelligence and sympathy that he had 
 sometimes for his friends, and exclaimed, " Well ! that 
 was a good thing, wasn't it ?'' ending with one of his 
 rare cordial laughs, full of relief and happiness. It put 
 him in spirits for the rest of the afternoon. It is a pity 
 to be obliged to add that the delay jDroved of no use, 
 and that in the fullness of time the unhappy young 
 scapegrace was suspended all the same. 
 
 Most people who greatly influence others have re- 
 course in doing so to means more or less circuitous. 
 Indirection is God's own way with us, we are told, and 
 assuredly there is nothing ignoble in choosing to rule 
 by those gentle and unforceful methods which often 
 demand from those who use them so large a sacrifice of 
 pride and temper. Yet even innocent contrivance 
 looked like trickery when it was set. beside the straight- 
 forwardness of Mr. Capron's habitual dealings. Both 
 the strength and the weakness of his nature unfitted 
 him to govern by any sort of circumlocution. His 
 courage would have revolted at it, even if he could have 
 found the diplomacy it required. But there was no 
 disdain in his choice of a method, if that can be called a 
 choice which was instinctive with him. He could only 
 move in straight lines, but he would have been the first 
 to acknowledge that the arc has as good reason for ex- 
 isting as the chord. He would have said that he lacked 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 39 
 
 tact for roundabout ways ; and it was true that his tact 
 was mainly such as his kindness taught him. His way 
 of gaining a point with you was usually to state the 
 case in hand exactly as it was, to explain what he 
 thought would be best for all concerned, and to take 
 it for granted that you could have no other desire than 
 to do the really best thing. If he thought the general 
 good required some sacrifice on your part he said so, as 
 simply as if selfishness had been a lost art. In weaker 
 hands, this method might have failed ; it was curiously 
 successful in his. If he sometimes lost a battle for 
 want of strategy, his victories were doubly valuable, 
 because they were victories of two. He did not stir 
 you up to a glow of generosity, as some people might 
 have done, but while he talked in his unexaggerated, 
 prosaic way, you forgot yourself if you were ever so 
 selfish, and suddenly it seemed the only natural, the 
 only possible, thing to forego your own wish for the 
 common benefit. It was the sheer, downright weight 
 of character and example. His life was so consistent 
 that it formed an unbroken chain, and the whole force 
 of it was felt at every point. 
 
 But though he expected the public interest to be par- 
 amount with everybody, it would be a mistake to sup- 
 pose that he habitually sacrificed the scholars to the 
 school, or that his interest in them was merely profes- 
 sional. Every*pupil is so much the most important 
 object in the world to himself, that it is not easy to 
 
40 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 astonish him by the interest you take in him. The best 
 proof of Mr. Capron's minute and personal care for his 
 scholars is the fact that it did astonish some of them. 
 Of ten who should be asked what most struck them in 
 him, five would probably reply : " The time he was wil- 
 ling to devote to my personal affairs, and the memory 
 he had for them, both while I was in school and after I 
 had left it." 
 
 Those who most valued Mr. Capron wondered some- 
 times what it was in him that inspired his scholars with 
 so deep a respect for his abilities. It was not scholar- 
 ship, for the great mass of them never met him in the 
 class-room. His addresses to the school were remark- 
 able only for directness and simplicity. It could not 
 all be an impression filtering down through the senior 
 class, always a small and exclusive body. Yet the least 
 and last urchin of the fourth class would speak of him 
 with awe as " a smart man." So far as this estimate is 
 to be ascribed to any one quality in him, it was, doubt- 
 less, due to his extraordinary executive faculty. In all 
 the daily exigencies of the school, the thousand-and-one 
 questions, involving a host of conflicting interests and 
 remote considerations, all endlessly complicated with 
 each other, which come up for the principal's decision, 
 he was never at fault, never flurried, never uncertain. 
 Perhaps it was not alone by reason of the singular 
 lucidity of his mind, but partly also because he had 
 never tampered with his convictions, that his judgment 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 4I 
 
 in all such matters was so sure and rapid. Through 
 the mass of side issues and accidental circumstances 
 that enveloped it, he pierced at once and with certainty 
 to the real differentia of a case. His practical wisdom 
 was like an inspiration. " I don't agree with Mr. 
 Capron on this point," said a teacher, himself mighty 
 in counsel, " but I hope he will settle the matter in 
 accordance with his own judgment, for experience has 
 taught me that when I differ from him I am sure to be 
 in the wrong." The view of a subject which dawned 
 upon others after long reflection was very likely to be 
 the first that occurred to Mr. Capron. His wonderful 
 rightness of mind showed him things in their true 
 aspects from the first ; and then all his intellectual 
 processes were exceptionally accurate and quick. His 
 mind was of an eminently serviceable order. All its 
 powers lay ready under his hand. The multiplicity of 
 cares could not confuse, fatigue could not cloud that 
 tranquil intelligence. He did everything as if he had 
 nothing else to do. A hundred threads ran through 
 his hand, and none were ever tangled or broken. The 
 care of his own classes was the simplest of his tasks. 
 In conducting a recitation as it is done in the High 
 School, a teacher is obliged to carry on simultaneously 
 a number of distinct trains of thought. Having put a 
 question, he must attend to the answer, assign to it a 
 mathematical value out of ten or twenty possible 
 marks, correct errors, frame the next question, select 
 
42 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 the next scholar, all at once, keeping meanwhile a 
 general grasp of the subject, and a general hold of the 
 class, and a general eye to the lapse of time, besides 
 minor matters. When to this was added the care of a 
 session-room, most teachers found it enough, and were 
 apt to be blind and deaf to external things. Mr. Capron 
 appeared to give an undivided attention to his recita- 
 tions ; he was never absent, never careless ; yet the 
 more general concerns of the school never suffered, and 
 he had senses all over the building. 
 
 He could not always understand why other people 
 could not do what seemed to him so simple. There 
 was a faucet in the building, which, being adroitly set, 
 used to produce a lugubrious wheezing, snoring, and 
 groaning, unlike the agonies of any other water pipe 
 ever known. It was not a very exquisite joke to waken 
 this music, but it was one perennially fresh to the 
 schoolboy mind. Age could not wither it, nor custom 
 stale its infinite variety. I speak, of course, not of the 
 school in general — most would have disdained so in- 
 fantile a trick — but of that residuum of idleness and 
 stupidity which always exists in such a body. When- 
 ever this was done, Mr. Capron used to have it stopped, 
 and so it happened that, though the teachers had all 
 heard the sound, their attention had never been called 
 to it. But one day when Mr. Capron had been away 
 attending some committee meeting or other, he came 
 in and found that it had been iroing on, heaven knows 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 43 
 
 how long. Nobody had thought of doing anything 
 about it ; indeed, I am certain some of the teachers 
 supposed it to be a legitimate noise, as inevitable as the 
 steam-whistle. There was a class reciting in the first 
 session-room Mr. Capron came to ; the presiding officer 
 was fathoms deep in her subject, and started when he 
 spoke at her elbow. " What wonderful people you all 
 are ! " he exclaimed, not impatiently, but with a sort of 
 amazement ; " think of your all sitting and listening to 
 that, and never thinking of stopping it ! " He said no 
 more, and doubtless the circumstance, being but a 
 transient ripple upon a general surface of unruffled 
 order, soon passed from his mind. ]^ut it is a mark of 
 the difference between him and other men, that the 
 memory of his annoyance and of her own neglect 
 lingers painfully to this day on the mind of the person 
 he addressed.' It was very unusual indeed for him to 
 say so much in the way of blame ; the school was so 
 perfectly organized, and those who taught in it desired 
 so earnestly to do their duty, that it was difficult for 
 anything to go very far wrong ; so that partly it was the 
 rarity of the event that made it memorable ; but more 
 it was that in all who had to do with Mr. Capron there 
 woke an implacable conscience that ditl not know how 
 to forgive a lapse in fidelity. 
 
 Mr. Capron was far above petty espionage, and 
 indeed the tone of the school was so high that there 
 was little need of police service ; but when any disorder 
 
44 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 did occur, he was wonderfully quick in divining its 
 precise nature, and in singling out the guilty persons. 
 He was so rarely at fault, that when he was so he did 
 not quite know how to take it. One day, during the 
 noon intermission, a kitten strayed or was smuggled 
 into the building, and some member of the senior class 
 thought it would be an admirable witticism to shut it 
 into the desk of a fellow-student. He expected, of 
 course, that it would soon be discovered and expelled, 
 and never meant the joke to trench upon study hours ; 
 but as ill-luck would have it, the owner of the desk did 
 not arrive until the session had begun, when, finding 
 himself embarrassed by this unusual piece of furniture, 
 and not knowing what else to do with it, he somehow 
 contrived to convey the hapless little beast into the 
 bookcase, where a door ajar concealed it from the 
 principal, while revealing it to everybody else. Any 
 creature but a cat would have jumped down and run 
 away, but this perverse animal made itself quite at 
 home on the narrow shelf, blinking comfortably at the 
 world between its naps, and occasionally taking a 
 stately walk, with a majestic sweep of its tail at the 
 turn. This sight was naturally too much for the class. 
 Attention flagged ; covert smiles jDassed about. The 
 principal scented mischief ; he glanced about, gave a 
 failure or two for slight offences, merely on general 
 principles, and by way of lowering the barometer a 
 little, but he could not make it out. Seeing that he 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 45 
 
 was somewhat annoyed, the class, who were devoted to 
 him, came up after school and told him all about it. He 
 smiled propitious and remitted the failures, and the 
 same evening told the story, with some glee and some 
 contrition, for having, as he said, lost patience. The 
 incident was such as might have happened any day in 
 any school ; the only remarkable thing about it is that 
 it was so long and so vividly remembered, both as a 
 solitary and astounding break in the awful decorum of 
 the senior class-room, and also because it was so unusual 
 for Mr. Capron to be in any degree perplexed or 
 baffled. 
 
 He was not only very shrewd in detecting a trick, 
 but very ingenious in good naturedly turning the tables 
 upon its authors. As the scholars would themselves 
 have expressed it, it was not easy to " get ahead of 
 him," This wisdom of the serpent in one so gentle 
 and sedate, and otherwise harmless as a dove, affected 
 people proiie to laughter with a comic sense of surprise. 
 In the senior room of the old building on Asylum 
 street there used to be a parlor croquet table, or a cue 
 alley, or something of that sort. This game was much 
 affected at one time by the juniors of that year ; it was 
 a passion, a furor ; at every recess the balls would 
 begin to roll almost before the bell had done sounding. 
 As there was a chronic feud between the senior and 
 junior classes, of course the seniors scorned this amuse- 
 ment on principle, and cherished as their particular 
 7 
 
4-6 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 fetish a pair of boxing gloves, armed with which their 
 athletes were wont to spar. It happened that Mr. 
 Capron had a recitation in Greek, which for want of 
 time he used often to prolong into the morning recess, 
 and as the class complained that they could not hear 
 his explanations for the clicking of the mallets, he 
 requested the juniors not to begin playing until this 
 recitation should be over. Through some misunder- 
 standing, however, the juniors, who were the best 
 disposed class in the world, did not attend to this 
 injunction, and the annoyance went on, unobserved by 
 Mr. Capron, who was not very sensitive to small inter- 
 ruptions. Those dignitaries, the classical seniors, not 
 unnaturally conceived this to be an affront to Mr. 
 Capron, and more especially to the dignity of the 
 senior class ; so by way of vindicating lawful authority, 
 in some secret hour they privately sequestered the 
 balls. I think they were carried about in somebody's 
 pocket for a week or two, both for safety and also for 
 greater commodity in producing them, should they be 
 peremptorily demanded by the authorities. At first 
 the juniors bore their wrongs in silence, but when a 
 reasonable time had elapsed 'without bringing back the 
 balls they grew impatient, and finally some one com- 
 plained to the principal. It was just one of those cases 
 where it is undignified and unwise to do anything, and 
 almost impossible to do nothing. Mr. Capron did not 
 promise to interfere, and made very little answer of 
 
THE MAN AND. THE TEACHER. 47 
 
 any kind to the complaint ; but in the course of a clay 
 or two the boxing gloves in their turn unaccountably 
 disappeared. Of course the juniors were instantly 
 accused of having hidden them ; it did not occur to 
 any one to suspect Mr. Capron, until, being casually 
 asked one day if he had seen the gloves, he gravely 
 replied that " he could not say, but he thought they 
 would probably come back when the balls did." This 
 solution, which had all the simplicity of genius, so 
 tickled both parties that if it did not heal the feud, it 
 at least soothed it for a season with a wholesome balm 
 of laughter. In justice to the seniors it must be said 
 that their manly hearts disdained to be worsted by 
 these tactics, and that they kept the balls a few days 
 longer on principle. 
 
 Ah, how pleasant the old memories are! and how 
 thick they crowd on each other ! He who was the 
 soul of it all seems alive again while we remember how 
 he looked and moved among us, and what words he 
 said. But none of these things reveal him. We waste 
 ourselves in words upon what was but external ; we do 
 not reach the heart of his mystery. Because he was 
 strong, skillful, wise, he could create a school; how 
 was it that he fashioned men and women ? How was 
 it that, coming within his circle, the untrained stupid 
 natural creature became a living soul ? What can we 
 say, but that Virtue regenerates those who look upon 
 her ? " It was not anything he did that impressed us," 
 
48 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 says one of his scholars, " he just was in the room and 
 hvecl with us." He never said that law is divine, and 
 that work is healing, but he was himself an embodied 
 order, a living diligence. He did not say that he found 
 life serious and levity unworthy, but somehow to those 
 who lived with him it seemed deeply important to do 
 right. 
 
 Still less was it his habit to speak of the religious 
 faith that lay deep and untroubled in the silent places 
 of his heart. With all his science, his reading, his 
 knowledge of the world and the world's thoughts, he 
 held it simply, like a child. Unbelief did not exist for 
 him, not even as an adversary ; it provoked him to no 
 heat, it found in him no sympathy ; he passed it by. 
 He knew neither the doubt that sneers nor the doubt 
 that weeps and prays. He did not tell these things, 
 but we knew them ; and while we looked on him, we 
 too believed. His spirit was reflected in a hundred 
 ways, transmitted through a hundred minds, and that 
 was the school. 
 
 Thus his direct influence upon his scholars was, after 
 all, but a fraction of his aggregate power. He multi- 
 plied himself through his teachers ; if he had been less 
 to them, he could not have been so much to the school. 
 So deep was his impress ujDon their own minds, and so 
 durable his moulding force upon the conditions under 
 which they worked, that those who served under him 
 cannot even now separate that part of their success 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 49 
 
 which is fairly their own from that part which had its 
 source in him. One of them used sometimes to stand 
 where he could look over a railing and watch a' great 
 slow shaft that turned a thousand flying wheels. As he 
 leaned and looked, he always thought of Mr. Capron. 
 " The small wheels buzz and hurry ; they seem full of 
 business ; and so they are, and in their place useful and 
 necessary, like us ; but the force is not in them." In 
 the love and loyalty of his heart, he pleased himself 
 with thinking so, not knowing, ah me! how near was 
 the end of all. When the shock came, and the ma- 
 chinery all stood still, in our first consternation we could 
 have wished that the world had ended with that throe ; 
 we thought we could not bear the familiar places, 
 another in the master's seat, and the work from which 
 the joy was gone. But life cannot end when we would 
 have it ; with many a painful jar we fit ourselves to the 
 new conditions, and falteringly go on. 
 
 It has been said that Mr. Capron was not a great 
 teacher by virtue of any special talent for teaching, but 
 rather through abilities which would have enabled him 
 to do many other things as well. So also, he was not 
 a great leader through any mere knack at command. 
 Some people are created by Heaven to govern us. 
 Against reason and probability, and without visible 
 effort, they subjugate people who may have a hundred 
 times their wit and goodness. Perhaps this power is 
 legitimate enough after its sort ; and doubtless in some 
 
50 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 inscrutable way it is for the good of mankind that it 
 should be so often conferred on those in whom it can 
 only serve more conspicuously to illustrate human folly ; 
 but however that may be, Mr. Capron's mastery was not 
 of that kind. His successes were all genuine. We 
 believed in him because in his province he was the ablest 
 man we knew ; we deferred to him because he was wiser 
 than us all ; we loved him for a goodness that was above 
 this world. However accomplished a teacher might be 
 in his own domain, he was very likely some time to dis- 
 cover that Mr. Capron was more at home there than 
 himself; or if in some cases he lacked special knowledge, 
 his easy grasp of a subject showed how readily he could 
 excel in it, if there were need to try. Did he know 
 how easily he was above us all ? I think he never took 
 time to find it out ; it is certain that his advantage was 
 less dear to him than for his sake it was to those over 
 whom he won it. By him alone of all men it was 
 pleasant to every one to be surpassed; and not the 
 meanest or the vainest of mankind could have grudged 
 him the victory which cost hjm so little, and of which 
 he took so little heed. 
 
 This breadth of scholarship enabled him to give help 
 and sympathy ; it never tempted him to domineer and 
 annoy. The air is not so- free as he left his assistants 
 in that which was their province. Thus unfettered, 
 they were doubly bound ; faith and honor were engaged 
 that they would do their best. Not that he would have 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 5 1 
 
 hesitated to interfere, if it had been necessary. He 
 knew perfectly what belonged to his office: he wore his 
 authority lightly, with a careless strength ; never ignobly 
 or weakly. But he had no need to speak. So high was 
 his own standard, so exquisite the finish of everything 
 he did, that he was himself a perpetual admonition. 
 His visits of inspection — when once you knew him — 
 were all pure happiness. One never taught so well, 
 with such ease and pleasant excitement, as when he sat 
 by, a visible but a kinder conscience. Only sloth or 
 incapacity could have been much afraid of that cordial 
 neighborhood. 
 
 Mr. Capron may be said to have discovered the min- 
 imum of resistance which it is possible to excite in 
 governing. With him, the natural difficulty of obedience 
 was not complicated by any feeling of personal opposi- 
 tion. If this was true in regard to his scholars, it was 
 doubly true of his teachers. However the principal of 
 a school may possess the confidence of his subordinates, 
 it would seem to be in the nature of things that there 
 should be sometimes a conflict of opinions, a deliberate 
 sacrifice of private conviction to authority. Mr. Capron, 
 however, was an example to the contrary. In yielding 
 to him there was no conscious submission: his way 
 recommended itself as the best ; his opinion had only 
 to be stated in order to be shared. The deference 
 which he commanded in meetings of the faculty might 
 have been called servile, if it had not been so affection- 
 
52 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 ate. He always invited free discussion, claimed but 
 one vote, and yielded without contest when the day 
 went against him ; but his doing so was an occasion of 
 consternation to the rest, so apt was it to be followed 
 by disaster. An almost unanimous vote would some- 
 times be reconsidered and reversed in consequence of a 
 decided opinion from him. But if his judgment had 
 been more fallible than it was, his ascendant would 
 hardly have been less. He bore rule sojsimply, so 
 nobly, with such absence of self-will and self-assertion, 
 that his wishes must always have been a law ; and if he 
 had lacked resources of his own, all that others pos- 
 sessed would have been wilhngly his. 
 
 His greatness of spirit was contagious. Where he 
 was, harmony was a habit ; magnanimity became a fash- 
 ion. Among so many teachers, succeeding each other 
 through so many years, not all could have been by 
 nature noble ; but most found grace to become or to 
 appear so. In his generous presence, small jealousies, 
 little rancors, could not live. "We have no family 
 quarrels," said one of those teachers, long ago, with a 
 gentle pride that belonged to her. The mere suspicion 
 of such a thing roused Mr. Capron to a rare passion of 
 incredulous indignation. " I never saw him really angry 
 but once," says another teacher, "and that was with 
 me. He thought I had been stirring up some petty 
 dissension — about the division of work it was ; and he 
 was quite right to think so, although it was not true. 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 53 
 
 He fell upon me like the angel Michael — if I had not 
 been innocent, I don't know what must have become of 
 me. He begged my pardon within the half hour ; he 
 was very angry with himself ; but for my part, I liked 
 him the better for his wrath." 
 
 Mr. Capron's utterly impersonal way of treating 
 matters of discipline, joined to the dryness of his man- 
 ner, used sometimes to give the impression of coldness. 
 *'A machine for dispensing justice — that is what he 
 seemed to me," said a scholar once. This impression 
 rarely survived anything like a close acquaintance, and 
 of late even comparative strangers ceased almost to 
 feel it. He changed and mellowed very much in the 
 last few years, as he was more and more appreciated ; 
 or rather he did not change, but that which represented 
 him to us came to express him more truly. But he 
 never learned to carry his heart upon his lips. He 
 was always a man whom it was necessary somewhat to 
 divine. Could he even have stooped to the art of pop- 
 ularity, it would have been a more difficult one for him 
 than for another man. The doubtful quality called 
 magnetism was not his. His manner afflicted many 
 people with a sort of constraint. "I always think Mr. 
 Capron is disapproving of me," said one. Yet there 
 was a charm in his presence. It was not only the help 
 he gave — it was not only that tangles were straightened 
 and rough things grew smooth and hard things easy 
 when he appeared. In himself he was a rest. There 
 
54 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 was comfort in the very set of his shoulders, as he walked 
 about the building. With him was no doubt, no uneasy 
 distrust. His words might come short of his thought, 
 but they never distorted it; the mind was not kept on 
 the stretch to allow for small insincerities ; you relied 
 with certainty on his strength and kindness; if you 
 were his friend, you also reposed in his fidelity. His 
 goodness shone. His reserve, his silence, his occasional 
 coldness and abruptness, could not veil its serene ray. 
 Young and simple creatures, whose self-love was not 
 hurt by his want of effusion, were especially susceptible 
 to his attraction. Some one who cared enough for him 
 to remember the little story, once happened to be with 
 him at the house of a friend of both. This lady had 
 two children, beautiful and intelligent boys, about three 
 and four years old, who had never seen Mr. Capron. 
 While the talk was going on, these little creatures stole 
 into the room, and leaning up against their mother's 
 lap, began to inspect the stranger, at first with shy 
 and fugitive glances, soon with rapt forgetful interest. 
 After awhile they gradually edged across the carpet 
 to the sofa where he sat, and the younger and bolder 
 laid a hand light as a leaf experimentally upon his knee. 
 As he took no notice of this whatever, they next 
 consulted each other by a look, and out of his intent- 
 ness and gravity the elder broke into a sudden chuckle 
 of ecstasy, instantly smothered by his good-breeding; 
 for, tiny as they were, they were models of childish 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 55 
 
 deportment. This was the end of their hesitations. 
 They were presently on the sofa beside him, chmbing 
 over his knees and his shoulders, twining under his 
 arms, and rubbing their little soft faces against his 
 cheeks, all without a sound ; while he calmly continued 
 his conversation, his natural dignity quite unimpaired 
 by these antics. The perfect contentment with this 
 state of things which was evident on both sides, in 
 spite of Mr. Capron's apparent unresponsiveness, was a 
 comfortable and tranquilizing sight. 
 
 It was inevitable that such a man should be over- 
 worked. He never spared himself where the school 
 was concerned, and in the end he sacrificed his life to 
 it. His views of the duties of a principal were pecu- 
 liar. If he was above all, it was, he thought, that he 
 might to better purpose be the servant of all. If power 
 was in his hands, it was that out of the common work 
 he might gather to himself all that was heavy, hard, or 
 disagreeable. Nobility obliged him. His unselfish- 
 ness, indeed, was beyond reason. He needed a keeper; 
 some affectionate and willful hand to take possession 
 of work that never should have been his. He did a 
 great deal of drudgery that others could have done as 
 well, and from which his higher duties might fairly have 
 exempted him. But he was so made that he did not 
 know how to demand a labor that he did not share ; 
 and his determination was so strong and so quiet that 
 it was not so easy to interfere as in our remorseful 
 
56 THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 
 
 thoughts we fancy now it might have been. Many a 
 time we vowed to lean upon him less, not to consult 
 him, to bear our burdens without his help ; but habit 
 and necessity were stronger than that resolve. He was 
 a man on whom it was natural to rely. It was impos- 
 sible to live with him and not to become dependent 
 on him*. So invincible was the habit of reliance upon 
 him, so instinctive the certainty that all would go right 
 in which he was concerned, that when he died, the con- 
 fused anguish and amazement of loss was mingled in 
 some minds with an obscure pang of surprise that 
 almost resembled a reproach. " He never failed us 
 before," it would have said, if it could ever have come 
 so far as speech. Without words, he invited confidence. 
 There was about him an air of safety and inviolable 
 discretion. That he should betray a trust or reveal a 
 secret, was an incongruous, an impossible idea. How 
 did he reconcile his secrecy with that transparent 
 veracity which made his mind like clear glass to those 
 who talked with him } That is a question for the 
 casuists who are disquieted about the practicability of 
 truth. Something, no doubt, he owed to his native 
 dignity of manner, which must have made it difficult 
 to ask him an impertinent question ; but more to courage 
 and simplicity. What is certain is that he always 
 knew a great many things which numbers of people 
 were interested in knowing also ; he never prevaricated, 
 and he never told what he did not wish to tell. 
 
THE MAN AND THE TEACHER. 5/ 
 
 To all who lived and labored with him, Mr. Capron 
 was a power, a succor, and an inspiration. There were 
 those to whom he was something more. No one can 
 fully understand his relations with his teachers who 
 does not know what he became to some of them, when 
 out of long companionship and unbroken faith a cloud- 
 less friendship dawned, and in its sunshine the secret 
 sweetness of his nature unfolded leaf by leaf. But 
 that story must be left unwritten. '* We knew him," 
 says one, perhaps more near to him than any, "but we 
 shall never make strangers understand why we honored 
 him and loved him so." Even to tell what that little 
 knot of friends was to him were hard — how they obeyed 
 him, served him, set him above all men ; to tell what he 
 was to them would be impossible. The free heart, that 
 gave, and never weighed its gift ; the unforced magna- 
 nimity ; the strength, at need less his than theirs ; the 
 constancy that was like a rock ; the deep and dear 
 lovingness 
 
 These are words ; too vain and vague to express the 
 power and meaning of his life. If from his upper 
 sphere one born of a nobler race came down and clasped 
 us, held us a little while in converse, and departed, 
 could we more describe him than to say of his face 
 that it was fair, and of his voice that it was lovely ? 
 Only the speech of the immortals can rightly syllable 
 immortal beauty. That in our friend which was but 
 common and earthly, we may reveal; his diviner part 
 eludes our praise. 
 
SCHOLARSHIP AND CHARACTER. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS A. THACHER, 
 
 Professor in Yale College. 
 
 New Haven, April 22, 1874. 
 My dear Sir : 
 
 As you requested, I send you in brief my impres- 
 sions of the character and influence of Mr. Capron as 
 a teacher. 
 
 I began to know him when he entered this college as 
 a Freshman, in the year 1849, ^'^'^^ ^^^ characteristics 
 which were observable in him while he was a student 
 here, remained with him ever after. He performed 
 with a steady, quiet, intelligent faithfulness the tasks 
 which were assigned him, never appearing to be anxious 
 to attract attention, but evidently desirous of making 
 his years of study truly profitable to himself. He did 
 not confine himself as a scholar to the course prescribed 
 by the institution, but took a broader and manlier view 
 
SCHOLARSHIP AND CHARACTER. 59 
 
 of his proper work than is usual at that time of hfe. 
 He did not drudge, but he did labor, honestly and earn- 
 estly, to make solid acquisitions, and, thus laboring, he 
 made his college life a constant growth, a growth not 
 only in knowledge, but, what is far better, in mental 
 strength and refinement. During these four years, 
 wdsely and faithfully spent, the boy became a culti- 
 vated man. 
 
 When he went forth from the pupilage of a college 
 to self-government, it was no great transition for him, 
 for he had, all the time, been self-governed, and his 
 character had been steadily maturing. College laws 
 did not interfere with his feeling of independence, any 
 more than did the laws of the State afterwards. The 
 careful performance of duty in the circumstances in 
 which he had voluntarily placed himself made him 
 grow steadily stronger in character. This growth was 
 attended with no noisy demonstration. It was as 
 still as the growth {ocailto aevo) of a tree ; but, as in 
 the growing tree, so in him every part was vital. If he 
 was not enthusiastic or excitable to the world around 
 him, there could be easily awakened within him a gentle 
 covert enthusiasm, which those who knew him well, 
 caught sight of and still remember. His soul was 
 capable of great gladness. He was not morose, or 
 censorious, or bitter. A tear might be ready to moisten 
 his eye, but he had no venom for his tongue. 
 
 His gentleness, however, did not spring from weak- 
 
6o SCHOLARSHIP AND CHARACTER. 
 
 ness, but from strength rather. He had no compro- 
 mises in his soul. He could have gone to the stake, 
 without outcry, for a principle himself; and if he could, 
 without remonstrance, see others sacrifice principle 
 rather than suffer, it was not because he did not realize 
 the greatness of their mistake and their sin. He was 
 capable of indignation ; but sorrow or the thought of 
 the Great Example could muffle his expression of it, 
 unless it was made plain that he could do good by 
 declaring himself. He was just and true. He was 
 "steadfast and immovable," but without being obstinate, 
 his air and manner never challenging opposition : on 
 the contrary, one was more likely to be surprised to 
 find the man who appeared so amiable, so well poised 
 and strong in his intelligent convictions. 
 
 But I need not further enumerate his good qualities. 
 They were growing qualities, which were developed 
 with growing strength and beauty after he went for- 
 ward from the position of a learner in college to that 
 of a teacher in a school, and even to the end of his 
 useful life. As we contemplate the twenty years which 
 he spent as a teacher, what do we find to have been the 
 secret of his success.'^ That he had success no one 
 doubts. When the sad news of his death spread over 
 the city where he dwelt, how many there were, who 
 responded, in their thoughts at least, that there was not 
 another man among the 40,000 inhabitants there, who 
 might not better have been spared ! The lamentation 
 
SCHOLARSHIP AND CHARACTER. 6 1 
 
 over him was not confined to those who were or 
 had been his pupils, nor to any circle of friends or 
 acquaintances, nor to any parish or denomination, nor 
 to any political association. This quiet, undemonstrative 
 teacher of a single school in a large city had, almost 
 unconsciously, come to be treasured in the hearts of 
 the whole community as a jewel of great worth, and 
 when he was taken away, the sense of personal loss was 
 almost universal. No magistrate, no clergyman, no 
 professional man, no private citizen, whatever his virtues 
 or good deeds, could have caused so deep and univer- 
 sal grief and regret by his death, as did Mr. Capron. 
 Certainly then his life of twenty years was a success. 
 
 If now we ask, what was the cause of this success as 
 a teacher, our answer must be, that it was in the man, 
 in what he was, in his qualities and characteristics. It 
 was the outworking of the man within into the sweet 
 and consistent and busy activities of his life, that made 
 him the great and growing blessing that he was to the 
 community. The good man, out of the good treasure 
 of his heart, brought forth good things. That substra- 
 tum of a strong and, at the same time, a lovely charac- 
 ter, was the essential thing. Without that, his outward 
 life could not have been what it was, or, even if it could 
 have been, it would have wanted that intangible life- 
 giving power, which has a deeper spring than is visible 
 to the eye. Let no man think that he can have Mr. 
 Capron's success by imitating Mr. Capron's methods, 
 9 
 
62 SCHOLARSHIP AND CHARACTER. 
 
 however minutely and constantly. He must begin 
 deeper. He must study the qualities and harmonies of 
 his character, and when he has caught his spirit, he may 
 begin to hope for his success. It is, however, far 
 easier to imitate actions than character, — far easier to 
 do than to be. 
 
 But although the qualities of his character were the 
 first requisites to his success, he would, of course, have 
 accomplished far less if he had had inferior mental 
 endowments. The possessor of two talents cannot, 
 however earnest his purposes, accomplish as much 
 as he could do with five talents. Mr. Capron had a 
 good mind, and it was well constituted. He had good 
 judgment. This appeared not only in the guidance of 
 his own studies and the studies of others, but in the 
 management of the affairs of the school, and of life in 
 general. Whatever he had to do, he had the habit of 
 doing judiciously. He was quick to discover what was 
 worth while, and what was idle and useless, and thus 
 escaped the waste and annoyance to himself and to 
 others, which come from the hesitation of a feeble 
 judgment. He was a thorough scholar, and he made 
 his pupils feel that no other scholarship was worthy of 
 the name, nor of any great value. They found that he 
 expected of them good, honest work, the faithful use of 
 their time, and, as his approbation was worth some- 
 thing, they were constantly influenced to do what he 
 expected. But there was something more valuable 
 cultivated in them than a desire to please him. There 
 
SCHOLARSHIP AND CHARACTER. 63 
 
 was something in the whole man, in his sound mind, 
 in his thorough scholarship, in his just treatment of 
 them, in his guileless trueness, in his faithful devoted- 
 ness to all their interests and to all the demands of 
 duty, and, with all, in his quiet evenness of temper, 
 which acted as a constantly transforming influence 
 upon the great body of his pupils. Not all, of course, 
 yielded to this influence. But it has certainly been a 
 most precious thing for hundreds, perhaps thousands of 
 youth to have been brought into the daily observation 
 of such a life. The results of his labors as a teacher 
 simply were tangible and striking. For years the 
 pupils of his school took rank with the foremost as 
 candidates for admission to the more advanced institu- 
 tions. Of those who passed directly from the completed 
 course of education in the High School to the various 
 occupations of life, I am not able to speak so confidently ; 
 but I have no doubt that they derived equal advantages 
 from Mr. Capron's services and administration. 
 
 One lesson from Mr. Capron's life as a teacher is so 
 obvious that it hardly needs mention. But he presents 
 one of the best illustrations I have ever met with, of 
 the truth, that a successful teacher must be a man, as 
 well as a scholar. 
 
 If it is the first rule of the orator, to bring into sym- 
 pathy with himself those whom he has to deal with, 
 much more should it be the rule of the teacher. It is 
 not enough to show fullness of knowledge, quickness 
 
64 SCHOLARSHIP AND CHARACTER. 
 
 to discover and correct mistakes, readiness to give the 
 full quota of instruction, although these things are 
 indispensable. Some sign of sympathy with success, 
 some sign of sympathy with earnest and honest en- 
 deavor, even if the endeavor end in failure, some sign 
 of the presence of a human soul, must betray itself 
 in the eye, or the tone, or in some demeanor, if not in 
 the words, of the teacher, or he will fail of the best 
 success. There is great power in personal respect 
 and esteem for a man of worth, to stimulate to activity 
 the mind of a youthful student and keep it from the 
 weariness which comes from long continued effort. 
 There is no grade of scholarship which does not feel 
 the touch of this power. The foremost are spurred 
 by it to an intenser struggle : the hindmost, unless 
 they are willingly the hindmost, gain confidence from 
 it to put forth their best efforts against failure. And, 
 what is better, it reaches beyond scholarship to the 
 character, and thus tends to fashion and give strength 
 to the entire being. Who that was ever under the 
 instruction of Mr. Capron, does not still feel the 
 influence of his personal character upon himself ? He 
 was eminent for his nice scholarship, but as a man he 
 was more. In his combination of the rare scholar 
 and the rare man he became a model teacher. He has 
 been cut down in his prime in the midst of his fruit- 
 ful labors, and we grieve over no ordinary loss. 
 
 More than two hundred years ago there was set up 
 
SCHOLARSHIP AND CHARACTER. 6$ 
 
 in the ancient burying ground of Hartford, where it 
 may still be read, a memorial of the colony's first 
 'teacher,' for so the associate of Thomas Hooker was 
 then called. . There is many a one who would hardly 
 deem it extravagant, to repeat over Mr. C apron's new 
 grave the closing line of that quaint old epitaph : 
 
 "Hartford ! Thy richest jewel 's here interred." 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES BY THE PRESS. 
 
 fFrorii the Hartford Courant, Jan. 5th, 1874.] 
 THE DEATH OF MR. CAPRON. 
 
 Whatever may be the private bereavement in the 
 death of Mr. Samuel M. Capron, the loss of the public 
 is greater ; and it is felt by the city of Hartford as a 
 calamity. We desire to speak within bounds when we 
 say that it seems as if the city could better spare almost 
 any one else. We say this in our blindness, for we 
 little know who is needed here or yonder, or by what 
 means and instruments God's work is best carried on. 
 But Mr. Capron's office is among the most difficult in 
 the world to fill, and he filled it perfectly, it is hardly 
 too much to say perfectly. 
 
 Mr. Capron, as the principal of our High and Gram- 
 mar school, was the center of our educational affairs. 
 Upon him now for some years has largely depended 
 the educational impress which our youth have received. 
 He had in his hands to a great degree the training of 
 boys and girls in the higher education ; he had the 
 shaping of the interests which are of most vital conse- 
 quence to our city and to its families. How profound 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 67 
 
 this influence was, those know who have had direct 
 connection with the management of the school, or who 
 have had children educated in it. Mr. Capron was in 
 a position to influence more strongly the intellectual 
 and moral condition of the city than almost any other 
 man ; and he was using that position most beneficently. 
 There is no higher or more important office than that 
 of Teacher, and Mr. Capron was born to that office ; 
 and not only was he born to it, but he had trained him- 
 self to its highest uses, and he was constantly growing 
 in power and influence in it. It seems all the harder 
 to lose him, because he was a growing man. And his 
 work, to our eyes, was not done ; he was just entering 
 upon it, like a strong man, with a great field before him, 
 equipped for great achievements. 
 
 The" qualities that met in Mr. Capron to fit him for 
 his important place were many. He was a fine and 
 accurate scholar — a thorough scholar, never satisfied 
 for himself or for others with half-acquisitions. And 
 he had preeminently a natural gift of imparting his 
 learning and of inspiring enthusiasm in study. This 
 was one of his chief characteristics. The school under 
 his charge has constantly grown in the quality of its 
 general instruction ; and boys who have gone from it 
 to college have been distinguished in the solidity and 
 brifliancy of their preparation above the candidates 
 of most of the preparatory schools in the Union. The 
 Hartford High and Grammar school has a most enviable 
 distinction. 
 
6S OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 Mr. Capron was not only a scholar, but he was an 
 organizer. The first impression of him was that he 
 lacked that nervous energy needed at the head of a 
 crreat establishment. But he had in a remarkable 
 degree the power of administration, of bringing things 
 to pass. And the most remarkable thing about it was 
 that he did it in the quietest manner. There was no 
 assumption about him, no parade, not a particle of 
 ostentation. We have never seen another person who 
 did his work so unobtrusively. He was exceedingly 
 modest, but he had not the false timidity of inefficiency. 
 If he has left us one example that we dwell on with 
 more pleasure than another, it is that of quiet power. 
 Here was a man who, without the least show or appa- 
 rent ambition of applause or self-assertion, was doing 
 day by day a great work. In our day of pretension the 
 example is profoundly needed. 
 
 Mr. Capron was a well-balanced and a wise man ; his 
 judgment on any point was worth obtaining. He was 
 by habit, or by temperament perhaps, conservative, but 
 he was very broad and liberal in entertaining new facts, 
 new ideas, and all suggestions of an advance at any 
 point. He was hospitable to new things, but he never 
 lost his head and ran into extravagances. No man of 
 our acquaintance scanned more closely the field of 
 education, or took more intelligent note of all that is 
 good in its most progressive thought and movement. 
 We always found him familiar with the advance thought, 
 and eager to take whatever is good in it. The time he 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 69 
 
 spent in Europe was devoted to study and observation 
 that would accomplish him in his profession, and he 
 returned from his residence there with broadened views, 
 but in no respect moved from the stability of his fun- 
 damental convictions. 
 
 But with all his scholarship, gift as a teacher, and 
 intellectual openness, Mr. Capron could not have been 
 the man he was in his profession but for other qualities. 
 He was profoundly a reHgious man, holding the simple 
 Christian faith with childhke sincerity. He was a man 
 of the utmost constitutional veracity. What a great 
 thing that is to say of any man ! He was all genuine, 
 from his scholarship to his religion. He always in- 
 spired confidence, and if we ask the source of this in 
 his school, in the church, in society, we find that it was 
 cJiaracter. It was the sum total of character that made 
 this quiet, unobtrusive man the power he was ; it was 
 that which organized the school, inspired confidence in 
 him, and gave him his hold upon community. So little 
 did he ever put himself forward, that only those who 
 knew him well were aware of his power or his influence. 
 
 It is not for us, here, to go further into his private 
 life. It is enough to say that the warm attachment of 
 his pupils for him and of all his associates was due 
 quite as much to his kindness and sweetness, and 
 nobility of nature, as to his position and his ability in it. 
 He was a true man and a true friend. And he was as 
 fit to go to heaven as he was to stay here. 
 10 
 
70 OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 [From the Hartford Evening Post, Jan. Sth, 1874.] 
 
 A PUBLIC SORROW DEATH OF SAMUEL M. CAPRON, 
 
 PRINCIPAL OF THE HIGH SCHOOL. 
 
 The notice in the latest edition of Saturday evening's 
 Post of the unfavorable change in Mr. Capron's con- 
 dition, in a measure prepared the public for the sad 
 announcement of his death, which occurred Sunday 
 morning at 20 minutes before nine o'clock. His dis- 
 ease was pneumonia, and with it he had been suffering 
 severely only about a week, although he had not been 
 well for a considerably longer period. About four 
 weeks ago he complained of a severe cold and sore 
 throat, but for some time continued to attend to his 
 school duties, against the advice of his associates, who 
 thought he ought to remain at home. Finally, during 
 the last full week preceding the holiday vacation, he did 
 so remain, but becoming somewhat better ventured out 
 on Monday and Tuesday before Christmas to be present 
 at the regular term examinations, and was also out on 
 business on the next day, Wednesday. He passed a 
 pleasant Christmas, feeling tolerably well, and was down 
 town on business Friday morning (Dec. 26th), but 
 returning home Friday afternoon was seized with violent 
 chills, took to his bed, and never rose more. His sick- 
 ness was from the first serious, and Mr. Capron seemed 
 to have been in some sort impressed with the idea that 
 
•OBITUARY NOTICES. Jl 
 
 it was to be unto death, for on the Saturday after the 
 attack he sent directions to Mr. Hall, vice-principal of 
 the High school, concerning the disposition to be made 
 of various open school and business matters, and also 
 talked with his wife concerning family matters, in a way 
 that showed an expectation of possible fatal termination 
 of his illness. Through the week he was very ill, suf- 
 fering considerably, and at times partially delirious, but 
 on Friday evening he was apparently better, and on 
 Friday evening his physicians thought that he would 
 certainly recover, which belief the sick man also, for the 
 first time, shared. But about 1 1 o'clock Friday night 
 there came a sudden and unexpected change, and from 
 that time Mr. CajDron steadily failed, suffering much, 
 meanwhile, until his death, which occurred as stated. 
 
 And now, having written thus much of our deceased 
 friend's last sickness, where shall we find language to 
 give a just estimate of his character, or to rightly ex- 
 press his inestimable worth } To his family belongs 
 the precious memory of his rare virtues as a husband 
 and father ; to his church the remembrance of his fidel- 
 ity as a co-laborer in the service of the Master ; to the 
 public his pure record as a citizen. In each of these 
 relations he seemed as near perfection as human crea- 
 tures can be, but it is not of these that we would mainly 
 speak. It is as the leading instructor of our youth that 
 he is best known, and every heart feels his loss as a 
 public calamity ; from every lip there comes the question 
 
72 OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 "Where shall we find his equal?" His success as a 
 teacher was most remarkable, but was the natural con- 
 sequence of his rare qualifications for such a position. 
 Perhaps his greatest characteristic was his quiet power. 
 In him were perfectly combined the firmness of a man 
 and the gentleness of a woman. His voice was never 
 raised above its even tone, and yet his spoken will was 
 law. And this generally anomalous state of things was 
 in large measure due to the profound confidence which 
 every scholar had in Mr. Capron's justice. He was 
 never swift to reprove, preferring rather first to hear 
 what words of palliation might be offered. Once de- 
 finitely determined, however, that a given disciplinary 
 measure was needed, it was only through the presenta- 
 tion of facts that altered the aspects of the case that his 
 decision could be changed. As a result of his careful 
 consideration, those reproved acknowledged ever the 
 justness of the censure. He was wholly frank and 
 candid with associate teachers, pupils and parents. He 
 was ever open to suggestions concerning general or 
 individual welfare, and prompt to act upon such as were 
 wholesome. His mental and moral balance was per- 
 fect ; his equal-poised control was never disturbed. 
 He was remarkably endowed with the faculty of im- 
 parting his learning to his pupils and of inspiring them 
 with zeal for knowledge. As a teacher of the lan- 
 guages he was especially successful, so much so that our 
 High school stands in the front rank of preparatory 
 institutions, and its srraduates have been among those 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 73 
 
 most honored in college life. Add to all this that he 
 was a man of eminently refined tastes, an accomplished 
 and thoroughly accurate scholar, a noble gentleman, and 
 a consistent Christian, and what more can be said ? 
 His scholars loved him, — as well they might. Not one 
 of all the hundreds who have been under his care in 
 all these twenty years of his school life, ever heard him 
 speak in slightest anger ; not one ever, in thought even, 
 accused him of favoritism ; not one ever had a feeling 
 of unjust treatment at his hands. The regard which 
 he inspired in his pupils was as constant as his own 
 mind. The scholars of a score of years ago clasp hands 
 with those of to-day and find no language but tears to 
 express their common grief. Unto them remain the 
 precious legacy of his memory and the "lovehness of 
 his perfect deeds." 
 
 And so he leaves us in the richness of his prime, — 
 taken when apparently he had still a score more years 
 of usefulness to live. It is all darkly strange, and we 
 cannot understand it, — we only know that he is gone. 
 It is needless to say that he went calmly and trustfully. 
 The vague fears that hang about death distressed him 
 not. His heart was wrung for his poor wife and child- 
 ren, but for himself there was no feeling of uneasiness. 
 His faith grew stronger as the shadow fell upon him, 
 and he passed with perfect peace into the Infinite. 
 
 " The great Intelligences fair 
 That range above our mortal state, 
 In circle round the blessed gate, 
 Received and gave him welcome there." 
 
74 OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 From the Hartford Times, Jan. 5th, 1874. 
 THE DEATH OF MR. CAPRON. 
 
 In the death of Samuel M. Capron, the Principal of 
 the Hartford High School, that widely-known institu- 
 tion sustains a loss which cannot well be repaired. It 
 is a loss not alone to the school which his quiet but ju- 
 dicious and unceasing labors had done so much to per- 
 fect and to elevate to its present eminent position, but 
 to the cause of education itself. When we say that 
 Mr. Capron was singularly well fitted, both by his natu- 
 ral disposition and his educational training, to conduct 
 this large and important school — an establishment in 
 which the scholars can be thoroughly qualified for a 
 collegiate course — we but imperfectly express the truth. 
 For in his case it is not saying too much to assert, un- 
 qualifiedly, that he was peculiarly 3.nd perfectly adapted 
 to his responsible position. His uniformly quiet, mod- 
 est, and gentle manner, completely removed as it was 
 from even a distant approach to anything like a self- 
 assumption, led hundreds who only knew him superfi- 
 cially to underestimate his real depth and strength of 
 character. Only those who really knew him, those who 
 were brought into near and frequent intercourse with 
 him, and to whom was given the opportunity to learn 
 by experience the union of marked and peculiar ex- 
 cellences which so singularly fitted him for his re- 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 75 
 
 sponsible work, can understand the real character and 
 extent of the loss which the High School of Hartford 
 has sustained. The silent and tearful class-meeting of 
 the Senior Class, which to-day assembled to express its 
 sense of this bereavement, and at which it was voted 
 not to attempt to do so by passing the customary formal 
 resolutions, was its own best tribute to the hold he had 
 on the scholars, and the completeness of their trust and 
 reliance upon him. 
 
 "The silent organ loudest chants 
 The master's requiem." 
 
 Mr. Capron first became connected with the High 
 School by taking his brother's place as manager of the 
 classical department, known as the Grammar School, 
 soon after his graduation at Yale in 1853. On his re- 
 turn from a year's travel and study in Europe, a dozen 
 years later, he became the Principal of the High School. 
 In that responsible position he remained till the time of 
 his death, giving to each scholar that watchful and un- 
 divided attention which can only spring from a truthful 
 nature and a genuine enthusiasm for his work, and 
 which in his case acted on the pupil as an inspiration. 
 His position naturally led to a personal acquaintance 
 between himself and many parents of the young ladies 
 and gentlemen in the Senior Class especially ; and to 
 some it was known that Mr. Capron's interest in the 
 educational progress and personal welfare of his schol- 
 
^6 OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 ars was true and earnest, and almost as affectionate as 
 it would have been in the case of his own children. 
 The young people with whom he was more directly 
 brought into daily contact, naturally feel a sense of be- 
 reavement beyond anything experienced in other cases 
 of the loss of the head of a great school. They have 
 resolved to testify their sorrow only in the expressive 
 presence, in its accustomed place, of their teacher's 
 chair, now draped, and empty, — and by joining the 
 remaining teachers in a contribution of pure and fra- 
 grant flowers to the coffin which contains all that was 
 earthly of the guide and friend they loved so well. 
 
 Mr. Capron's position was one of quiet and unobtru- 
 sive but decided and extensive influence. This was 
 exerted directly upon the youth of both sexes under 
 his immediate charge ; and we rejoice to know that it 
 was a good influence in all respects. He was a man of 
 undemonstrative but marked character, and one whose 
 exceptionally fine scholarship was united to a native 
 and practically consistent religious taste and life. Not 
 a person who wore his religion upon his coat-sleeve, for 
 the public to see and admire, but who felt it in the quiet 
 depths of his own heart and lived it out, modestly, but 
 practically, in his daily life. 
 
 It would be wrong, perhaps, to say of any man that 
 his place can never be filled. Our best men and women 
 die, and the world's affairs go on, and the places of the 
 dead are filled to more or less acceptance, and every- 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 77 
 
 thing seems, on the mere surface and face of affairs, to 
 go on as well as formerly. Yet there are losses by 
 death which can only be regarded as public calamities. 
 To this community the death of Mr. Samuel M. Capron 
 is felt to be such a loss. Probably he was more es- 
 teemed and depended upon, by a large part of the com- 
 munity, than he was himself aware of. He had the 
 power to organize and direct ; and when such a capa- 
 city is united — as it sometimes is, though not often — 
 to a modest, true, and gentle spirit, and an inborn taste 
 as well as a fine training and every natural and acquired 
 accomplishment for the high position of a teacher, we 
 have the perfected result in such a teacher, and such a 
 man as we knew in Samuel M. Capron. 
 
 From the Springfield Republican, Jan. 24th, 1874. 
 THE MANLY TEACHER. 
 
 In the recent death of Mr. Capron, Principal of the 
 Hartford High School, our neighbor city has been sig- 
 nally afflicted. His funeral was a memorable event in 
 the annals of Hartford. Very seldom is it that a whole 
 city is so thrilled with grief and made one house of 
 mourning. The notices of the occasion by the Hart- 
 ford press evince an unusual tenderness and carefulness 
 of preparation, as if grateful for the privilege, not merely 
 II 
 
y8 OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 of voicing the universal sentiment, but of adding their 
 personal tribute of sincere and loving eulogy to the 
 eloquence of flowers and requiem and tears and suppli- 
 cation. The pulpits of the city spoke in like manner 
 for their several congregations, and the schools answered 
 back with moistened eyes, and especially in the High 
 School, when the last hope had fled, and Mr. Capron's 
 chair stood vacated forever, both teachers and pupils 
 gave way to an overpowering sorrow, and bowed heads 
 and the sobs of tremulous hearts usurped the usual 
 rites of devotion. It was fitting that Mayor Robinson 
 should follow the family pastor in eloquent memorial 
 words both for the city and out of the abundance of his 
 own personal affection, and that the Episcopal burial 
 service should entwine with the Congregational in the 
 last rites for him who was the head and center of the 
 city's educational interests and "its best-loved man." 
 This remarkable place that Mr. Capron had in the 
 affectianate esteem of the Hartford community is sug- 
 gestive of healthful reflections. 
 
 It is a great encouragement to our quiet, faithful, 
 and hard-working teachers. The outburst of grief in 
 this case would have been a total surprise to Mr. Capron, 
 could he have foreseen it on the eve of death, as it was 
 also a surprise to those who knew and loved him best. 
 They were not fully aware, till death revealed it, what a 
 jewel of a man he was. It was like cutting and setting 
 and sudden flashing of a rare diamond, which had 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 79 
 
 been already known to be of purest water, but whose 
 extraordinary value had been but vaguely estimated. 
 
 It is a lesson to any community how priceless such 
 a man is in his position as an educator. It leads us 
 to enquire for the qualities that had won such genuine 
 and universal respect. 
 
 They were first and least those which can be meas- 
 ured by professional standards, and to some degree by 
 a salary price ; the fine and accurate scholarship, the 
 sturdy common sense, the even temperament, the steady 
 and persistent energy, the organizing and executive 
 faculty, and the general culture. But above these pro- 
 fessional requisites, first and last and all through there 
 were belonging to Mr. Capron the rarest qualities of 
 character — the symmetry and equipoise of a well-bal- 
 anced manhood. There the deepest conscientiousness, 
 the perfect truthfulness, the kindliness that always 
 sweetened his sense of justice, the patient survey, the 
 candor that made him " swift to hear, slow to speak and 
 slow to wrath," the firmness of decision that left no soft 
 spot for indefinite appeal, the frank, honest, accessible 
 and sympathetic frame which put up no barriers of mere 
 professional dignity or martinet authority, the quiet 
 moral energy set aglow by a hidden and steady enthusi- 
 asm, the unconscious power of grappling at once and 
 always with the impressible hearts and minds of youth, 
 and so moulding, guiding, inspiring, strengthening — not 
 by the rules and dies of discipline so much as by the 
 
8o OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 subtle influence of his own personality, working with 
 his pupils both to will and to do, by a gentle but pow- 
 erful and magnetic force, kindling up their own moral 
 and intellectual aspirations, and educing their own free 
 faculties, and so making them spontaneous and manly 
 scholars. 
 
 It was just this subtle personality of Mr. Capron, 
 summed up in a thoroughly genuine and manly charac- 
 ter — the scholar, the gentleman, the Christian — adding 
 to his treasures of learning and culture the priceless 
 gift of a true and faithful heart, transmuting the teach- 
 er's duty into joy, and his responsibility into love, that 
 won such general and affectionate esteem, and made 
 him such a social power, and opened at last the foun- 
 tains of grief which caused a whole city to lift up its 
 voice and weep. 
 
 May his beautiful memory flourish and blossom in 
 the perennial honor it confers on the ranks of a noble 
 profession, in its quiet and unostentatious labors, more 
 prized in reality than in appearance, and in the stimulus 
 which such a grand example gives to the whole band of 
 educators ! 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 From a Sermon preached in the Asylum Hill Congrega- 
 tional Church, Hartford, Jan. 2Sth, 1874., 
 by the Rev. J. H. Twichell. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The more I think upon Mr. Capron, and the more I 
 hear told about him, the more convinced I am, not only 
 that his personal influence was in itself extraordinary, 
 but that it was the most efficient of his powers. He 
 had influence, indeed, from many sources ; — from his 
 position, — from his intellectual strength and culture, — 
 from his wisdom, — from his enthusiasm, — from his 
 faculty of organization and administration, — from the 
 science and thoroughness of his methods. Moreover, 
 he was endowed with the attributes of a true manliness. 
 It used to be said of one of the English monarchs, 
 " King Henry knew a manr And in this quiet scholar, 
 so gentle and modest and retiring, we had, nevertheless, 
 a man. There were no elements of weakness in him. 
 His character was positive. He had the courage of his 
 own opinions. He carried the force and momentum of 
 a manly will. He was firm as a rock in his decisions. 
 
 Yet I do not think that his power was primarily that 
 of his manliness ; nor yet of the integrity and reasona- 
 bleness and unimpeachable honor that adorned and per- 
 fected it. Not any or all of these things could account 
 for the exquisite captivation into which he drew the 
 hearts of those who were around him, and in which he 
 held sway over them, and shaped their minds as by a 
 
82 OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 charm. It is one of the most beautiful things I ever 
 knew of. It was an influence that had a silent growth ; 
 it could not be told how it grew : it established itself 
 unawares. The first they knew, his pupils and associ- 
 ates found themselves conscious of a deep sense of obli- 
 gation to him, and of wanting to acknowledge it. And 
 thereafter their spirits were marvellously subject to him. 
 One word of his approval was the sweetest of all praise; 
 his very salutation became precious. '' Why," said one 
 of the boys, " if Mr. Capron shakes hands with me, or 
 only bows to me and bids me 'good morning,' it makes 
 me feel like being good all day." And that may stand 
 for a specimen of the expressions without number that 
 were and are to be heard on every side, all signifying 
 the same thing. On the slightest touch of contact a vir- 
 tue seems to have gone out of him to set the best im- 
 pulses astir and to inspire the thought and purpose of 
 well doing. 
 
 It was by cooperation with this noblest of his powers 
 of influence that his other strength wrought to its best 
 advantage. And what did it come from .^ It was not 
 a fascination by speech, or by any sort of formal ex- 
 pression. It was not a personal magnetism, — the over- 
 flow and radiation of physical vitality. Nor was it the 
 fruit of his amiabilities — of his sympathy and kindness, 
 though they bore their part in it. No ; the response it 
 evoked was, it seems to me, something deeper than 
 admiration, or respect, or even affection, though it 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 83 
 
 included them all. The profound source of the power 
 he exercised lay back of everything I have named. It 
 was his radical iLuselfisJiuess. That, I am persuaded, 
 was the secret of the sweet and strong ascendency 
 he gained and kept over so many hearts. Samuel M. 
 Capron was a man who did not live unto himself. And 
 it was that fact more than anything else, that made the 
 results of personal relation to him just what they were. 
 His influence, wherein it produced the peculiar effect 
 it was observed to produce, was essentially a spiritual 
 influence. And being such, it did not require the me- 
 dium of personal gifts in the ordinary sense, to render 
 it operative. It wrought by the communication of 
 those subtle spiritual laws that are able to dispense 
 with much expression by words or other language. 
 There is nothing in this world that is so sure to have 
 the power that belongs to it as the principle of vicari- 
 ousness in the human breast, wherever it exists, and 
 upon that principle the character of our dear friend 
 was founded. The Cross of Christ was lifted up in him, 
 and whenever the Cross of Christ is lifted up, it draws 
 souls to it : it is the most resistless of all forces, though 
 the gentlest of all. 
 
 It is a man's life — a man's character that tells. I 
 am glad, I am ready to give thanks that Mr. Capron 
 was not a man of words or much manifest expression, 
 for thereby the power that dwelt in his spirit, — in Iiiin- 
 
84 OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 self, is the more emphasized and revealed. And it was 
 exj^ressed in work — work which he chose and loved 
 and gloried in, and to which he gave himself up with 
 ever new zest and joy, year after year, to do it the best 
 he could, unto the end. His whole soul was in his 
 calling. " That dear old High school," he murmured 
 more than once during his sickness, " I have carried 
 it on my heart." 
 
 In the Second Congregational ChiAreh, Hartford, on the day 
 of Mr, Capron's death, the Rev. E. P. Parker, in concluding 
 a Sernion suggested by the autobiography of John Stuart 
 Mill, said: 
 
 ***** 
 
 "A very precious, sweet, and useful life has come to 
 its earthly bound here in Hartford to-day; the well- 
 known, the universally respected and beloved principal 
 of the High school in this city fell asleep this morning. 
 How humble, how modest, how simple and sincere, how 
 true and faithful he was ! No better man lived among 
 us. The last man to be deceived, he looked a thing 
 through. He put his feet down carefully on the Rock 
 and stood there. He knew in whom he believed. 
 What say you to Mr. Capron } Being dead he yet 
 speaketh." 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 85 
 
 On the same day, in the Pearl Street Congregational Church, 
 Hartford, the Rev. V^. L. Gage in a Sermon on " Perfected 
 Christian Manhood," froni the text, "And the city lielh 
 four-square; the length and the breadth and the height 
 thereof are ecjual," said : 
 
 * * * # * 
 
 " Since entering these courts to-day, many of us have 
 received the tidings that one who was an admirable 
 illustration of our theme has passed into the conditions 
 of still more glorified manhood than he had on earth. 
 And those who have not heard of his death will hardly 
 need to be told that I refer to the beloved and honored 
 Samuel M. Capron. Rarely do we meet a man more 
 rounded and balanced than he: so that although he 
 may have been excelled in particulars, he has rarely 
 been surpassed in the wholeness of his character. I 
 cannot now portray that which we now so sadly miss 
 among us. It was my good fortune to know him well, 
 to labor by his side in the educational interests of the 
 city ; and I can testify that almost more than any one 
 whom I have known, he resembled that city which lieth 
 four-square, and whose height and length and breadth 
 are equal ; and it is with a sad and melancholy pleasure, 
 that I now drop this little handful of flowers on his 
 untimely grave." 
 
 In other churches brief mention of the death of Mr. 
 Capron was also made, the announcement being received 
 with profound sorrow, which often found expression in 
 
 tears. 
 
 12 
 
86 OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 From a Seri-non preached by Rev. C. H. B. Tremaine in St. 
 
 Thomas' (Episcopal) Church, Hartford, 
 
 Jan. 11th, 1874. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 "A great sorrow rests upon our city. One has been 
 taken from us -who was most dearly beloved by all, and 
 whose death is universally deplored. His loss is a 
 public calamity. In our deep grief it seems to us as if 
 his place could never be filled. Faults he may have 
 had as he was but human ; but from a long and intimate 
 acquaintance with him I could not, if I desired, mention 
 one. Indeed to the young with whom he was asso- 
 ciated, and who always loved him with a sincere and 
 abiding affection, he seemed a perfect man. There 
 were united in him the rarest intellectual gifts, the 
 most remarkable fitness for his chosen profession, and 
 the noblest virtues as a man. Nor was this all ; his 
 whole life was crowned and glorified by his earnest 
 unpretending piety, by his childlike faith in Jesus 
 Christ. As the wise men of old — whose visit to the 
 Infant Saviour we commemorate at this season — brought 
 their rich gifts and humbly offered them to Christ, so 
 in no less degree did our beloved friend and teacher 
 give himself, body, soul, and sjoirit, to the service of the 
 same Lord. 
 
 It is not my purpose to add any words of eulogy to 
 what has been said by those better fitted for this duty 
 than myself — nor are such words necessary. My de- 
 sire is rather to offer a humble tribute of affection and 
 
OBITUARY NOTICES. 8/ 
 
 gratitude to his precious memory. And yet much as 
 has been said, prompted by loving hearts, concerning 
 his many virtues, still the whole truth has not been 
 told, nor can it ever be. No language can begin to 
 express the wondrous beauty and surpassing worth of 
 the earthly life of him who has just gone to the rest of 
 Paradise. Some lasting memorial of him will no doubt 
 be placed in the scene of his labors — the spot so dear 
 to him — but yet there is a far more enduring record 
 written in letters of undying love deep in the hearts of 
 thousands. 
 
 The evil which men do lives after them ; but God be 
 praised that the power of good deeds also cannot perish. 
 And the blessed influence of such a pure and holy life 
 as was that of our beloved brother can never be esti- 
 mated — neither will it ever die. Let us then thank 
 God for the good example of all those of his servants, who 
 having finished their course in faith do now rest from 
 their labors, and pray that we with them may have our 
 perfect consummation and bliss both in body and soul 
 in the mansions of eternal glory — through Jesus Christ, 
 our Lord. 
 
 Trinity Church— Tribute to Mr. Capron. 
 
 In Trinity church yesterday morning, after the ser- 
 mon, the rector, the Rev. Professor Johnson, made a 
 brief address commemorative of the life and character 
 of the late Mr. Capron, thanking God for the example 
 of such a pure and perfect Christian life. He then. 
 
55 OBITUARY NOTICES. 
 
 in behalf of the afflicted city and community, requested 
 the congregation to unite with him in special prayer for 
 persons under affliction, and thanksgiving for the mem- 
 ory of those who, having finished this life in the faith 
 and fear of Christ, do rest from their labors. 
 
 From an Editorial in the Hartford Courant, Feb. 3d, 1874. 
 
 The age of no-faith in anything but money and 
 cheek is nearly ended. A belief in goodness and truth, 
 and honesty and purity, is surely coming again as a 
 living faith in the hearts of men. There may be less 
 regard for creeds, but there will be a more intelligent 
 faith in the central idea of all creed, a faith in a per- 
 sonal God — 
 
 That God, which ever lives and loves, 
 One God, one law, one element, 
 And one far-off divine event, 
 To which the whole creation moves. 
 
 The young men will no longer look upon the acqui- 
 sition of wealth, and the ability of fast-living as the 
 great object to be attained in life. They will learn that 
 a good name is better than riches, the consciousness of 
 rectitude and virtue better than the transitory pleasures 
 of unholy living ; that a successful and happy life is 
 not measured by dollars and cents ; that to live such a 
 life as the late Principal of our High School, and to 
 leave such a name as his, is far better than to have 
 secured untold wealth and fame at the cost of integrity 
 and self respect. 
 
THE FUNERAL. 
 
 From tlie Hartford Courant, Jan. 8th, 1874. 
 SERVICES AT ASYLUM MILL CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH. 
 
 Before ten o'clock, the hour appointed for paying 
 the last tribute of public honor and respect to the late 
 Samuel M. Capron, the Asylum Hill Congregational 
 church was filled. In spite of the tempest of rain that 
 was prevailing, people came from every part of the city 
 — all denominations, all ranks in life were represented. 
 The seats in the church were filled, and the aisles were 
 filled. And in all faces was the same expression of 
 profound grief ; telling its own story of how the man 
 was loved. 
 
 The Christmas greens still hung in the church, and 
 to these was added about the desk the drapery of 
 mourning and the tribute of flowers. All the decora- 
 tions were simple, but the white flowers were abundant, 
 and there were emblematic wreaths, crosses and crowns 
 woven of white and green. Over against the seat that 
 had been occupied by the deceased hung a shield with 
 the motto — " Mark the perfect man." 
 
90 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 After a short prayer at the house the remains were 
 brought to the church, accompanied by the clergy, 
 the mourners and friends, and as the sad procession 
 passed up the aisle, the audience stood in tearful silence. 
 The pall bearers were Josej^h Hall, vice-principal of the 
 High school, and Augustus Morse, principal of the 
 North Middle school ; Elisha Johnson and Alfred E. 
 Burr, of the High school committee ; H. J. Johnson 
 and F. L. Gleason, senior deacons of the Asylum Hill 
 church ; and Drs. Stearns and Hudson, college class- 
 mates of the deceased. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Burton began the services by a brief 
 invocation. The Rev. C. R. Fisher read the scriptures 
 used in the Episcopal funeral service. Dr. Burton then 
 read and the Christ church quartette (with Mr. Wilson 
 at the organ) sang with great feeling three verses of the 
 hymn : 
 
 Asleep in Jesus ! blessed sleep. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Twichell offered prayer, at the con- 
 clusion of which he delivered the following address : 
 
 THE REV. MR. TWICHELL's ADDRESS. 
 
 When Mr. Capron knew that he was dying, being of 
 an undisturbed mind, and tranquilly contemplating all 
 that pertained to his departure from this life, he spoke 
 concerning his funeral. He said, as you might know 
 he would, '* Let it be as quiet an affair as may be, for I 
 
THE FUNERAL. 9I 
 
 have been a quiet man, and have not made much stir in 
 the world." 
 
 And they to whom the ordering of it is committed 
 are making it as quiet an affair as they feel at liberty 
 to — as, in fact, it seems possible to. In bringing his 
 remains from the home where he dwelt with his family, 
 to have the last words said over them in this place 
 where he worshiped his God and Saviour, since it is 
 done for the sake of those whom he loved and who 
 loved him, there is no transgression of the spirit of 
 privacy. For it is written in all your faces, that though 
 this occasion is, in a manner, public, it is none the 
 less truly to the heart of every one of you a private 
 occasion. 
 
 Mr. Capron thought that he had made little stir in 
 this world — and by that he meant, I suppose, in this com- 
 munity. Yet I never saw this community so stirred as 
 it has been these last few days because of him. In the 
 years I have lived here, I have never seen the city of 
 Hartford in such trouble as it is now. A stranger 
 passing through our streets would know that we are 
 in trouble. From the first day that he was reported to 
 be dangerously sick there were everywhere manifest 
 tokens of an unusual distress, and when finally the 
 word went round that he was no more, it is not too 
 much to say that the people lifted up their voice and 
 wept. Nor is it this city alone that feels the stroke. 
 From far and near there come to us signs witnessing 
 
92 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 that many citizens of many other places partake of the 
 affliction. It is a remarkable — I had almost said a 
 strange phenomenon — the effect of this event. 
 
 It were quite superfluous in me to attempt to depict 
 the feeling produced by it, for it is one which we share 
 in common. I will say of it only this, that while the 
 sense of personal bereavement and of a public loss is 
 so great that we seem to have received a check in our 
 general prosperity, are the chief elements of it, there is 
 also mingled with it something of a sense of surprise. 
 Much as we loved and honored Mr. Capron — high as 
 the mark of value which we set upon him was, we could 
 hardly have imagined that his death would take such 
 a hold upon us and create such a profound sensation as 
 it does. To him, certainly, could he have foreseen it, 
 it would have been a surprise, and it is, in some meas- 
 ure, a surprise to us. Many of us, at any rate, and I 
 presume most of us, are confessing that we had not 
 been aware till now of how much we thought of him, or 
 of what was thought of him. By his sickness, when it 
 was feared to be mortal, it was revealed to me at least, 
 very impressively, both in what I felt myself and in the 
 feeling I saw expressed in others — in the look and tone 
 with which they inquired about him and spoke of him — 
 that I had not begun either to know my own heart 
 toward him, or to appreciate the significance of his 
 life, or to realize the quality of the regard in which he 
 was held. And as his friend and pastor I had antici- 
 
THE FUNERAL. 
 
 93 
 
 pated a peculiar satisfaction when, if it pleased God to 
 recover him of his sickness, he should be convalescent, 
 in telling how it was, though I doubted if I could make 
 him believe it. 
 
 But he has gone from us never dreaming that he 
 could be so accounted of as he is to-day, and we are left 
 to ask what was it in him that prepared us, in such a 
 degree unconsciously, to be so moved as we are, at be- 
 ing called to bid him the long farewell. Wherein lay 
 his power ? For what we recognize as evidenced by 
 all these signs that now appear, is that he was a man 
 of power. And it is, I think, in having this fact dis- 
 covered to us, as it never was or could have been be- 
 fore, that we experience the surprise I have spoken of. 
 For he did not seem like a man of power. You know 
 what I mean. His appearance and manner, as he 
 moved among us, and went about his work, were not 
 such, as in our superficial ways of thinking, we are ac- 
 customed to associate with the idea of power. Neither 
 did he visibly possess the gifts of expression and com- 
 munication that some men have. I do not at all mean 
 to imply that his power was hid, for it was not. Proofs 
 of it there were, abundant and constant, and all the 
 more notable because it was so httle advertised in him- 
 self. I well remember observing the operation of it 
 before I knew him, both in the life and ambition with 
 which the minds of his pupils were inspired, and in the 
 extraordinary enthusiasm with which they all, and those 
 13 
 
94 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 who had been his pupils, and those who were associated 
 with him as teachers, beheved in him, and I wondered 
 how that still and undemonstrative man could so rouse 
 them and take their hearts. He had power very great 
 in degree and very noble in kind. That is plain enough. 
 Such mourning as ours is to-day, were not possible save 
 when a strong as well as a good man is fallen. Yet we 
 have to look under the surface to find the secret of the 
 strength that clothed this life now ended. And we 
 shall not look in vain. Mr. Capron, for all that he 
 moved in such quietness among us and made so little 
 noise, was really a man of a most profound and intense 
 enthusiasm. And this enthusiasm burned all the more 
 steadily in his bosom, and was all the more sustained 
 as a motive with him, for the very reason that it was 
 not in his nature to give it much outward expression. 
 Yet it had expression, as everything that is in a man 
 must have. It was ^,rpressed for it was 2';;^pressed. 
 What matter how, it was communicated and reproduced. 
 Of course it was, for nothing but enthusiasm can make 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 And added to his enthusiasm was a rare wisdom to 
 guide it, and which did guide it to its secure results. 
 And next I should name that golden integrity, that 
 perfect truthfulness, that justice which was universally 
 felt to be so omnipresent and inseparable a quality of 
 his mind and character, that it was expected of him 
 pretty much as the sun is expected to shine. But these 
 
THE FUNERAL. 95 
 
 last were among the more apparent and readily recog- 
 nized sources of his power. Not quite so obvious was 
 his possession of a robust, inflexible will, which, how- 
 ever, nearness to him soon revealed. Still less man- 
 ifest to a casual observation was another trait of power 
 that crowned all the rest and set them free to have 
 their full effect — and that was his deep and tender 
 affectionateness. He was one of the most sympathetic 
 and loving of men. Underneath the mask of his con- 
 stitutional reserve there was as quick and warm and 
 responsive a heart as ever beat, and O, what a pure and 
 faithful heart it was ! And herein, too, notwithstanding 
 he did not much express himself in the ordinary form, 
 he still was expressed. For the love and* loyalty he 
 won, and that we saw him wearing as one fair trophy> 
 of success, and that are translated in the eloquence of 
 flowers and tears to-day, show it. You, especially, who 
 were his pupils, were exceedingly dear to him, and that 
 was why he was and is and will be so exceedingly dear 
 to you. And I will only say more, for I must be very 
 brief and leave almost everything unsaid for the present, 
 that the love with which he loved you, as you all know, 
 was a love he bore you for Christ's sake. You cannot 
 doubt that. The best and truest part of his power as 
 a man, was that which belonged to him as a Christian 
 man. It came from a Power that was upon him. The 
 last book that Mr. Capron read was the autobiography 
 of John Stuart Mill, the man without a God. And the 
 
g6 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 last time he went abroad from his house he gave to a 
 friend whom he chanced to meet an account of what 
 he had been reading. And as they parted at the cor- 
 ner of Asyhmi and Main streets, Mr. Capron said as 
 his final comment upon it, " What a glorious thing this 
 hope of ours in Christ is." You were not surprised to 
 hear that hope remained with him to his last hour and 
 proved itself to be a glorious hope — that by reason of 
 it the shadows of death were turned into brightness 
 about him. It was even so. Our friend laid him down 
 in the sleep that knows no waking in perfect peace, 
 resting^ like a little child, in the arms of the Saviour 
 whom he trusted. And now, ye young men and women, 
 to whom so many times in life he gave instruction, let 
 him in death teach you one more lesson — even that 
 which he desired you to learn before all other knowl- 
 edge. Hear these dumb lips once more repeat — hear 
 it, too, ye men and brethren, and let the echo of it 
 linger in your souls, "How glorious a thing the hope in 
 Christ is." 
 
 After another hymn by the choir, 
 
 Jesus, Lover of my Soul, 
 
 Mayor Robinson, at the request of the family, and as a 
 representative of the city, spoke as follows : — 
 
 In compliance with the wishes of those who were 
 and are dearest to our beloved one, I have, with some 
 hesitation, consented to add a few words to those so well 
 said by our reverend friend, in memory of our dead. 
 
THE FUNERAL. 97 
 
 This vast assembly of budding childhood and silvered 
 old age, representing all types of activity and station 
 in our community, this sable drapery of woe, these 
 sweet flowers, in wreath, and star, and cross, and crown, 
 these trembling lips, these eyes veiled in tears, tell 
 more impressively than can speech, that our city mourns 
 with unaffected grief. It is possible when a public 
 man dies to create a demonstration of mourning which 
 shadows no substance of sorrow. But the bitterness 
 of soul which bubbles up to-day is as sincere and nat- 
 ural as the mountain spring. Indeed, as we met upon 
 the streets at the first story of his death, even the 
 common salutation was universally changed to the tone 
 of affliction, and the city seemed like the city of the 
 Egyptians, where "there was not a house in which there 
 was not one dead." Our city mourns in the house of 
 its pride and the house of its love. 
 
 The loss of a leader in any of the influential pro- 
 fessions and employments, is always a bereavement and 
 often an alarm. These great vacancies stagger faith 
 and paralyze hope. But there is something peculiarly 
 tender and touching in the death, at the threshold of 
 maturity, of a leader in that profession, which with a 
 kind of catholic fatherhood, moulds and guides the sen- 
 sitive mind and heart of young students, and so fashions, 
 we know not how comprehensively, the moral and 
 intellectual life of society. 
 
98 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 I have spoken of him whom we mourn as a leader 
 in his honorable profession. To my own apprehension 
 he realized the noblest ideal of his profession. Had he 
 chosen to be a clergyman, a lawyer, a statesman, or an 
 editor, his success would have been assured, but it is 
 hardly probable that in either of these callings he 
 would have accomplished so much for the good of man- 
 kind as he has as a teacher. To natural qualifications 
 of the highest and rarest order he added such mental 
 discipline and culture, such treasures of scholarship and 
 learning as perfected him in his work. A classical 
 scholar of the highest type, an accomplished student in 
 mathematics and the physical sciences, he still delighted 
 in the exhaustless wealth of our own English language 
 and its literature. 
 
 Let me briefly, for the few minutes allotted to me 
 will allow no more, indicate one or two of the striking 
 qualities of our friend in his profession. His profes- 
 sional character was based upon a broad, solid found- 
 ation of common sense. No wild thought of the hour, 
 no vagary of a theorist, no vision of a dreamer found a 
 resting place with him. Conservative, he suggested 
 many and welcomed all improvements, but nothing 
 upon the breath of a mere impulse, or the fancy of a 
 moment. Enterprising, he honored in system and 
 practice that which had been proved and found worthy. 
 In the searching judicature of his sound sense the 
 hollowness of sham was detected and the weight of 
 
THE FUNERAL. 99 
 
 solid merit was appreciated and added to his treasury. 
 Keeping quite abreast of the most advanced aggressions 
 of science, and assured in the peace of his deepest 
 consciousness of the complete harmony of all truth, he 
 still held fast to those central facts which the experi- 
 ence of the ages has made sure, and to that divine 
 Christianity which has carried the world on to its no- 
 blest and purest civilization. 
 
 To his strong good sense he added a right estimate 
 and use of discipline. Believing in law as the only 
 true liberty of action, he sought to make rules for his 
 pupils and not to make pupils for his rules. Like all 
 wise rulers, he followed the Infinite sovereign, who 
 wrote with His finger upon the stony tablets command- 
 ments for His creatures, not as arbitrary enactments, 
 but as rules for His creatures' good. And so the Great 
 Teacher, when criticised by worshipers of legal techni- 
 cality, reproved their flippancy by reminding them that 
 law was made for man, and not man for law. The 
 discipline of the High School will be remembered by 
 his pupils as an easy yoke, Hke the family regulations of 
 a loving father. 
 
 Again, Mr. Capron was conscientious in his work. 
 He fulfilled his undertaking. Not forgetting the con- 
 tract obligations of his employment, he was faithful to 
 those higher obligations of duty which reach deeper 
 than salaries and call for responses to confidence. But 
 he did not stop with the discharge of his duty. He 
 L.of C. 
 
100 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 was an enthusiast in his profession. And just here is 
 often the distinction between excellence and eminence. 
 Conscientiousness is first and greatest — without it there 
 can be no completeness. And in this to-day, we can- 
 not magnify it too much. But a fulfilment of duty and 
 no more is after all only prose. Enthusiasm adds the 
 charm of poetry. To the accuracy, and honesty, and 
 completeness of the faithful servant and contractor, he 
 added the charms and intensities of the enthusiast. 
 
 Let me add but one more of his professional traits. 
 I mean the preservation of his individual character and 
 his power of impressing it upon his pupils. Our be- 
 loved friend was in school always the teacher, but he 
 was always himself. And here is the power of the 
 teacher — this wondrous subtle force which reproduces 
 him in his pupils. And here is the teacher's good glory ; 
 and here, when he rests from his labors, his works fol- 
 low him. The author, by his words, influences readers 
 and new readers ; the orator, by the electricity of his 
 eloquence, stirs the hearts of thousands, but how often 
 his power dies, like the lightning in the air w^hen the 
 flash is over ; the painter by his canvas, the sculptor by 
 his marble, the architect by his towers, arches, and 
 domes, penetrates the thoughts of men, — but the per- 
 fect teacher impresses himself upon the hearts and 
 characters of his pupils more tenderly and in more un- 
 fading tone than the sunbeams can stamp his features 
 upon the photographer's plate. And so upon the throb- 
 
THE FUNERAL. lOI 
 
 bing hearts of these his pupils of to-day and of yester- 
 day our friend has stamped himself into the fibres of 
 their being. I dare to say that of the 3,000 or 5,000 
 pupils who have come under his influence in these 
 twenty years, not one has ever parted from him except 
 in unbounded respect and sincere love. Such a record 
 is seldom made for the teacher. It is to these and other 
 qualities of our friend to which I cannot allude that we 
 owe in great part the eminence universally conceded 
 to our High School, an institution unsurpassed by any 
 high school in the land. 
 
 And now a word of my friend as a man. It is 
 almost twenty-five years since we met at the beginning 
 of college life : — college life ! unreal as a romance, yet 
 real as the great outer world in miniature. I was pre- 
 possessed with attachment to him for his brother's 
 sake, who had been my loved teacher in this same High 
 School. Thank God that this dear brother was at home 
 from his labor of love beyond the seas, and was per- 
 mitted to be with him whom we mourn to-day, as he 
 went down through the dark river in the peace of holy 
 faith. Through the dark river ! and on — and up — to 
 the purer and better life. 
 
 From that first day of college life to the close of its 
 four years of sunlight, and through the twenty years 
 of our life together in this beautiful city, which he 
 learned deeply to love, I have known him thoroughly 
 and loved him even more. I believe there never fell 
 14 
 
I02 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 from those lips, which shall throb no more with the tide 
 of life, one unkind word to any of his fellow m'en, nor 
 ^one utterance of detraction, for that noble, generous 
 heart had no home for malice or bitterness. 
 
 Of his sincerity, truthfulness, tenderness, faithfulness, 
 sympathy, and singular sense of justice, I will not now 
 speak, nor will I enter into any analysis of his intellect. 
 I will particularize but one trait in his character — that 
 trait is courage. Little did those who imperfectly knew 
 him, who saw him pass along with unassuming manner, 
 who felt in his presence at first a consciousness in him 
 of reserve, know that he who was as gentle as a woman 
 was as truly brave as a hero. 
 
 When our Lord spoke to the multitude upon the 
 mountain, He covered with the halo of His beatitude, 
 the poor in spirit, the meek, the peace-makers, the pure 
 in heart. That halo of beatitude rests upon our dead. 
 The apostle St. Peter built into one beautiful arch the 
 real graces of goodness and greatness — faith, the cor- 
 ner stone, manliness, knowledge, self-control, patience, 
 piety, brotherly-kindness, and love, the key-stone. Our 
 beloved friend incarnated them all, and all in a harmony 
 as beautiful as the blending of the prismatic hues into 
 light. If he was the perfect teacher, few have come 
 nearer the stature of the perfect man. His course was 
 as steady and true and symmetrical as the orbit of a 
 planet. And who shall measure the influence of one 
 such life .'' Who shall " bind the sweet influences of 
 
THE FUNERAL. 
 
 103 
 
 the Pleiades"? One such man demonstrates the divine 
 within us ; demonstrates the sweet power of the Rose 
 of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley ; demonstrates 
 the sacredness of our holy religion, which was his in- 
 spiration and his life. What an outfit for the eternal 
 life must such a character be ! 
 
 Forty-one years ! The table lands of life just reached 
 and the sun just at noon. Before him what usefulness ! 
 what joy in his victory ! And the sun has gone down. 
 And our hopes withered as lilies in the frost, our hearts 
 bleeding like bruised vines. And there are desolations 
 of which I may not, dare not speak. Forty-one years ; 
 how full ! how busy ! how blessed ! The tick of the 
 watch and the course of the sun are but man's ways of 
 measuring life. There are no measures of years, there 
 is no time with God. Who shall say what life is the 
 fullest and longest ? 
 
 The Romans thought that studying monumental in- 
 scriptions weakened the memory. It was a maxim of 
 heathen. Let us study the memorials of our brother 
 and teacher and friend. 
 
 " Sleep well, my brother ! sleep, precious dust ! 
 Call, he shall answer Thee, God of the Just!" 
 
 The choir again sang, the benediction was pronounced, 
 and opportunity was given the vast concourse to look 
 
104 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 once more on the features of the man whose loss is so 
 deeply deplored. All the services were simple, tender, 
 sincere, and very impressive. 
 
 The remains were taken to Uxbridge, Mass., the 
 home of the deceased's father, for interment. 
 
[Courant, Feb. 17.] 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 S. M. C. 
 
 OB. Jan. 4, 1874 : 
 
 Lord, to what end thy Sabbaths, if no rest 
 Visit our hearts ? Peace is thy name ; but we, 
 We wage unequal warfare all our days, 
 And strike with unarmed hands a weaponed Fate. 
 Thinking on him for whom our hearts are sore, 
 I paced the churchward path ; and for his sake, 
 Rough seemed the way, colder the cruel wind, 
 And all the day a darkness to my eyes. 
 God was not in the church ; an idle word 
 Passed by a listless ear : I sat and heard. 
 And did not hear, lost in a bitter dream. 
 But when the hymn soared up, and seemed to make 
 Something like music in a jarring world, 
 Once and again my wandering painful thoughts 
 Clung round the measure, as in eddies cling 
 Leaves, round some branch whereon they did not grow. 
 So broken fragments of half-conscious rhyme 
 Mixed in my untuned soul with tuneless prayer. 
 ******* 
 
 Only a moment ago you were with us. 
 All our heart's loyalty laid at your feet ; 
 
 Suddenly, now, you are heir to such riches, 
 
 You drop our poor gifts for a treasure more sweet. 
 
I06 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 So you were with us, as in a dim courtyard, 
 
 Where babes play all day with bare feet on the stone, 
 
 Some alien child is their comrade and ruler, 
 
 Lights up their dull sports with a fire of his own. 
 
 He knows a strange tale of the house he was born in ; 
 
 Half charmed and half scornful, they listen around : 
 One day the lost father comes sudden and splendid ; — 
 
 He flings the worn toys that he held to the ground. 
 
 Can they be sure, in the dazzle and wonder, 
 Just what they saw, turning back with a sigh .-' 
 
 Something flashed out — do you think it was sunshine ? 
 And what was it waved, as the carriage went by ? 
 
 Still in their hearts and their mouths the tradition 
 Vaguely lives on, with its promise and pain ; 
 
 Eyes that have looked on that fair broken vision 
 Never can rest in their darkness again. 
 
 So we — but we faint while we yearn and endeavor, 
 Wondering, When is the dream coming true ? 
 
 Oh, our lost leader ! you spoke and we hastened ; 
 How can we follow a meaner than you ? 
 
 O God — if thou be God that hadst the heart 
 
 To make us and to leave us here so far. 
 
 So far away and dark ! Thy work am I, 
 
 Therefore I must be heard when I accuse : 
 
 Answer me. Lord, who once must answer thee. 
 
 Faithless are we and base ; out of Earth's clay 
 
 Fashioned at first, and still to Earth returning. 
 
 So her dull dust stops up forevermore 
 
 Our ears from hearing, and beclouds our eyes. 
 
 That else might see thee ; but this man, thou knowest, 
 
 Held by thy hand, and felt thee in the dark. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 So, when we touched him, keener pulses ran 
 
 Through our thick blood, and vaguely we looked round, 
 
 Half conscious of a God. And must we think 
 
 Somewhere there is another world, so poor. 
 
 It needs must have our riches ? so forlorn. 
 
 Forgotten in a corner of thy realm, 
 
 Thou hast more need of proving, there than here ? 
 
 Nay, Lord, and could not all the heavenly host 
 
 Suffice to do thy pleasure ? To that space 
 
 Of fearful light that lies around thy feet, 
 
 Myriads of angels gather from afar. 
 
 And cannot rest for love, their cloudless eyes 
 
 Rapt on thy face, if by celestial chance 
 
 Some errand fall their way : and wouldst thou take 
 
 Our master from our head, the time unripe, 
 
 Unwr ought the work, the grasses all unsown 
 
 That should have dressed his grave ? 
 
 Wild my words ; do you reprove them 
 With the eyes you used to wear. 
 
 Calmer, now, the brow above them. 
 By so much as heaven is fair ? 
 
 Ah, and has your heaven consoled you 
 For our helpless tears that start ? 
 
 All its starry secrets told you. 
 
 For one woman's widowed heart ? 
 
 Was there one, you smiled in learning. 
 
 One dear secret of belief, 
 In an ecstasy discerning 
 
 All the blindness of our grief ? 
 
 Oh, but us the night abuses ; 
 
 And our sorrow aches and burns : 
 
 107 
 
I08 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Better gifts our heart refuses ; 
 Give the one for which it yearns 
 
 So swayed my soul, rocked on a bitter flood 
 Of sombre questioning ; and none replied, 
 Nor any voice made answer ; but the wind, 
 Without the casement tossing the great pine. 
 Threw up unfaithful shadows on the wall ; 
 And through the dazzle of my tears I saw, 
 High up, the phantom of a shaken Cross. 
 
 M. A. B. 
 
AT THE HIGH SCHOOL. 
 
 From the Evening Post of Jan. 5th. 
 
 Although the announcement was made in the morn- 
 ing paper that the school would not be opened until 
 after the funeral, there was still a considerable gathering 
 of scholars there this morning. Some few who came 
 were shocked with sudden surprise at the announce- 
 ment of his death, but nearly all were previously aware 
 of the sad event, and spoke in hushed tones and with 
 manifest grief at their loss. The senior class which 
 was under Mr. Capron's more immediate care, gathered 
 in their class-room and took formal and appropriate ac- 
 tion concerning his death, and their attendance upon 
 the funeral services, arranging also for floral tributes 
 to be placed upon his coffin. 
 
 Fronn the Evening Post of January 6th. 
 MEETING OF HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATES. 
 
 A notice appeared in the morning paper calling a 
 meeting of the graduates of the High School at the 
 15 
 
no AT THE HIGH SCHOOL. 
 
 High School building to-day, to take action concerning 
 the death of Mr. Capron, and although the notice was 
 limited and the weather very unpleasant, there was 
 nevertheless a large gathering of ladies and gentlemen 
 at the specified time and place. Arthur N. Hollister 
 was appointed chairman of the gathering, and Charles 
 H. Clark secretary. Remarks expressive of the deep 
 sorrow of the graduates at the loss of their beloved in- 
 structor and friend were made by Mr. Hollister, Rev. 
 C. H. B. Tremaine, James A. Smith, Jr., C. H. Owen, 
 A. Harbison, J. L. Barbour, and others, and trembling 
 tones and tearful eyes testified to the profound emotion 
 of those present. There seemed to be a general idea 
 that formal resolutions expressive of the sorrow felt 
 M^ould be both inadequate and superfluous, but a com- 
 mittee consisting of Messrs. Owen, Barbour, and Smith 
 was appointed to suggest some suitable form of com- 
 memorative action. This committee, after deliberation, 
 reported the following, looking to the carrying out of an 
 expressed wish of the deceased : 
 
 Whereas, No more fitting tribute can be paid to the memory of 
 Samuel M. Capron than to perpetuate the influences of his teaching 
 and to carry into effect the plans his death has left unfinished ; 
 therefore, 
 Resolved, That a committee consisting of Charles H. Owen, A. N. 
 Hollister, Seymour Tryon, Miss Jennie A. Bidwell, and Miss Kate Bur- 
 bank be appointed to report to some future meeting plans for the or- 
 ganization of an association of graduates of the High and Grammar 
 schools, in accordance with the expressed wishes of Mr. Capron and as 
 a memorial of him. 
 
AT THE HIGH SCHOOL. I I I 
 
 The resolution was adoi^ted unanimously, and the 
 secretary was requested to communicate to the family 
 of Mr. Capron a record of the action taken by his 
 former scholars with an expression of their heartfelt 
 sympathy. The Rev. Mr. Tremaine suggested the pro- 
 priety of presenting to the school some tangible memo- 
 rial of the deceased, possibly in the shape of a library, 
 and it was understood that the committee appointed, as 
 above stated, should take the suggestion into consider- 
 ation. At the close of the meeting, the roll was called 
 and members of the following graduating classes re- 
 sponded, all but four out of the entire twenty since 
 Mr. Capron became connected with the school being 
 represented: '54, '55, '56, '58, '61, '63, '64, '65, '66, '67, 
 '68, '69, '70, '71, '72, '73. 
 
 From the Evening Post of January 8th. 
 AT HIGH SCHOOL. 
 
 The teachers and scholars of the High School met 
 this morning in the school building for the first time 
 since Mr. Capron's death. It was a very sad meeting. 
 The scholars, as usual, assembled at nine o'clock in the 
 class-rooms, proceeding thence immediately to the 
 school-hall, where the morning devotional exercises are 
 held. Here it was that the bereavement which the 
 members of the school, collectively and individually, 
 
112 AT THE HIGH SCHOOL. 
 
 had sustained, seemed to force itself upon them in all 
 its dreadful sadness. The pleasant voice that had been 
 wont to direct the morning's devotions, was not heard ; 
 the kindly face that teachers and scholars had looked 
 upon, was absent ; the hand that had daily touched the 
 bell to secure silence or in token of dismissal, had van- 
 ished. The Principal's vacant chair and the desk by 
 which he had stood were draped in mourning, and be- 
 hind desk and chair, upon the wall, were folds of funeral 
 drapery parting over a pure white tablet upon which 
 appeared in evergreen letters, the simple legend : 
 
 S. M. C. 
 1 832-1 874. 
 
 When the scholars were all seated, Mr. Hall, the 
 acting Principal, read a portion of the fifth chapter of 
 the Gospel according to St. Matthew, comprising the 
 beatitudes as set forth in the Sermon on the Mount. 
 Then the following beautiful hymn, one of Mr. Capron's 
 favorites, was sung to the sweet strains of "Dawn." 
 
 One sweetly solemn thought 
 
 Comes to me o'er and o'er — 
 Nearer my parting hour am I 
 
 Than e'er I was before. 
 
 Nearer my Father's house, 
 
 Where many mansions be ; 
 Nearer the throne where Jesus reigns, 
 
 Nearer the crystal sea ; 
 
AT THE HIGH SCHOOL. II3 
 
 Nearer my going home, 
 
 Laying my burden down, 
 Leaving my cross of heavy grief. 
 
 Wearing my starry crown. 
 
 Jesus ! to thee I cling : 
 
 Strengthen my arm of faith ; 
 Stay near me while my way-worn feet 
 
 Press through the stream of death. 
 
 Following the singing of the hymn, in which many, 
 owing to their emotion, were unable to join, Mr. Hall 
 offered prayer, embodying fit words of supplication for 
 comfort in the overshadowing affliction, and at the con- 
 clusion of the prayer tried to say a few words touching 
 the sad event that filled all hearts. He alluded to the 
 great loss sustained, and to the fact that as yet it could 
 not be fully realized ; counseled the scholars to learn 
 of Mr. Capron's life and teachings, and was going on to 
 say more, but his great grief overcame him, and he was 
 obliged to abandon the attempt at speech, signifying to 
 Mr. Merriam to take up the theme, which the latter did 
 at length, touching upon the inestimable virtues of the 
 deceased, his gentleness, patience, and fatherly kind- 
 ness, and urging the scholars to strive to live in accord- 
 ance with the principles which Mr. Capron professed, 
 and to take to heart the lessons of the sad bereavement. 
 Following Mr. Merriam's remarks the bell of dismissal 
 was sounded, and the sorrowful scholars repaired to 
 their respective class-rooms. Throughout the entire 
 exercises the school was in tears, and the scene was 
 one of most painful and oppressive sadness. 
 
GRADUATION ADDRESS, 
 
 WITH VALEDICTORY 
 
 DELIVERED AT THE 
 
 HARTFORD PUBLIC HIGH SCHOOL, 
 
 April 24th, 1S74. 
 BY ABBY M. WILLIAMS. 
 
 The Holy Grail. 
 
 On a bright spring morning of the olden time a small 
 band of sturdy knights, mounted and equipped for a 
 long journey, might have been seen slowly passing the 
 drawbridge of the stately castle of Camelot. 
 
 The portcullis dropped with a surly clang and the 
 knights rode forth in silence, pausing not until they 
 reached a slight eminence overlooking the castle, when, 
 as if by common consent, they drew rein and turned to 
 cast one final, lingering look upon the proudest hall in 
 all that goodly land. 
 
 Before them stretches an enchanting landscape, clad 
 in spring's brightest garb. There lies the jousting-field 
 where their earliest enthusiasm was kindled, and where 
 they won their earliest triumphs; they hear for the 
 last time the convent bells ringing out their matin 
 
THE HOLY GRAIL. II5 
 
 chimes, and the famihar sound brings memories of one 
 whom they had laid to rest one bright September day. 
 When his knightly career was scarcely begun, when his 
 hopes and theirs were highest he had been summoned 
 home. The gilded turrets of Merlin's Hall, ghstening 
 in the sunlight, recall many a revel and delightful tale 
 of knightly deeds ; they recall the solemn vows made 
 the last time they had gathered about the Round Table. 
 But the saddest, fondest memories are of their king. 
 Only a few months before they had borne him, sorely 
 wounded, from the battle-field to the little chapel by the 
 lake, and when they knew that he must die, had ten- 
 derly carried him to the margin of the meer, had seen 
 the dusky barge slowly approach the shore, had tearfully 
 entrusted his loved form to the three queens with 
 crowns of gold, and had heard these parting words of 
 his — " Farewell, I am going a long way with these thou 
 seest, to the valley of Avalon, where falls not hail, or 
 rain, or any snow, or ever wind blows loudly ; but it 
 lies deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns and 
 bowery hollows crowned with summer sea, where I will 
 heal me of my grievous wound." 
 
 Long had they stood, revolving many memories, 
 watching the barge, with .oar and sail, move slowly from 
 the brink till the hull looked like one black dot against 
 the verge of dawn. Slowly and sadly they had returned 
 to their deserted hall, and in the first agony of their 
 grief had vowed, by his dear memory, to seek, by land 
 
Il6 THE HOLY GRAIL. 
 
 and sea, the Holy Grail, and cease not till they found 
 it. 
 
 And now they stand upon the hill-top which divides, 
 as it were, a former life of mingled joy and sorrow 
 from a coming one of faithful service. Behind them 
 lies the field of holiday tournament, the castle of feast- 
 ing, and the grave of him whom they loved better than 
 life. Before them, stretching on to where the clouds 
 drop down their mysterious folds, and even through 
 them, lies the narrow path of duty which they are 
 henceforth to tread urged on by their reverent memory 
 of him, who can now lead them only by his undying 
 memories and living spirit. And so their thoughts of the 
 past are mingled with bright hopes for the future. 
 They are to seek in all climes for the Holy Grail, and 
 before them rise visions of the battles they hope to win, 
 the gallant deeds they are determined to achieve ; but 
 brightest and best of all is the hope of finding the 
 Holy Vessel of the Grail. 
 
 At last the adventurous train moved on, their ban- 
 ners fluttering in the wind, their armor flashing in the 
 sun, and their faces resolutely turned from the pleasant 
 land they were leaving. 
 
 And so, year after year, through repeated disappoint- 
 ments and trying unsuccess, they struggled on in the 
 fulfilment of their sacred vow. Scorning the attrac- 
 tions of other pursuits, consecrating all their energies 
 of body and soul to the holy work upon which they had 
 
THE HOLY GRAIL. II7 
 
 entered, and following always the example of their 
 king, they left for themselves the record of lives truly 
 kingly — wonderful evidences of the strength and noble- 
 ness which a single purpose, if only it be pure and 
 lofty, ever gives to even the humblest efforts of men. 
 
 To-day we stand here like those knights. Our Round 
 Table, after four happy years of cheerful companion- 
 ship, must be dissolved ; we must bid adieu to oitr noble 
 Camelot, and gird on our armor for the life struggle 
 which lies before us. We too look back upon the 
 pleasant land we are leaving. There lie the bright 
 fields of youth, and through the years that are gone 
 come floating up, like peals of soft-tolling bells, mem- 
 ories we cannot, would not forget. We too think of our 
 loved classmate who was laid to rest one bright Sep- 
 tember day. We think of our King Arthur who was 
 called home in the very flush of his brilliant manhood. 
 
 Why our noble leader was taken from us, just when 
 we seemed to need him most — God only knows. We, 
 like the knights of the olden time, are left to enter 
 without him upon our quest in the untried regions of 
 the future, where abide our fortunes. All the pain and 
 sorrow of parting — of breaking up our Round Table — 
 is doubled, trebled, because he is not here to give us 
 his parting, blessing. 
 
 But we too, like them, have bright hopes as well as 
 sad memories. In fancy we see before us the ranges 
 of Hope's haloed mountain-tops towering above a 
 16 
 
Il8 THE HOLY GRAIL. 
 
 verdant land, white with harvests of honors, happiness, 
 and placid life. 
 
 But if the prospect is enchanting, the retrospect is 
 full of a sadder, a more potent charm, which makes us 
 reluctant to say good-bye. 
 
 Classmates: We are gathered for the last time. 
 Never again, as a class, shall we pass together to the 
 recitation or assemble in this room. The hour has 
 come for us to bid farewell to each other and to the 
 school which we have so learned to love. Very soon 
 the reality of our school days will dwindle away into 
 the dimness of the past, as the turrets of Camelot's 
 fair halls faded from the sight of those cavaliers who 
 were starting in quest of the Holy Grail ; but often 
 in the heat of life's conflict will come back to us the 
 memory of these days, and of these friends whom we 
 are leaving — friends more generous and disinterested 
 than we shall ever find again. We shall learn that the 
 world is not all serenity and calm ; perfect happiness 
 will evade us as the Holy Grail baffled the search of 
 those knights. But let us remember which one of 
 them approached nearest to the object of his hopes — 
 it was the knight who girded on the pure white armor 
 and lived a life of purity in thought, word, and deed. 
 Amid all the " dust" of this world's conflict, let us keep 
 undimmed our faith in the good and the true, and in 
 the promise of fadeless honor in the world to come — 
 forgetting not the palma of victory which the ransomed 
 
THE HOLY GRAIL. I IQ 
 
 of the Lord will wave in the courts of his eternal 
 temple, or the crowns to be given at last to each faithful 
 soldier of the cross. 
 
 We are not as many now as when we entered upon 
 our High School life, four short years ago; nearly 
 twice as many as our present number are away. Some 
 have left us to join a preceding class, many have 
 already gone to seek their fortunes here and there in 
 our broad land, while one has gone a long way, even to 
 "the undiscovered country." With full ranks and high 
 hopes we entered upon this last and happiest year of 
 our school life. But with the "melancholy days," with 
 the "death of the flowers," one of our number left us — 
 the gentle spirit of our classmate Arthur Snow opened 
 to the bloom of the immortal life. The old year died 
 away with its requiems for our departed one ; but the 
 new year had scarce dawned when our beloved Prin- 
 cipal, — ^?/r noble King Arthur, left us. and walked in 
 Paradise. Ah ! we had never realized before how ten- 
 derly we loved him, how highly we respected his noble 
 manhood, how dependent we were upon him. Oh ! how 
 loth we were to give him up! In our first selfish grief 
 we cried, "We cannot let him go" — but God knew best. 
 
 In bidding him our last tearful farewell we felt indeed 
 that we were parting from a guide, a pattern, and a 
 friend, one for whom our reverence was largely blended 
 with affection. My classmates, it needs no words of 
 mine to tell how we have missed his smile of benedic- 
 
I20 THE HOLY GRAIL. 
 
 tion, his words of love which were always so powerful to 
 teach us the inspiration of well-doing. We shall ever 
 hold in grateful memory his noble example and patient 
 teachings, and may we never forget that sublimest of 
 all lessons which we have learned of him — how beau- 
 tifully majesty of intellect may be united with humility 
 of faith. O, let us try to follow his noble example, 
 though it be imperfectly, and may his memory ever 
 nerve us on to greater bravery and faithfulness, so that 
 thinking on him and girding our hearts with silent 
 fortitude, "suffering, yet hoping all things," we may 
 one day walk beside him in the light of the imperial 
 Salem, never more to say farewell. 
 
B*! V"^ i i <Mwww«<| 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS J^l 
 
 lllllllllllilili 
 
 022 137 737 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 iiifeMM^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^^^1