ozss CLASS DAY. 1860. ccTa \m u::;v::::rY OF ii. /\ .V EXEECISES ON CLASS DA,!^ Ko AT DARTMOUTH COLLEGE, TUESDAY, JULY 24, 1860, FINIS CORONAT OPUS. HANOVER : PUBLISHED BY VOTE OF THE CLASS, August 1860. Oartntoiith Press, Hanover, N. H. (.'LASvSMATKvS ! The duty devolvinti; upon your Secretary has been per- formed, with the utmost possible care and speed, — the prompt and very appropriate action of the Class enabling him to escape the delays and obstacles usually inia voidable. He has done his best .and so has the printer. And there only remains to await the criticism of the Class, which surely will be candid and, it is hoped, favorable. Classmates I We are separated forever ; and although we •jiay regret, we have yet cause to be glad. Let us congratulate ourselves that we have been always united ; - and on this ac- count, in great part, gained for our Class Day the unmixed j)raises of all. Your thanks are in the highest degree due to those who, witli so much ability, sustained the burden of the day and gained for you, as well as for themselves, so much honor. Finally, brothers, let not the Secretary be so in name only ; inform him of your doings — a^iid pax- oohlseum. F. C. ORDER. The Procession formed at 3 o'clock, P. M., at the Chapel and inarched to Prof. Sanborn's, thence, with him under escort, to the Church, where were had the following exercises : — 1. Prayer, 5. Poem. 2. Music. 6. Music. 3. Oration. 7. Chronicles. 4. Music. 8. Prophecies. 9. Ode, sung by the Class. 10. Benediction. The procession then formed and marched to the President's, and, after the Orations there, to the Old Pine, where the pipe of peace was smoked during the Address. The Class then marched to the Chapel, disbanded, and visited informally the recitation rooms in order. ( ) II A 1^ J O N^ BY KICHAKD 11. STONE. Our life is a perpetual change ; were it not so, to-day had been as yesterday, and life itself a blank. From the cradle to the grave there is an endless flow of vicissitude and unrest. We cannot hope that eternity will be unchangeable ; if so, we must wish ourselves insensate clods. Endowed perhaps with attri- butes like the monads of the philosophers, floating through an infinite ether in a dreamy, stupid felicity — a heaven more sen- sual than the Elysium of the Mussulman — an existence wilder and more unconscious than the vagaries of the opium-cater, whose disordered brain gathers all the past and the future into the present, and receiving this as the supremest excellence, half insensible, insensibly, floating on alone, forever. No ! Such an idle dream we cannot tolerate ; but, rejoicing in the conscious- ness that immortal progress is before us, we have come hither to-day. These retreats, wherein we have walked and mused — the centre around which we have for a time revolved ; that have witnessed* our delights, and follies, and shame ; our fancies, idle dreams, speculations, and sterner thoughts, can hold us no longer. Elate and yet sad we snufl" the spirit of the v/orld be- yond, and its marching cry " progress" rings in our ears. The wide future is before us, full of splendid possibilities. Well may it be for us, if in the hurry and rush of life, we shall find seasons of calm weather, when asking ourselves the questions — whence come and whither tend we ? — we can catch sight of that immortal sea which brought us hither. Says Seneca — " Ulysses had but one rock to fear, but human life has many." Fools then are they, who would set forth in ships, grandly 6 freighted, trustiu;: tluniselves to the treacherous sea without a rudder to guide th»Mn in their course ! Of what avail to them are compass and cludi, the cynosure ever gleamhig ahove the Pole ! The guidiui: principle is wanting, and by as much as the shi}) is more statvlv rlian the ten-thousand other common barks that every gale drlv«\s before it — the quicker hastens its de- struction, the niort' aggravated is its ruin. Rightly do men hold the autho)-> <>r such waste and folly to a stern account. They give them an infamous name, and doom them to everlast- ing contempt. Classmates I MuTaris mutandis, and we are the ships — life's voyage before us — each of us assured that the halcyon days are passed — seeing that the jjatli over which we must go, is strewn with wrecks — none of us so stolid as not to know the proper course — compass and chart in our hands — the heavens ever shining above us — what shall be the guide of our lives? fl>(/.()(joqiu Btov Ki'-iiorijiriL^ answei' the wise men of antiquity. But then the wor-ld was narrow, ambition limited, and the study of philoso|)hy was but tracking to their source the rays of light that had begun to pUiy and glinuner above the horizon, betoken- ing the full incoininii day. They could not but do it. Said one of their greatest minds, " if we must philosophize, we must phi- losophize ; if we must not philosophize, we must philosophize ; in any case, therefore, we must philosophize." But in our day the world lies open, an(i he who would take it nnist be no idle dream- er. ''Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas," with them was a first principle, a. parr of their creed, without which none could arrive at the " pure abodes above, live without bodies, in habita- tions beautiful, and not easy to describe." With ms, happy is he who knows the tilings themselves and can hold them in posses- sion ; let the causes go to the winds, and philosophy has fallen into bad repute. VVe cast it aside, and if we still ask for a guide, the theologian cries, "take Revelation — the example of the great Teach e?-. and it shall be before you as a cloud by day, a pillar of fire by night." V'es! but in this we shall dis- agree, and it would ill become me to tarry here. I leave it to the divine and eacli man's own heart. But we shall go forth, and none of us so abajnlonpd as not to wish for success, or so beliov- \ng in a blind fatality as to expect to attain ii l»v lyin\\\\ by so doing, can we hope that our future life will be a gain. Stai-ting then with this belief, that without some guiding priiuiplc ne cannot expect to attain the dignity of true ma.nhood, and als«; that each of us is wiUing to submit to such a. dii-ecthig p<»\^er. if it shall seem agreeable — would that I might say wise — (hen there were no need of words. I beg your indulgence tor :; few passhig mo- ments in considering Utilitarianism as a guide <»f life. I have not the vanity to expect that any word that I may ut- ter will be worthy of remembrance by you. We know whence are the oracles. Do not expect words of \\isdoMi from one who has not " the years that bring the philosophi*; mind." But if I may awaken one not unworthy thought, so that in coming time, when the memory of college days shall come flood- ing upon you, this hour may be honored with a pleasing recol- lection, my purpose will be accomplished. In this age, when every new, and every (Ad thing is met by the question — cui bono? when utilitarianisui does guide the movements of men, it may seem a work of supererogation to call your attention to it. It were so, did the surface plainly indicate the condition of the interior. We know that to the scientific mind it does. But the world are sciolists — tilings are not what they seem to them. Have we learned norhing else from our Alma Mater but to distinguish Heeming from being, our years have not been ill-spent. Though we can speak with tongues and are the veriest scholars and have not this, we may well question her wisdom, or be humiliated by our own littleness. Plainly there is a false as well as a true utility. It might at first seem that their courses would be so diverse, that no one would mistake the false for the true, but the records of all time declare otherwise. It is an eternal truth, that •' there is a way that seemeth right to a man, but the end thereof is death." 8 Truth and error from their source travel side bj side, and he must be a careful observer who would discover their point of di- vergence. Unwittingly men take either course, and we by searching can exhume from all the dead past the fossil remains of honest, easy souls. They shipwrecked early, and we give them pity ; others we find whom a kind of fatality protected, a star of destiny led them on ; they trod under foot the world for a season, and in pride of life, and contempt for fellow man they said, " we do indeed sit upon the summit of Babel and are as gods." But the avenging Nemesis comes sooner or later and now they stand, in the galleries of the illustrious dead, truly ; but like Niobe, a mournful memorial — a fearful warning. Be ye not like unto them. Naturally we love the hero. Invol- untarily we pay homage to the godlike. But men are always forgetting that the hero does not make himself. The true hero believes each man better than himself. He can bide his time. By morbidly brooding over some dark feature of human life men become monomaniacs. Forgetting the old maxim, " There are many wand-bearers, but few inspired," which has gathered con- firmation from the ages, that was reiterated by divine lips, they are wild in the belief that in the counsels of eternal truth they are the chosen vessels ; and it often proves true, but of wrath. They are swift to trample under foot law and religion, professing forsooth allegiance to a higher law and a more recent revelation. They are never wanting followers. Nature is ever true to her- self. Vultures hover over battle-fields. When law and justice rise and sweep from the earth these frantic dreamers, shall we by afibrding to them a sickly, sentimental pity — nay worse, by deifying them, invite others to the same ruin ? Law and justice will ever sit heavily upon such men, while the two go hand in hand. Separate them, and a return to barbarism is not only possible, but probable ; nay, sure. The end of such lives re- veals the hollo wness of their pathway, and from it there glares a lurid beacon — for the end is death. Cicero by his scorching declamation gained for himself a name and fame. Candid minds now accord the earnest purpose of correcting abuses, to the Cataline brood. The great orators 9 ambition cost him his life, and for centuries his faults were veiled, his virtues only remembered ; but now Verres, Cataline and Mark Antony confront their great calumniator, and bringing each before him there are not wanting those who pronounce the exile the better man. Each in his station and time followed seeming expediency, and the long run has demonstrated its shal- lowness and falsity. Sailing in the popular current, and principle is not the rud- der, brilliant and swift may be the course, but the darkness that follows the meteor's path is like the grave — a gloom. Time dims the sanctity that surrounds the lives of the great dead. They have become as mummies. The world no longer heeds their cry — " procul este, profani ! " The market-places of men hawk their secrets as merchandise-curiosity lays open their tombs. The silence of the pyramids is broken by strange voices. Memnon is no longer a mystery. We can gain a cheap fame by solving the riddle of the Sphinx, or by drinking crocodile's tears with the shades of Egyptian kings. We may deceive ourselves and our generation, but are we worthy of re- membrance ? We shall soon be assigned our true place. Our fathers were taught that Newton was an embodiment of the vir- tues — a saint upon the earth — an angel in disguise ; but we have learned that his life was checkered like other men's with envy, with malice, with fretful peevishness. Pope with a stroke of the pen, had well nigh consigned to everlasting ignominy the most august philosopher the world has known, but now the world flouts the poet, and says " canst thou cast the first stone ?" Ne- ro and Judas have their advocates, and though we cannot for- give, we could have wished better things of them. MoraUsts tell us there is nothing so humble, so grand, but that it teaches its lesson. From this we can see that no man loses his human nature. The sage and the saint we find to have been but men. Now we can sympathize, pity ; before we could only worship, wonder. Him whom we thought a fiend incarnate, we find to have been but a man after all, with like passions as we. So time equalizes and assigns to each his true grade. We see the errors of the great who have gone before us ; the common herd — 2 10 their followers, wild, turbulent, have passed away leaving no name. History lumps them together and hurries them by. Though we believe that " through the ages one eternal pur- pose runs," yet that which is past is a type of what is and shall be. The same drama goeth on to the end of the world, and whether we be in the first or fifth act — who can tell? Disap- pointed ambition still vexes the later years of many of the great- est and best. Their ways are not ways of pleasantness, neither are their paths peace. We may charitably ignore their infirmi- ties, but history must record them. " Better rule in hell, than serve in heaven !" Do we believe it ? High-sounding words indeed and, like their fabled author, commanding. But in our better hours, is there not a sweeter, more potent influence in those words of almost divine philosophy, "To be nameless in worthy deeds exceeds an infamous history?" Bays Sir Thomas Browne : " Who would not rather have been the good thief than Pontius Pilate ? The Canaanitish woman lives better without a name than Herodias with one." None of us are so imbecile that we may not command a shameless history. Becoming men of one questionable purpose, whether it be the pursuit of an unwise philanthropy, a love of gain, of power or licentious freedom we may attempt driving it forward and through all opposition. Is not this the growing melancholy fashion of our times ? With this one object before us — with minds vulcanized against every lesson of the past — passing with silent contempt the admonitions of older and wiser heads — casting aside with a sneer the warnings of Revelation, we can become famous — yes, infamous. Is this merely a fan- cy sketch ? Let us not measure the great world by the little circumference that limits our vision. But go into the haimts of men and we may see thousands whose course is as the orbit of a comet — who have passed the perihelion; now the door is shut — henceforth their way is into the unknown. Have we faith to believe that at sometime in the coming eternities, they will return to the sun — the source of light ! No ! an in- nate scepticism forbids it. Turn we now gladly to the more pleasing part of our subject ; 11 and briefly, for it has been to little purpose thus far, if the oppo- site shall not readily suggest itself. Amid all the glitter and sham of life, is there not a true utility, takhig which as a guide, we may safely thread its tortuous passage, and stand complete at last '^ upon the hills of God ?" In all the range of our exist- ence, which recalls the past, which anticipates the future, which delves to the very centre of the earth, which expands into, and beyond all this wide reach of air, can there not be found a mild, fixed utile, more alluring even to a mind that ever indulges a serious thought than the dazzling, planetary inutile ? Yes 1 in sober hours our hearts have assured us of it ; to gainsay it were to court despair. Fancy may have pictured the beauty of the way, and the delights that attend ; but the old maxim of the rose and the thorn is eternal. Do we not know that good and evil always go hand in hand ? Are not the saddest moments ofttimes the happiest? Joy and sorrow dignify and ennoble each other. In what does this true utility consist ? Surely noi; in idleness — else are the beaver and the bear in their liberation types of the highest possible existence. Sleep is made by the poets a beautiful, beneficent goddess. But stripped of all poet- ry, what else is it than a living death ? We turn with a shud- der from the thought that death may be an eternal sleep. That it will form no part of a higher existence is a sublime anticipa- tion — " and there shall be no night there." The last half century has indeed taken wonderful, almost mi- raculous strides, and prophecy for the future is wild. The spirit of the age is extravagant — conservatism pronounces it mad. But " Young America" and old fogyism are agreed that work makes the man. We hope to make wonderful discoveries — we expect to devise marvellous inventions, but no one is so visionary as to predict an era when passing through galleries filled with the dusty records and wisdom of ages, we may by some subtle chemistry of soul precipitate the knowledge therein contained into our minds. El-Dorado, The Philosopher's stone, The Fountain of eternal youth we entertain only as delicious day- dreams. Vainly we wish when we see an Irving, a Humboldt, a Macaulay — "names that contain a moiety of the world" — 12 passing from us, that as tlie mantl e of Elijah fell upon Elisha, so by some metempsychosis their wisdom and virtue might descend to us. We should be sad when Ave think, " Each man for him- self," did we not remember, " God for us all." But looking at this dispassionately, we shall not pronounce it a curse. We shall see that could we avoid it a ten-fold evil would be ours. The search for truth has ever been the privi- lege and delight of high-born souls. To them the past and the present are true — the future only is magnificent. " Man never is, but always to be blest." What say the philosophers? Says one — ''If I held truth captive in my hand, I should open my hand and let it fly, in order that I might again pursue and capture it." Says another — " Did the Almighty, holding in his right hand Truths^ and in his left, Search after Truth, deign to tender me the one I might prefer, in all humility, but without hesitation, I should request Search after Truth." And still another — " It is not the goal, but the course, which makes us happy." Each but reiterating the sad plaint of the Latin poet uttered centuries before : — •* Quaesivit coelo lucem, ingemuitque reperta." But truth holds her court in fairy land, as well as along the dusty ways of men. Are we prepared to say that the poets have simg only a fable ? If their most aerial sublimations seem far above the ploddings of every day life, it is far from a true utility that will cast them aside as worthless. But with a stead- fast purpose we shall wait till the inspiration of love shall open the temple doors and reveal to us the inner shrine ; and if we can give credence to the testimony of many true souls, we shall come forth inspired, and though we may remain mute prophets, the world and all it contains shall be clothed with a diviner beau- ty for us. We cannot live by the dull mechanic trades alone. The same beaten path from youth to age is not for us. A true utility de- mands a wider range. If we be dreamers, poetry and fiction shall take the many otherwise dull and weary hours, giving 13 to the years an aii-y tread, while fancy with weird or fairy pace in revory shall range " Doo}) umlergrounJ, or in the upper air, On the slirill wind of niidniglit, or where floats O'er twilight fields the autumnal gossamer." .Be we practical men, and imagination a thing of youth, history and biography shall be the companions of our leisure hours, an