12
UNIVERSITY COURIER.
tal to education. Men talk of a universal democracy. For my part I had rather see a universal aristocracy. I have read that in the English House of Lords they vote, content—or, not content. After a little while every one will have felt the touch of the preacher and the teacher. After a little while education will elevate, freedom enlighten, religion ennoble every one who dwells beneath the mighty dome that spans above us from sea to sea. And then every American citizen will be a member of a great House of Lords, and his vote will be—content.
Men delight to trace their lineage from the days of William the Conqueror. This man was fatally injured in the streets of a city which he had given up to fire and sword. Next morn the bells of the convent of St. Gervais broke his slumbers, and, his brother in prison at home, his son in rebellion abroad, the soul of the conqueror passed away. He died like a great king. New England settlers cleared away the forest in Ohio, and built a village. The first building they erected was a house of prayer. Years passed by, and in the place of the log church there stood a beautiful monument to New England devotion. One Sabbath morn, as the bell in this church steeple called the villagers to worship, it called away the soul of one who three-score years before had prepared for himself this beautiful requiem. No rebel son, no imprisoned brother mocked his old age or cursed his memory. Children and grandchildren mourned one who died like a good citizen. My friends, we are in no special need of great men. The world is full of wisdom. We need men who will live and die like good citizens. We must light our council fires, not from the flame of genius, but from the hearths of happy homes.
The Japanese jugglers are wont to stand, pipe in hand, and weave compliments to the audience in letters of smoke. Too many of the things for which men strive are shallow compliments in veritable letters of smoke. The applause of enchanted thousands is no sweeter to the gray haired statesman than were the shouts of his boyish comrades fifty years ago. The wreath of fame rests not half so lightly on his weary brow as did his mother's kindly touch at close of some days childish sports. Even the lilies that blossom and bloom over the sacred graves of our fallen heroes, are no fairer than the flowers they wore away to battles. But there will come wiser thoughts and truer aspirations. For as the world grows older men grow nobler and purer. Until some day all will stand on the broad plane of true manhood. And when that day shall break, I trust it will find looking toward the dawn, his face aglow with the light of an eternal sunshine, that last and loftiest product of our Anglo- Saxon civilization—the American citizen.
And another Homer shall sing :
"The sacred sun, above the waters raised,
Through heaven's eternal, brazen portals blazed ;
And wide o'er earth diffused his cheering ray,
To give to God's and men the golden day.
For naught unprosperous shall our ways attend,
Born with good omens, and with Heaven our friend."
A PROPHECY.
Delivered on Class Day by C. C. DART.
There is a somewhat vague impression in the popular mind that a time will come when man's present condition will be greatly improved. Joy and gladness, peace and plenty are to hold universal sway. No evil shall exist nothing to disturb the general happiness. This view of "the good time coming" is drawn from the book of Revelation. It has always found adherents, but after the lapse of twenty centuries no millenial brightness has vet appeared.
Whether the language of the Revelator is prophetic or not, let others decide. I do not care to support or deny anything relative to the Millennium of the Bible, bu simply to ask, in the light of science, whether or not a better day is coming—a day of millennial splendor.
The world at present is not altogether bad—not altogether gloomy. Many persons are for the most part happy, and there are times when every one seems to catch glimpses of a higher, more exalted existence. But for every joy there is a sorrow, for every sweet a bitter, for every rose a thorn. In spite of the bright side, there is a dark one which it is our duty to meet and to conquer. We need to know the worst and to gird ourselves for the combat. In doing this, no one need be cynical, narrow, unsympathetic, but rather true, whole-souled, philanthropic.
In considering the evils that bind us hand and foot, I fain would borrow a pencil from Dante, and dipping it in blood of human suffering, I would paint a picture of life's woes. On yonder eminence stands a tall and gloomy structure with broad approaches and wide entrances. Multitudes enter here. Many to perish—a few to recover. Those fevered brows, festered wounds, features distorted by cutting pains tell the beholder more plainly than words that the invalid's lot is not a happy one. Gnawed by hungry, relentless disease, suffering misery insufferable, these poor creatures pour out their lives in sighs and groans, cursing the God that gave them birth.
But behold a second structure more gloomy than the first. Removed from the center of human industry and urban life, with barred doors and windows, it stands in itself a diseased looking object. Here are the living dead. What are the dead alive? Ah, the body lives, the mind is broken, shattered, gone. Oh madness, why are you come to torment men on earth?
But a third most dismal structure presents itself. A gigantic pile. Stone and iron and mortar have done their worst. Do you ask who dwell here? The morally diseased. Those who were once pure and spotless, who have been taught by a fond mother to lisp an evening prayer, who have felt her kiss of love on innocent lips, and listened to her admotions to be goodand true and noble—many who set sail on life's ocean with no cloud in sight, no shoals ahead, even these, beaten upon by unforeseen tempests and dashed against hidden rocks, have at last anchored here. Could tears ransom such, who would not weep?
Hospitals, asylums, prisons, indicative of physical mental and moral diseases. In these is comprehended the sum of human suffering. Any theory that would perfect the condition of men must deal with these disorders. The optimist may assert that all is for the best but his every endeavor to better his own condition fal-