blessing upon childlessness, and make the grave more gracious for our children, than the cradle. But the divine Creator knows our frame, and cares for all its wants. He leaves us not uncomforted, in any of the trusts, and trials, which He lays upon our hearts. In every duty, and in every danger, of our lives, He meets us, with His love. The "blessings of the breasts and of the womb" are blessings, which take in the soul, and go with it into eternity. None of His promises are more explicit than those which sanction the religious care of children. His praise of Abraham turns expressly on His domestic piety: "I know him, that he will command his children and his household after him; and they shall keep the way of the Lord, to do justice and judg ment." And the benign and gracious Saviour, while He won, by every charm and charity of love, the "little children" to Himself, opened a world of comfort and encouragement, to hearts of parents, and of teachers, and of pastors, in those mysterious words: "I say unto you, in Heaven, their angels do always behold the face of my Father, which is in Heaven."

The Christian parent, that desires salvation for his children, need not greatly fear. God has provided, in His Church, all needful helps, and means, to gain, through grace, that great and gracious end. There stands the Font, with its regenerating wave, to wash him from his primal sin, and give him back, new-born, "of water, and of the Spirit." There, ever sounds, in tones of ancient piety, a mother's voice in her dear children's ears, the simple, yet majestic catechism. There, at the chancel-rail, the pastor of the pastors waits, with hands outstretched, to hear the meek renewal of his infant vows, and sign him with the seal of the Divine and Holy Spirit, and commend him to the cares, and toils, and trials of the life that lies before him, with the blessing of the Holy One. There, in the Bread and Wine, which He ordained and blessed, the Saviour gives Himself to every faithful heart. There, the life-giving Word is ever vocal, with its lessons of truth, its counsels of wisdom, and its promises of peace. There, in a voice, that rolls up, round and full, from the deep caverns of the past, the faith once delivered to the old saints, is uttered in the Creeds, which martyrs moistened with their blood. There, in a ceaseless round, the prayers are offered, which have promise-from the gracious One, Who comes, wherever "two or three" are gathered, in His name-of answer and fulfilment. And from every consecrated stone, and every charmed spot, and every word of faith, and penitence, and praise, as from His garment's hem, when in the flesh, virtue comes forth to heal, to strengthen, and to bless, to all who kneel to Him, in meek, obedient faith."*

† And, in his last address to the Graduates of the Hall, the thread, on which he strings his purest pearls of thought, that

* See Appendix A.

+ "What address to the fair daughters of St. Mary's Hall was ever more sparkling, more imaginative, and yet more profound amid its play of sunny wit and wisdom, than that exquisite legacy he bequeathed to the last graduating class?"-Rev. Dr. Mahan.

hold Heaven's light imprisoned, is still this same principle, when he writes

My children, upon this devious and eventful pilgrimage, you are to enter, now; unshielded, by the sacred home, which has, so long, been your shelter. From its privacy, its peacefulness, its purity, its piety; the sound of its continual scriptures, the music of its continual songs, the fervour of its continual supplications, the fragrance of its continual sacraments: you are to go out into a world, which cares, but little, for these things. I thank God, for the inestimable confidence, that their roots have taken in your hearts. I look, to Him, to water, with His grace, those plantings of His Word. I beseech Him, mercifully to grant, that they may live, and grow, in you: nurturing your souls, with spiritual and immortal food; sheltering your young heads, with their broad, cool, shadow, against the hot blasts of temptation; and cheering you on, with their refreshing fragrance, through whatever He may order, for your chastening, as His children, until they bring you, where, the palms of Paradise spring up, forever green, by the pure river of the water of life. Remember, my beloved, you have not these inestimable blessings, for yourselves, alone. You hold them, as a sacred trust, for your homes, for the Church, for your country, and for your kind. "The times are out of joint." Corruption stalks in our high places. Licentiousness has, well nigh, lost its shame. Infidelity is bold and brazen-faced. The wave of barbarism is rolling back, upon us. For these things, your own sex is greatly answerable.

They forget their Bibles. They neglect their Prayer-Books. They are women of fashion. They are women of the world. What else they are, is rather shaped, by opportunity, than by themselves. this way, home is stripped of its sanctity. In this way the female atmosphere loses its freshness and its fragrance. The woman is, no longer, what she was made to be; "a help-meet" for the man. man ceases to be, what God designed him for; her partner, her prop, and her protector.

And

I am well persuaded, by the report, which comes, to me, from every quarter of the land, that the women, who have gone out, from before this altar-counted, now, by thousands-are, for the most part, women of another sort. I hear of them, as faithful wives. I hear of them, as devoted mothers. I hear of them, as loving sisters. I hear of them, as obedient daughters. They are centres of good influence in society. They are stays and ornaments of the Church. It may be said of them: "Many daughters have done virtuously; but, these excel them all!" To join this hopeful company, beloved ones, you are to go out, now. You go, with the instructions, by which their minds were moulded. You go, with the influences, which God has sanctified, in the transformation of their hearts. You go, with the prayers, which have won down, from Heaven, for them, the consolations of the Comforter. You go, with the blessing, which has commended them, to the care, and keeping of the Holy One. "Be strong, in the Lord," dear children: "and in the power of His might." Keep your Bibles, ever, in your hearts. Have your Prayer-Books, ever, in your hands. Be true, to yourselves. Be true, to your homes. Be true, to your

Church. Be true, to your God. Follow, after her, who sat down, at Jesus' feet and heard His word. Follow after them, who left His Cross, the last; and found His grave, the first. Follow after her, whose sacred legend gleams upon you now; now, it may be, for the last time; "behold the handmaid of the Lord!" Remember, always, that you are women. Remember, always, to be "holy women.' Keep your hands, ever, on the Cross. Fix your eyes, ever, on the Lambs of the LAMB, in meekness, and gentleness, and lovingness; be dovelings of the Dove, in peace, and purity, and piety. Dear daughters of my heart, God bless you!

crown.

As I quote from the last expression of the love, which we have dwelt on so often from his dear lips, that set these last sad words, to so many varied, and searching, and exquisite strains; two pictures come before my eye; which, they who have seen, will recognize even through these words; which they who have not seen, cannot realize, and can never see again. A Commencement at Burlington College, and a graduation at St. Mary's Hall, were sights, worth seeing, and never to be forgotten; never to be repeated in their fulness, now that "Hamlet" must be left out. In both, one rule prevailed, which gave great decency and dignity to them. There was always a religious service, and the literary exercises. But there was a place for each. No platform, boarded over the Holy Altar, dishonoured it, and there were no sights and signs, of flags and bands, to interrupt the devotion and the sacredness, of His blessing and our prayers. The literary exercises were in the largest halls, in each Institution, and the religious services, in the one case, in the Chapel of the Holy Innocents; in the other, in St. Mary's Church. This was one half the beauty of the thing. Who cannot feel now, that ever did, the change, from the flags and stirring music and martial tread, of the Commencement procession, to the solemnity and stilling organ and silent prayer, of the entrance, into the West door of St. Mary's Church. Let us take one at a time.

My Father was a man, who always looked his office. At home, overflowing with love and tenderness-what was he not?-in Church and in his robes, every inch, a Bishop: in his Academic dress, the perfect, "Præses reverendissimus." Seated on the temporary stage in the College Hall, with flags above him and behind, he was the object, of a picture. worth seeing. His silken robes, and Oxford cap, and scarlet hood became him nobly, and he, them. And all he said there, was in Latin, said with such grace, and dignity, and fluent emphasis, as silvered even Latin. Doctors and Masters and Bachelors and under-graduates, with their distinctive gowns and hoods, were about him. And the first thing, was to kneel in silent prayer. Then, when the music stopped, he

stood erect, and bowed. "Auditores docti ac benevoli, hi juvenes nostri, primam lauream ambientes, vos, per Óratorem, salutare cupiunt: quod, illis a vobis concessum, fidunt." And then taking his seat, with a bow to the Salutatorian: "Orator Salutatorius, in linguâ Latina ascendat." This was the signal for each, "Orator, in linguâ Gallicâ, Orator in linguâ Vernaculâ; Orator Valedictorius." When all was done, the sixth form stood before him; and turning to the audience, cap-in-hand, he said "Hosce, pueros, olim, de nostrâ Formâ sextâ, hodie in classem nostram, junior dictam, admittere proponimus, eosque induĕre togâ virili, Academiæ Nostræ." And they knelt for his favourite blessing, his last, that lingers in our ears, and lies upon our hearts, and must last out our lives, "unto God's gracious mercy, we commit you." After this, the procession went directly to the Church. Seated in his Episcopal Chair drawn out to the Choir steps, still in Academic dress, with the Rector and Senior Professor on either side, and the Candidates for degrees before him; after the Bidding Prayer and Litany, he delivered his Baccalaureate, with a tone that mingled the love and authority of a Father, the dignity and office of a Bishop, the earnestness and experience of an old Teacher; in a way that brought out, in relief, the severe and exquisite figures of his speech, and melted boys' hearts, and young men's, to tears. This done, the conferring of degrees began. Standing up, he addressed the Trustees, the very pattern of graceful dignity, in look, and voice, and gesture; "Curatores honorandi, ac reverendi; juvenes, quos coram vobis, videtis, publico examini, secundum hujus academiæ leges, subjecti; habiti fuerunt omnino digni, honoribus academicis exornari; vobis igitur comprobantibus, illos ad gradum petitum, toto animo admittam." And when the answer came from the President, "Comprobamus;" he took his seat, put on his Oxford cap, and one by one, as the boys knelt before him, he gave them their degree. "Ad honorem Domini nostri Jesu Christi; ad profectum Ecclesiæ Sacrosanctæ, et omnium studiorum bonorum; do tibi (putting a Greek Testament in their hands) licentiam legendi, docendi, disputandi, et cætera omnia faciendi; quæ ad gradum *Baccalaurei in Artibus, pertinent; cujus hocce diploma sit testimonium, in Nomine, Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." And each time, as he said it, with the deepest feeling, he lifted his cap at the mention of the Triune name; and God's glory rested on his magnificent head. The Service ended, always, with the celebration of the Holy Eucharist.

At the Hall there was the same sacred dignified beauty,

* Or "Magistri" or "Baccalaurei in literis sacris."

adapted to the different place and persons. The reading of the compositions was in the school-room. He sat, surrounded by the class, who were dressed in white; with flowers before him; the Father at home, loving his children, in their pure beauty. There was no applause here, or at the College. He always said, the liberty to applaud included the liberty to hiss; and his simple presence, rising from his seat, checked it instantly without a word. Then he would lead the class out of the school-room; and while the audience went to the Chapel, he put on his robes, and with the clergy, followed by the graduating class, walked to their beautiful Chapel. Here after the Bidding Prayer and Litany and Anthem, he rose and called each child, by name, giving her, as she approached, her diploma; and when all were given, and they knelt before him, in their snowy row, a bed of lilies, for purity and sweetness, he overshadowed them with his paternal hands; and the benediction of his love fell from him, and lay upon all their lives, in the same words of blessing, commending them to the gracious mercy of the Triune God. They rose, and from his chair, he read his parting words to them, always with the deepest emotion. What words they were. So many and so manifold. Each one, a gem for wise and earnest affection, and all together (like the quaint device of those lover's rings) spelling the most expressive word for wisest, longest, holiest, deepest love, that should reach out to all the widest wandering of their parted feet, and bless their lives, their death, their Life.

The details of such scenes, as those described above, are worth preserving. I have written them as a keepsake. As such they will be recognized, and welcomed in many a home, by many a heart. Beyond this, they are valuable as a model and pattern for all such services; and as a proof of the decency and dignity, the graceful solemnity, and unembarrassed ease, with which my Father performed every function of his life; adapting himself to each, throwing himself all, into each, awkward, or hesitating, or making mistakes; with that unstudied instinct of a power, that is great enough, to take in, and do well, the little things of life. So too, I may say of his addresses, of which I have quoted so much. They show him, not only in his graces of thought and word and manner, but in this same varied and perfect adaptation of himself, to every circumstance; and in the high and holy motives, the deep and wise and anxious love, with which, he discharged his trust, as the Shepherd of Christ's lambs.

never

While I am reviewing, as it were, these yearly issues of love, that followed the yearly issues of life, from each of the two schools, let me give his own reasons for beginning this great work, with girls.