But this topic must be treated in a higher strain. The diffusion of knowledge is not merely favorable to religion and morals, but, in the last and highest analysis, they cannot be separated from each other. In the great prototype of our feeble ideas of perfection, the wise and the good are so blended together, that the absence of one would enfeeble and impair the other. There can be no real knowledge of truth, which does not tend to purify and elevate the affections. A little knowledge, much knowledge,—may not, in individual cases, subdue the passions of a cold, corrupt, and selfish heart. But if knowledge will not do it, can it be done by the want of knowledge? What is human knowledge? It is the cultivation and improvement of the spiritual principle in man. We are composed of two elements; the one, a little dust, caught up from the earth, to which we shall soon return; the other, a spark of that Divine Intelligence, in which and through which we bear the image of the great Creator. By knowledge, the wings of the intellect are spread: by ignorance, they are closed and palsied, and the physical passions are left to gain the ascendancy. Knowledge opens all the senses to the wonders of creation: ignorance seals them up, and leaves the animal propensities unbalanced by reflection, enthusiasm, and taste. To the ignorant man, the glorious pomp of day, the shining mysteries of night, the majestic ocean, the rushing storm, the plenty-bearing river, the salubrious breeze, the fertile field, the docile animal tribes, the broad, the various, the unexhausted, domain of Nature, are a mere outward pageant, poorly understood in their character and harmony, and prized only so far as they minister to the supply of sensual wants. How different the scene, to the man whose mind is stored with knowledge! For him, the mystery is unfolded, the veils lifted up, as one after another he turns the leaves of that great volume of creation, which is filled in every page with the characters of wisdom, power, and love; with lessons of truth the most exalted; with images of unspeakable loveliness and wonder; arguments of Providence; food for meditation; themes of praise. One noble science sends him to the barren hills, and teaches him to survey their broken precipices. Where ignorance beheld nothing but a rough inorganic mass, instruction discerns the intelligible record of the primal convulsions of the world; the secrets of ages before man was; the landmarks of the elemental struggles and throes of what is now the terraqueous globe. Buried monsters, of which the races are now extinct, are dragged out of deep strata, dug out of eternal rocks, and brought almost to life, to bear witness to the power that created them. Before the admiring student of Nature has realized all the wonders of the elder world, thus, as it were, created again by science, another delightful instructress, with her microscope in her hand, bids him sit down, and learn at last to know the universe in which he lives; and contemplate the limbs, the motions, the circulations, of races of animals, disporting in their tempestuous ocean,-a drop of water. Then, while his whole soul is penetrated with admiration of the power which has filled with life, and motion, and sense, these all but non-existent atoms,-O, then, let the divinest of the Muses, let Astronomy approach, and take him by the hand; let her "Come, but keep her wonted state, let her lead him to the mount of observation; let her turn her heaven-piercing tube to the sparkling vault: through that, let him observe the serene star of evening, and see it transformed into a cloud-encompassed orb, a world of rugged mountains and stormy deeps; or behold the pale beams of Saturn, lost to the untaught observer amidst myriads of brighter stars, and see them expand into the broad disk of a noble planet, the seven attendant worlds, the wondrous rings, a mighty system in itself, borne at the rate of twenty-two thousand miles an hour, on its broad pathway through the heavens; and then let him reflect, that our great solar system, of which Saturn and his stupendous retinue is but a small part, fills, itself, in the general structure of the universe, but the space of one fixed star; and that the Power, which filled the drop of water with millions of living beings, is present and active, throughout this illimitable creation! Yes, yes, "The undevout astronomer is mad!" But it is time to quit these sublime contemplations, and bring this address to a close. I may seem to have undertaken a superfluous labor, in sustaining the argument of this address. This Institution, consecrated to learning and piety; these academic festivities; this favoring audience, which bestows its countenance on our literary exercises; the presence of so many young men, embarking on the ocean of life, devoted to the great interests of the rational mind and immortal soul, bear witness for me, that the cause of education stands not here in need of champions. Let it be our pride, that it has never needed them, among the descendants of the Pilgrims; let it be our vow, that, by the blessing of Providence, it never shall need them, so long as there is a descendant of the Pilgrims to plead its worth. Yes, let the pride of military glory belong to foreign regions; let the refined corruptions of the older world attract the traveller to its splendid capitals; let a fervid sun ripen, for other states, the luxuries of a tropical clime. Let the schoolhouse and the church continue to be the boast of the New-England village; let the son of New England, whithersoever he may wander, leave that behind him, which shall make him homesick for his native land; let freedom, and knowledge, and morals, and religion, as they are our birthright, be the birthright of our children, to the end of time! ON SUPERIOR AND POPULAR EDUCATION.* GENTLEMEN OF THE ADELPHIC UNION,-I feel scarcely warranted, at this late hour, in taking up much of your time. The day belongs properly to those, who, having completed their academic course, have presented themselves upon the public stage, in the presence of kindred, friends, and a gratified audience, to be dismissed with collegiate honors, to the active duties of life, or to the more immediate preparation for its professional pursuits. I have scarce a right to take to myself any portion of the precious time, to which they have the first claim. Besides, I feel too deeply interested in the scene, as a spectator, to desire a more active part in the duties of the day. It recalls to me, fresh as yesterday, the time, now more than a quarter of a century past, when, like you, young gentlemen, who are about to take your degrees, I also stood upon the threshold of life, full of the hopes, the visions, the enthusiasm, of youth. These scholastic exercises, these learned tongues, these academic forms, touch a chord of sympathy in my bosom. Personally a stranger to most of those whom I have the honor to address, I feel as if, on literary ground, (and I am sure that no one, on this occasion, can expect me to occupy any other,) I may come as an acquaintance, as a friend; that I even "Claim kindred there, and have the claim allowed." may Nature seems to breathe peace, in concert with the character of the day; and, within these quiet valleys, shut out, by the perpetual hills, from the struggling world, she invites us, with her most soothing voice, to kind feeling, to cheerful discourse, and to calm thought. * An Address delivered before the Adelphic Union Society of Williams College, on Commencement Day, August 16, 1837. Nor are the historical recollections around us less animating and joyous. The pleasant village, where we are assembled, contains, within view of the spot where we stand, the site of Fort Hoosac, and, a mile or two east of us, stood Fort Massachusetts. The plough has passed over its rude lines; but what scenes of humble heroism and almost forgotten valor are associated with its name! It was the bulwark of the frontier, in the days of its infancy. The trembling mother, on the banks of the Connecticut, and in the heart of Worcester, clasped her babes closer, at an idle rumor, that Fort Massachusetts had given way. A hundred villages reposed in the strength of this stout guardian of New England's Thermopylæ, through which, for two generations, the French and Canadian foe strove to burst into the colonies. These are recollections of an early day. A few miles to the north of us lies that famous field of Bennington, to which, sixty years ago, this day and this hour, your fathers poured, from every village in the neighborhood, at the summons of Stark. While we meet together, to enjoy, in peace, the blessings for which they shed their blood, let us pour out upon the academic altar, one libation of grateful feeling to their memory. But, though I would most willingly have continued a gratified listener, my engagements to you, gentlemen of the Adelphic Union, require, that I should trespass, for a short time, upon the patience of the audience, even at this late hour, with the utterance of some thoughts on that subject, which, upon an anniversary like this, may be regarded as the only peculiarly appropriate topic of discourse. I mean the subject of education.` I know, it is a worn theme; as old as the first dawnings of imparted knowledge in the infancy of the world, and familiar to the contemplation of every succeeding age, even to the present time. But it still remains, for us, a topic of unabated and ever urgent interest. Although it is a subject on which philosophers, of every age, have largely discoursed, so far from being exhausted, it prob |