we made an obliging effort to do it. Failing in this, we thought the question partly unfair and wholly disagreeable. And indeed it had never been put to several nations far older than we, and to which a vates sacer had been longer 5 wanting. But, perhaps it was not altogether so ill-natured as it seemed, for, after all, a nation without a literature is imperfectly represented in the parliament of mankind. It implied, therefore, in our case the obligation of an illustrious blood.

With a language in compass and variety inferior to none IO that has ever been the instrument of human thought or passion or sentiment, we had inherited also the forms and precedents of a literature altogether worthy of it. But these forms and precedents we were to adapt suddenly to novel conditions, themselves still in solution, tentative, formless, 15 atom groping after atom, rather through blind instinct than with conscious purpose. Why wonder if our task proved as long as it was difficult? And it was all the more difficult that we were tempted to free ourselves from the form as well as from the spirit. And we had other notable hindrances. 20 Our reading class was small, scattered thinly along the seaboard, and its wants were fully supplied from abroad, either by importation or piracy. Communication was tedious and costly. Our men of letters, or rather our men with a natural impulsion to a life of letters, were few and isolated, and I 25 cannot recollect that isolation has produced anything in literature better than monkish chronicles, except a Latin hymn or two, and one precious book, the treasure of bruised spirits. Criticism there was none, and what assumed its function was half provincial self-conceit, half patriotic re30 solve to find swans in birds of quite another species. Above all, we had no capital toward which all the streams of moral and intellectual energy might converge to fill a reservoir on which all could draw. There were many careers open to ambition, all of them more tempting and 35 more gainful than the making of books. Our people were of necessity largely intent on material ends, and our acces

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sions from Europe tended to increase this predisposition. Considering all these things, it is a wonder that in these hundred years we should have produced any literature at all; a still greater wonder that we have produced so much of which we may be honestly proud. Its English descent is and must always be manifest, but it is ever more and more informed with a new spirit, more and more trustful in the guidance of its own thought. But if we would have it become all that we would have it be, we must beware of judging it by a comparison with its own unripe self alone. 10 We must not cuddle it into weakness or wilfulness by overindulgence. It would be more profitable to think that we have as yet no literature in the highest sense than to insist that what we have should be judged by other admitted standards, merely because it is ours. In these art matches we 15 must not only expect but rejoice to be pitted against the doughtiest wrestlers, and the lightest-footed runners of all countries and of all times.

Literature has been put somewhat low on the list of toasts, doubtless in deference to necessity of arrangement, but per- 20 haps the place assigned to it here may be taken as roughly indicating that which it occupies in the general estimation. And yet I venture to claim for it an influence whether for good or evil, more durable and more widely operative than that exerted by any other form in which human genius has 25 found expression. As the special distinction of man is speech, it should seem that there can be no higher achievement of civilized men, no proof more conclusive that they are civilized men, than the power of moulding words into such fair and noble forms as shall people the human mind 30 forever with images that refine, console and inspire. It is no vain superstition that has made the name of Homer sacred to all who love a bewitchingly simple and yet ideal picture of our human life in its doing and its suffering. And there are books which have kept alive and transmitted the spark of soul that has resuscitated nations. It is an old

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wives' tale that Virgil was a great magician, yet in that tale survives a witness of the influence which made him, through Dante, a main factor in the revival of Italy after the one had been eighteen and the other five centuries in their 5 graves.

I am not insensible to the wonder and exhilaration of a material growth without example in rapidity and expansion, but I am also not insensible to the grave perils latent in any civilization which allows its chief energies and interests to be 10 wholly absorbed in the pursuit of a mundane prosperity. Rejoice O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth: but know thou that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.”

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I admire our energy, our enterprise, our inventiveness, our 15 multiplicity of resource, no man more; but it is by less visibly remunerative virtues, I persist in thinking, that nations chiefly live and feel the higher meaning of their lives. Prosperous we may be in other ways, contented with more specious successes, but that nation is a mere horde supplying figures to the 20 census which does not acknowledge a truer prosperity and a richer contentment in the things of the mind. Railways and telegraphs reckoned by the thousand miles are excellent things in their way, but I doubt whether it be of their poles and sleepers that the rounds are made of that ladder by which 25 men or nations scale the cliffs whose inspiring obstacle interposes itself between them and the fulfilment of their highest purpose and function.

The literature of a people should be the record of its joys and sorrows, its aspirations and its short-comings, its wisdom 30 and its folly, the confidant of its soul. We cannot say that as yet our own suffices us, but I believe that he who stands, a hundred years hence, where I am standing now, conscious that he speaks to the most powerful and prosperous community ever devised or developed by man, will speak of our 35 literature with the assurance of one who beholds what we hope for and aspire after, become a reality and a possession forever.

IV.

W. F. BARTLETT.

Speech at Harvard Commencement Dinner.1

June 24, 1874.

["On the 23rd of June the dedication of Memorial Hall, the great building erected to commemorate the services in the war of the Sons of Harvard College, took place at Cambridge. The next day was Commencement Day, and the commencement dinner was served, for the first time, in Memorial Hall. General Bartlett was the chief marshall 5 of the day. . . . A mid-summer's day at Cambridge is apt to be hot, and this day was not an exception. By the time the dignitaries have made their speeches, the guests are getting weary and uncomfortable, and the thought of the fresher air without grows more and more tempting. It is not a favorable moment for the début of an orator. And 10 yet when Bartlett arose, and the first words uttered by his deep and manly voice were heard, and the audience became aware that they came from the shattered soldier whose tall and slender form and wasted face they had seen at the head of the procession as he painfully marshalled it that day, a great silence fell upon the multitude, and he continued and 15 finished his speech in the midst of silence, except when it was broken, as it was more than once, by spontaneous bursts of cheering. When he took his seat, enthusiastic cheering followed, and all felt that an event had taken place. It is within bounds to say that it is many years since any speech made in New England has produced so great an 20 effect."]

MR. PRESIDENT, -The first meeting of the Alumni around the table in this hall, which we yesterday dedicated to the memory of our brothers, is one of no common interest to us; and I think I speak for all their comrades in arms 25 when I say that the thoughtfulness which assigns to us the honorable duties of this day is recognized and appreciated. The day is not without sadness as we read the beloved names on those marble tablets, and yet not without gladness as we

1 Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co, from Memoir of W. F. Bartlett, F. W. Palfrey, 1878.

reflect that whatever change of fortune may come to us as the years roll on, their fame is secure — immutable — immortal. We shall grow old and wear out, but they will always keep for us their glorious, spotless youth. I was glad 5 to hear from the lips of your distinguished orator yesterday such testimony to the absence of natural bitterness among the mass of the people of the South; that it was due in great part to the energetic cultivation of hot-brained leaders for selfish ends. I think that the natural instinct of the people Io everywhere is toward peace and good will, and were it never

thwarted by party intrigue, we should be much nearer to a perfect union, such as these men fought for, than we are today. The occasional fire-brands thrown in the path of reconciliation are from the hands of those who, while the battle 15 lasted, sought "bomb-proof" positions in the rear, and they no more represent the fighting men of the South than the plundering politicians who have spoiled them represent the true hearts at the North. I firmly believe that when the gallant men of Lee's army surrendered at Appomattox 20 (touched by the delicate generosity of Grant, who, obeying the dictates of his own honest heart, showed no less magnanimity than political sagacity), they followed the example of their heroic chief, and, with their arms, laid down forever their disloyalty to the Union. Take care, then, lest you 25 repel, by injustice, or suspicion, or even by indifference, the returning love of men who now speak with pride of that flag as "our flag." It was to make this a happy, reunited) country, where every man should be in reality free and equal before the law, that our comrades fought, our brothers fell. 30 They died not that New England might prosper or that the

West might thrive. They died not to defend the northern capitol or preserve those marble halls where the polished statesmen of the period conduct their dignified debates! They died for their country - for the South no less than for 35 the North. And the southern youth, in the days to come, will see this, and as he stands in these hallowed halls and