oldness for a public teacher to lay
down as a postulate that a willingness to be damned was a condition of
salvation.

From a survey of the earlier clergy, even as superficial as the present
one, we are struck with its ambition of a lofty range of doctrine. They

'reasoned high
Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
Fixed fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute,
And found no end in wandering mazes lost.
Of good and evil much they argued then,
Of happiness, and final misery,
Passion, and apathy, glory, and shame.'

The highest tribute which Milton could offer the fallen angels was that
mental power which survived the general wreck. And no lesser flight
would have satisfied the subjects of this sketch. Their lifelong effort
was still to climb higher, ever exclaiming

'--Paula majora canamus.'

Their services in the cause of public education are beyond our
appreciation, and it may be well for us to remember that Harvard, Yale,
Williams, Union, Princeton, Amherst, Hanover, and other institutions,
sprang from the bold philanthrophy of men so poor as often to be objects
of pity. They saw that knowledge is power, and that power they would not
only possess, but bequeath to coming generations.

Long as these rambles have been, they would still be incomplete without
a tribute to the influence of wives and mothers which soothed and
mellowed the sterner aspect of primitive life; but this can only be
referred to as a theme worthy of distinct treatment. It should not be
forgotten that the children reared under such influences have often been
counted worthy of the highest stations of honor and trust; and although
the scapegrace character of ministers' sons is a common fling, yet
careful research has proved that it has many and brilliant exceptions.

While penning these pages, my mind has often wandered over ancient
burial-grounds where pastor and people sleep side by side. One may find
them in every New England town, and they chain with a spell of which the
modern cemetery with its showy marbles knows nothing! We turn from the
fresh mortality, which chills us with its recent sorrows, to those massy
headstones whose faint inscriptions tell of generations long since freed
from toil. Here one may find the rude monuments of those who still walk
the earth and lead its progress, and here the heart may run over, as
Byron says,

'With silent worship of the great of old!
The dead