A voice: It makes us patient in weakness and suffering.
A voice: It helps us bear the burdens of life.
Dr. Vincent: In many places there is no social enjoyment for those who do not dance. The C. L. S. C. gives us congenial society. I have known many people where the habit of dancing and card playing prevailed, to justify these indulgencies on the ground that there was nothing else to do. In a few such places the C. L. S. C. has turned the dance and the card table out of doors. Of course some of you do not look at that matter as I do. There may be some of you who dance or allow your children to attend dancing school, and some of you allow your children to play cards. I have avoided dogmatism on all subjects where the Word of God does not come in as the final authority. I never like to dogmatize about these things. But I do believe that such is the condition of society to-day, and such are the unseen perils of the day—perils always present—that the family that can enjoy itself thoroughly in an intellectual way, so as not to create a taste for the stimulating power of the dance and the card table and of the theater is a safer, and in the long run, a happier family than the family otherwise controlled by so-called worldly tastes. [Applause.] It becomes us to be very free from dogmatism about these things, because we do not want to lay down laws that have not been laid down for us; but if we can, let us substitute the influences of the C. L. S. C. for these things.
Written paper: The C. L. S. C. gives new hope and courage to those who have thought that the days for personal improvement had gone by.
Dr. Vincent: Dr. Wilkinson, in his address the other day, made reference to the fact that I myself had never enjoyed college opportunities. I did enjoy the very best academic opportunities up to the time that I should have entered college, but circumstances, which seemed very much like Providence, interposed at that crisis in my life, where the question was settled by three contingencies. I suffered from a bronchial affection, and my friends regarded me in great peril physically. I submitted three questions to three men after serious thought and earnest prayer, and resolved to be governed by the decision of the three men if they should decide in the same line. To one, an able scholar and a most efficient preacher, and a man occupying a high position in the church, I submitted the question of my intellectual fitness, and gave him a long account of my intellectual history. To another man, my father, I submitted the financial part of the business. That was a question that he alone could settle. To a distinguished physician, one of the ablest in New York City, I submitted the question of my physical health. Now, said I, if these three men combine in their decision, I shall consider the question settled in that way. If they differ, I shall consider it still open. The decision of all three was quite in a given line, and I entered very soon into the active ministry.
The fact that I lacked the prestige of the college was humiliating to me to the last degree. It made me morbid for years. I was too honest to impose on people, and therefore too likely to betray myself where no good could come of it, and where there was no necessity of it. But my humiliation led me to do this thing: To turn my theological studies and the preparation of sermons into means of mental discipline; to acquire the habit of laying hold of a subject, and of holding on to it, and persisting in holding on to it until I could master it, so that if I did not have more than a smattering (and I did have a smattering of Greek and Latin and Hebrew to begin with), I would have the discipline of thinking on subjects and of tearing them open on my own account. I tried to do that through all the years of my active ministry.
I drew up for myself a sort of C. L. S. C. thirty years ago, and took glimpses of all that the boy examines in college, so that the C. L. S. C. of to-day developed out of it, and different as it may be, it is the result of bitter experience and immense effort, so far as I was personally concerned.
I really ought not to have mentioned these things to you. I have never done so anywhere except to a limited circle of friends. When I watch boys in college, their pleasures and struggles; when I look at the buildings, at the bronze statue of the first president of Yale, the libraries, the art department, the scientific department; when I hear that old bell ring from day to day, when I look on the campus and see the boys marching or lounging, singing the college songs; when I see them striving for preëminence in the athletic arena; when I remember that certain prerogatives depend upon victory on this side or the other; when I see old men who were students fifty or sixty years ago, the oldest that are left, and see the joy that comes from the inspiration of such memories, then I see that it is a great thing to be able to give old people and every-day people a touch of the joy and hope and memory that colleges alone can give, and no one unless identified with such an institution can feel.
It is for that purpose that we have the “Hall in the Grove,” and the “Arches,” the “Memorial Days,” the “Badges,” the “Diplomas,” etc. Privileges heretofore limited to college life are thus and now guaranteed to the old and the young. This is another benefit that comes from the C. L. S. C. [Applause.] I should have taken a shorter time to tell it, but I could not.
Written paper: In accordance with your request for the members of the Circle to remember each other at the throne of grace each Sabbath afternoon, would it not be well to have a set hour, say five o’clock, Sunday afternoon?