Such is the Scholars' position in America: such their duty, and such the way in which they pay the debt they owe. Will men of superior culture not all act by scholar-craft and by the Pen? It were a pity if they did. If a man work nobly, the Office is as worthy, and the Purse as blessed in its work. The Pen is power; the Office is power; the Purse is power; and if the purse and office be nobly held, then in a high mode the cultivated man pays for his bringing up, and honors with wide sympathies the mass of men who give him chance to ride and rule. If not; if these be meanly held, for self and not for man, then the scholar is a debtor and a traitor too.
The scholar never had so fair a chance before; here is the noblest opportunity for one that wields the Pen; it is mightier than the Sword, the Office, or the Purse. All things concede at last to Beauty, Justice, Truth and Love, and these he is to represent. He has what freedom he will pay for and take. Let him talk never so heroic, he will find fit audience, nor will it long be few. Men will rise up and welcome his quickening words as vernal grass at the first rains of spring. A great nation which cannot live by bread alone, asks for the bread of life; while the State is young, a single great and noble man can deeply influence the nation's mind. There are great wrongs which demand redress; the present men who represent the Office and the Purse will not end these wrongs. They linger for the Pen, with magic touch to abolish and destroy this ancient serpent-brood. Shall it be only rude men and unlettered who confront the dragons of our time which prowl about the folds by day and night, while the scholar, the appointed guardian of mankind, but "sports with Amaryllis in the shade, or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?" The nation asks of her scholar better things than ancient letters ever brought; asks his wonders for the million, not the few alone. Great sentiments burn now in half-unconscious hearts, and great ideas kindle their glories round the heads of men. Unconscious electricity, Truth and Right, flashes out of the earth, out of the air. It is for the scholar to attract this ground-lightning and this lightning of the sky, condense it into useful thunder to destroy the wrong, then spread it forth a beauteous and a cheering light, shedding sweet influence and kindling life anew. A few great men of other times tell us what may be now.
Nothing will be done without toil—talent is only power of work, and genius greater power for higher forms of work—nothing without self-denial; nothing great and good save by putting your idea before yourself, and counting it dearer than your flesh and blood. Let it hide you, not your obesity conceal the truth God gave you to reveal. The quality of intellectual work is more than the quantity. Out of the cloudy world Homer has drawn a spark that lasts three thousand years. "One, but a lion," should be the scholar's maxim; let him do many things for daily need; one great thing for the eternal beauty of his art. A single poem of Dante, a book for the bosom, lives through the ages, surrounding its author with the glory of genius in the night of time. One Sermon on the Mount, compact of truths brought down from God, all molten by such pious trust in Him, will stir men's hearts by myriads, while words dilute with other words are a shame to the speaker, and a dishonor to men who have ears to hear.
It is a great charity to give beauty to mankind; part of the scholar's function. How we honor such as create mere sensuous loveliness! Mozart carves it on the unseen air; Phidias sculptures it out from the marble stone; Raphael fixes ideal angels, maidens, matrons, men, and his triple God upon the canvas, and the lofty Angelo, with more than Amphionic skill, bids the hills rise into a temple which constrains the crowd to pray. Look, see how grateful man repays these architects of beauty with never-ending fame! Such as create a more than sensuous loveliness, the Homers, Miltons, Shakspeares, who sing of man in never-dying and creative song—see what honors we have in store for such; what honor given for what service paid! But there is a beauty higher than that of art, above philosophy and merely intellectual grace: I mean the loveliness of noble life; that is a beauty in the sight of man and God. This is a new country, the great ideas of a noble man are easily spread abroad; soon they will appear in the life of the people, and be a blessing in our future history to ages yet unborn. A few great souls can correct the licentiousness of the American press, which is now but the type of covetousness and low ambition; correct the mean economy of the State, and amend the vulgarity of the American church, now the poor prostitute of every wealthy sin.
Oh ingenuous young maid or man, if such you are,—if not, then let me dream you such; seek you this beauty, complete perfection of a man, and having this, go hold the Purse, the Office, or the Pen, as suits you best; but out of that life, writing, voting, acting, living in all forms, you shall pay men back for your culture, and in the scholar's noble kind, and represent the higher facts of human thought. Will men still say, "This Wrong is consecrated; it has stood for ages and shall stand for ever!" Tell them, "No. A wrong, though old as Sin, is not now sacred, nor shall it stand!" Will they say, "This Right can never be; that excellence is lovely but impossible!" Show them the fact, who will not hear the speech; the deed goes where the word fails, and life enchants where rhetoric cannot persuade.
Past ages offer their instruction, much warning and a little guidance, many a wreck along the shore of time, a beacon here and there. Far off in the dim distance, present as possibilities, not actual as yet, future generations, with broad and wishful eyes, look at the son of genius, talent, educated skill, and seem to say, "A word for us; it will not be forgot!" Truth and Beauty, God's twin daughters, eternal both, yet ever young, wait there to offer each faithful man a budding branch, in their hands budding, in his to blossom and mature its fruit, wherewith he sows the field of time, gladdening the millions yet to come.