JONATHAN P. CUSHING was born March 12, 1793, at Rochester, New-Hampshire, and, like most of the eminent men of our country, in humble circumstances. He was early left an orphan to the care of a guardian, who seems to have been both negligent and unfaithful. By this man he was carried to his own residence, in a remote part of the State, where the population was scanty, and there were few schools. In his immediate vicinity there were none. There he was employed in doing the drudgery of his guardian's farm and mill until his thirteenth or fourteenth year. It was an improvement in his situation, when at that time he was bound apprentice to a saddler, especially as in New Hampshire by law, or custom equally imperative with law, it is the duty of a master to send his apprentices to school for six months of the term for which they are bound. This advantage Mr. Cushing enjoyed, and it seems to have been the only regular instruction he received before his eighteenth year. But even that germ, falling on a good soil, fructified. He began to feel the thirst for learning, which was to be the reigning impulse of his later years, and to loathe the prospect of a life spent in mere bodily labor. His mind, conscious of its own powers, and having once tasted of the sweets flowing from their exercise, could not submit to sink back again to the state of lethargy from which it had just been roused. The fruit of such thoughts and feelings was a resolution which he formed and very suddenly announced while at work one day, with another apprentice. Starting up from his seat he said "I am determined to have a liberal education, if it cost me forty years of my life to get it." He bought out the remainder of his term, and entered himself at an academy at Exeter, in his native State. There he prosecuted his studies with great diligence, supporting himself meanwhile by laboring at his trade, until he was prepared to enter Dartmouth College. He became a member of the Junior Class in that institution in 1815, and obtained his first degree in 1817. His standing in his class was highly respectable, though not so elevated as would naturally be supposed by his acquaintances in after life, who knew nothing of the deficiencies of his early education, and only adverted to his acknowledged talents, his literary zeal, and the strength and constancy of his character. On leaving the walls of College, the world was all before him. Go where he would, he must look to his labors, not merely for fame and fortune, but for subsistence; and in every direction around him (thanks to the good Being who has so abundantly blessed our country) he saw fields of usefulness and distinction inviting, and promising liberally to reward, his exertions. The intensity of his studies, however, for the last few years, had impaired his constitution, and he had reason to believe that a southern residence would be more propitious to the restoration of his health, and at least equally favorable to his success in other respects. With these views he left his native State, determined to establish himself as a lawyer at Charleston, S. C. On reaching Richmond, he met with an acquaintance from New England, who had been engaged as a tutor at Hampden Sidney College, (an institution of which until that time Mr. Cushing had never heard) but who from ill health was not able to enter on the discharge of his duties. At his solicitation, strengthened by that of the late Dr. Rice, ("clarum et venerabile nomen") with whom Mr. C. then became acquainted, the latter was induced to undertake for a few weeks the fulfilment of his friend's engagement. Before even that brief time had expired, the young man died, and Mr. Cushing became, by a train of circumstances apparently fortuitous, and almost without his own agency, a member of the Faculty of H. S. College. There was but little in the condition of the institution at that time to induce such a man, young, of energetic character, and conscious ability, to desire to cast in his lot there. No class had graduated regularly for several years, and the degrees occasionally conferred on individuals, who had gone through the whole course, were not respected at other Colleges. There was hardly the name of a Library or Philosophical Apparatus; and the buildings were to the last degree unsightly and inadequate. It had, however, one recommendation, which with Mr. Cushing, would outweigh many defects. It was a seminary of learning, where he could gratify the strong passion of his soul for acquiring and communicating instruction, more delightful to him, as he often declared, than food to a hungry man. With all this, however, he could not readily forego the advantages attending the line of life he had chalked out for himself. Twice he determined to dissolve the connexion he had formed with the College, and once he had gone to the tavern for the purpose of taking his seat in the stage which was to carry him away. On this occasion he was induced to return by Dr. Hoge, the then President, to whom he looked up with affectionate veneration, and his acquaintance with whom he was accustomed to regard as one of the most fortunate events of his life. So soon as he considered himself established at Hampden Sidney, he set to work with characteristic vigor and singleness of purpose, to raise the standing of the institution. He prevailed on the Trustees to introduce a new system of discipline and study, and being soon appointed Professor of Natural Philosophy and Chemistry, and experiencing the disadvantages of the very deficient apparatus, he made large additions to it at his own expense, trusting to the future ability of the College to repay him. Dr. Hoge dying in 1820, Mr. Cushing was elected President, and from that time till his own death within the last twelve months, the events of his life were little more than a series of efforts, the most judicious, untiring, and self-sacrificing, to foster the interests of the College over which he presided. One of his first objects, necessarily, was to improve and enlarge the College buildings, which at that time were probably by far the most indifferent belonging to any institution of the kind in the Union. But while it was obvious that the prosperity, perhaps the existence of the College depended on making this improvement, the means of making it were far from being equally apparent.
The institution possessing very little corporate property, and having never been a favorite with the Legislature, the possible munificence of individuals seemed to offer the only hope of success. That this would avail, was so little expected, that in the expressive language of one of its friends, his plans were looked on by the trustees as the dreams of youth. He was the man, however, to change such dreams into realities. His appeals to the liberality of the friends of the College were so well responded to, that in a short time he had caused to be erected the centre and one wing of a stately and commodious building, altogether suited to the purposes intended; and in the years 1829, '30, and '31, he procured additional subscriptions to the amount of $30,000, with which that building was completed, others erected, and a permanent fund established to aid in the support of the Professors. From time to time he continued to make additions to the philosophical apparatus, and carried the students of the College through a regular course of literary and scientific study, having early obtained for his graduates an admission "ad eundem gradum" at other Colleges without examination. While thus efficiently discharging his duties as President, he did not neglect those of Professor. On the contrary, all who knew him will bear witness to the study and labor with which he extended his researches into those branches of learning which it was his province to teach. His lectures were thus the overflowings of a mind filled with the results of previous investigation and meditation; not, as we sometimes see in the case of indolent Professors, themes prepared for the occasion, and exhausting the scanty stock of science which had been accumulated on the subject. But while justice is thus done to Mr. Cushing's real ability, and to the admirable use which he made of it, (his strength of purpose, like a hard master, exacting its full quota of exertion from every faculty,) it yet cannot be maintained that his mind was of the highest order. His case well illustrated the distinction which has been taken between genius and talent. The former original and creative; the latter acquiring, modifying, and adapting to general use the productions of the first. While it is the prerogative of genius to discover fields of science hitherto unknown, it is the more humble, but perhaps not less useful province of talent, to cultivate what is thus brought to light, and prepare it to be possessed by the public mind. The love of communicating knowledge, which has been already mentioned as one of Mr. Cushing's most striking characteristics, indicated, or at least happily coincided with, the line of usefulness for which, according to this view of his mental constitution, nature had fitted him. And it may well be questioned whether any of those who have sounded the profoundest depths of science, and first brought into light great truths previously unknown, would, if placed in the same circumstances with himself, have effected so much, and discharged the manifold and peculiar duties devolving on him, with equal skill and success. As a disciplinarian, he was mild and lenient, even to an extent considered by some as approaching to laxity. But such persons do not seem sufficiently to have adverted to the difficulties of his situation. He was not the Rector of Christ Church, or of Trinity—not even the President of Harvard or of Yale, but the head of a feeble institution, struggling almost for existence, and dependent on public patronage for support. With him, forbearance was among the first and most essential duties. Moreover, it was well understood by his students that his mildness was the result of principle, not of feebleness of character, and that there was a point beyond which they could not with impunity transgress. Such zeal, tempered by such prudence, could not be fruitless. The result of his labors and his cares, of what he did, and what he forebore to do, was, that in a few years after his induction into the Presidency, Hampden Sidney might fairly be pronounced the most flourishing literary institution in the Commonwealth. Its tide of success, however, was soon checked, and its onward progress stayed, by the opening of the halls of the University to students, an event which, however auspicious to the literary interests of the community at large, could not fail to be unfavorable to another seminary of learning in the same region of country, and dependent in a great degree on the same population for its supply of pupils. Visible as this was in the thinned ranks of his students, it does not seem to have caused Mr. Cushing to "bate one jot of heart or hope," but rather to have stimulated him to renewed exertions. For it was soon after this that he undertook and effected the improvement of the College buildings and the acquisition of a permanent fund. Nor did he cease to urge on the Legislature the just claims of the College to some share of the public favor. But the bills introduced for that purpose, though generally zealously supported and sustained, on grounds which ought to have insured their success, were always gotten rid of—most usually by the parliamentary manœuvre of tacking to them other subjects more or less incongruous, until they broke down under their own weight.
It is our purpose to consider the character of President Cushing, mainly as one of the scholars and public men of Virginia. We shall therefore dwell but little on his private affairs. But in a sketch of his life, even so brief as this, we cannot omit a fact which exerted the strongest influence on the happiness of his latter years. In the year 1827 he married, in an adjoining county, a pious, intelligent, and interesting young lady, of whom, as she survives to mourn his loss, delicacy forbids that we should speak in terms of stronger panegyric. A good Providence crowned their union with lovely children; and in the bosom of a family so interesting, President Cushing found a felicity which he well knew how to enjoy, and a relaxation from his incessant toils and harassing cares equally necessary to his body and to his mind. Though to the world chiefly known as a scholar and the President of a College, it was perhaps in the mild and mellow light of domestic retirement that his character shone with the most attractive lustre. As a friend he made few professions, but when self-denying service was needed, his zeal prompted him to exertions the most strenuous, persevering, and efficient. He knew how to feel for the bereavement of the widow's heart, and with tender sympathy to wipe the tear from the widow's eye. May He who seeth in secret reward him for these deeds of love, by pouring consolation into that cup of affliction which His providence has presented to the lip of her who was once too happy in being her husband's helpmate in ministering consolation to others.
Although a native of another State, Mr. Cushing was, in his connexions and his feelings, thoroughly a Virginian; and, as might be supposed from the nature of his pursuits, peculiarly regardful of the literary interests of the Commonwealth. He therefore hailed with joy, and actively engaged in establishing and fostering the Society for the promotion of those interests, formed in Richmond four or five years ago, of which he continued a zealous and efficient member the short residue of his days. For Hampden Sidney, however, he continued to feel a peculiar regard, which he evinced not only by the faithful performance of his duties as its President, but by repeatedly refusing very advantageous offers made him of Professorships in other Colleges, and by expressions of warm attachment to that institution, at that last solemn period of his life, when affectation of such regard, if ever possible with him, would have been effectually checked by the near prospect of the awful realities of the eternal world. His death, though an untimely, was not a sudden event. His constitution had perhaps never entirely recovered from the injury inflicted by intense application whilst a college student; and as his habits of study continued the same, the effects became gradually more apparent, until at length the unprecedented rigor of the last winter prostrated the structure which had been so long undermined. Early in the spring, being advised by his physicians to seek a milder climate, he set out for the south, accompanied by a part of his family. But on reaching Raleigh, his journey and his earthly pilgrimage were both cut short. There, surrounded by those whom he loved best on earth, and who he knew well returned his love, looking back on a life of useful and honorable exertion, rewarded by distinguished success; and looking forward in the full assurance of hope to an eternity of happiness, secured to him by a Savior in whom he cordially believed, and whom he had long found precious to his soul, he met death not with calmness and fortitude merely, but with triumph! He had just entered on his forty-third year, and it may be supposed had hardly obtained the maturity of his powers and the full limits of his influence. To our eyes, it would seem his sun went down at noonday. His death was a source of the truest and deepest grief, not only to a family more than ordinarily devoted to him, but to a large circle of friends his virtues had gained to him throughout Virginia, and to those especially who had at heart the prosperity of the College over which he had so ably presided. He died in the communion of the Episcopal Church, which with many inducements to bias him in another direction, he had chosen for his spiritual mother at the commencement of his religious life, and which with decided, and it is believed increasing affection, he continued to love even unto death. Yet no man possessed a spirit more truly Catholic, and no man delighted more to enjoy Christian communion with the followers of his master, though they might in some less essential particulars, understand the will of that master differently from himself. Like the Apostle Paul, he rejoiced in the spread of the gospel, by whomsoever preached; and he was far more desirous to see his Savior honored, and to learn that sinners had repented and believed, through whatever instrumentality it pleased God to use, than to see the tokens of divine favor confined even to that church which he best loved. In his last days, like the illustrious Grotius, he suspected that even science, with all her loveliness and her benificence, had engrossed more of his affections and more of his thoughts than should have been given to aught below the skies; and as he drew nearer to the eternal world, his soul was more and more rapt in the beatific contemplation of that incomprehensible glory which God hath prepared for them that love his Son.
His remains are interred in the burying-ground of the Episcopal Church in the city of Raleigh. The spot which contains them is marked by a monument erected by the Trustees of Hampden Sidney College, and designed, while it commemorates his merits, to testify their sorrow for his loss, and their gratitude for his services. But a more enduring monument, and that which he would have prized far above any other, will be found, as we trust, in the abiding and brightening glories of the Institution to which his best years were devoted, and which shared, with the partner of his bosom and the children of his affection, the last anxieties of his ebbing life.
LINES
On reaching the banks of the Mississippi at the junction of the Ohio, 1st July, 1818.
| Mighty stream, I see thee rushing Proudly, madly, wild along— Like a summer torrent, gushing Sudden, rapid, swift and strong. Now my prow is on thy waters, And I gaze with secret aim, To discover wherein centered, Lies the secret of thy fame. But I gaze in vain—thy billows Gurgle as they haste away; Could their sounds my soul unriddle, I might learn wherein it lay. I might learn that riven mountains, Headlong falls, unpencilled yet, Plains untravelled, thou hast wandered, Ere thy weary waters met. Plains! where still the Bison feeding, Paws in ire the solid ground— Or the fiery Bear, in fury, Sudden pours his lion-sound. In thy rushing roar of waters I might learn that rivers speak; Great Missouri cries—I mingle, Konza—ho! the sea I seek. Mild Ohio, sweet and mighty, In thy onward wave is lost, And a thousand lesser fountains, Pouring down a varied coast. In a region, drear and polar, Thou hast thy unnoticed rise, And dost issue where the solar Burning heats pervade the skies. Far beyond the white man's daring Sits the lordly Indian lone, Gazing on that rich creation Heaven, he deems, hath made his own. Length, and depth, and speed, and volume, All that swell o'er swell, create— These, perchance, thy sounds would tell me, These, these only, make thee great. 'Tis not clearness—'tis not brightness, Such as dwell in mountain brooks— 'Tis thy big, big, boiling torrent— 'Tis thy wild and angry looks. Flow then, river—rushing river— Flow, till thou invade the sea; Many millions, uncreated, Shall desire thy waves to see. But while millions uncreated, Sigh o'er millions pass'd away, Thou shalt roll, in all thy splendor, Till thy Maker bids thee stay. |