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MEMOIRS,
AND
SELECT REMAINS
OF
charl.es pond;
LATE MEMBER OF THE SOPHOMORE CI.ASS I-V
VALE COLLEGE.
COMPILED BY A CLASSMATE
Oh long shall we mourn, and his memory's light,
While it shines through our hearts, will improve them;
For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,
When we think how he lived but to love them.— Moore.
Quando ullum inveniet parem ? — Hor. Car.
NEW HAVEN:
PRINTED AXD PUBLISHED BY HEZEKIAH HOWE.
PUBLIC LIBRARY
1 R8Q*W
ASTOff, LENOX AND
~2)7CTflrcr v4" CONNECTICUT,
ss.
********* Be it remembered. That on the four-
It «* - teenthday of July, in the fifty-third year of the
| * * Independence of the United States of America,
********* Hezekiah Howe, of the said District, hath
deposited in this office, the title of a Book, the right whereof
he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit : —
" Memoirs, and Select Remains, of Charles Pond ; late
inernher of the Sophomore Class in Yale College. Com-
piled by a Classmate.
Oh long shall we mourn, and his memory's light,
While it shines through our hearts, will improve (hem;
For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,
When we tint h< lived hut to love them. — Moore.
Quando ullum invenict parem? — Hor. Car."
In conformity to the Act of Congress of the United
States, entitled, "An Act for the encouragemt-nt of learn-
ing, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts, and Books,
to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the
times therein mentioned." And also to the Act, entitled,
'•' An Act supplementary to an Act, entitled, ' An Act for
the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of
Maps, Charts, and Books, to the Authors and Proprietors
of such copies during the times therein mentioned,' and
extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing,
engraving, and etching historical and other prints."
CHA'S. A. iNGERSOLL,
Clerk of the District of Connecticut.
A true copy of Record, examined and sealed by me,
CHA'S. A. INGERSOLL,
Clerk of the District of Connecticut.
PREFACE. —~*
Soon after the death of the beloved and
highly gifted subject of the following Memoirs,
it was suggested to his friends by several who
had been well acquainted with Ins character,
that a sketch of his life including extracts from
his correspondence and miscellaneous writings,
might subserve a valuable purpose. It is with
this hope that this little volume has been com-
piled, and it is now submitted to the public. It
is what it professes to be, a selection merely :
much has been left, both of his correspondence
and other matter, equally interesting, perhaps,
as that which has been extracted. It has been
the aim of the compiler, however, to make a
selection of such variety as to exhibit all the
several features of his character.
That arrangement has been adopted which
was thought best calculated to illustrate the
regular progress of his mind. The letters and
papers, are inserted in the order of time in
which they were written ; and the business of
the compiler has been only to connect them
together, adding just so much as seemed neces-
sary to complete the picture.
The extracts from his correspondence, will
it is believed, be perused with peculiar interest.
Though written usually with the greatest haste.
IV
they exhibit a correctness of sentiment and ac-
curacy of observation, combined with an ele-
gance and finish of expression, indicative alike
of mature judgment, and pure and cultivated
taste. It will be observed that in his advice to
his sisters, he has pointed out all that is most
essential in the formation of a character of real
excellence — advice which is believed to be
worthy the attention of all, of similar age and
circumstances with those to whom they were
addressed.
In many respects, it is believed, the char-
acter of Pond may be proposed to students
as a model. His kind and benevolent feelings,
his unremitted and well directed industry, and
above all, his correct and unyielding moral
principle, are such as should characterize every
one who is preparing himself for the higher
spheres of usefulness among his fellow-men. —
And if the survey of his excellence, both in-
tellectual and moral, shall be the means of in-
spiring any with ne\v ardor in climbing
"the rugged path — the steep ascent,
That virtue points to,"
the path that leads to usefulness and honor,
his friends will not have occasion to regret, that
this brief sketch of his character has been given
to the public.
R. PALMER.
Yale College, Jidy 12, 1829.
CONTEXTS.
CHAPTER I.
Charles's Birth— Early dispositions and habits — Course
pursued in relation to his studies — Raligious impres-
sions and their result — Fondness for writing — Speci-
mens of his first poetical efforts — Remarks, p. 1 — 11
CHAPTER II.
Commences fitting for College— His character at this pe-
riod— Diligence in study — Rules of conduct — Favorite
authors — Further specimens of his attempts at poetry —
Renounces the " Courtship of the Nine"— Reasons for
doing so, -.-... p. n—23
CHAPTER III.
Enters College — His feelings on the occasion — Personal
appearance — Standing as a scholar — Remarks relative
to his correspondence — Correspondence — Interesting
state of College — Becomes interested in the subject of
Religion — Letter giving an account of the change in his
views— Remarks— Farther extracts from his corres-
pondence— Remarks, p. 23 — 77
B
VI
CHAPTER IV.
Religious character — Letters — Decline of his health —
Diary — Remarks on his diary — Diligence and success
in his studies — Letters — Themes — Finds it necessary to
relinquish his studies on account of his health — Leaves
college — Letters illustrative of his feelings on the oc-
casion, - - - - - - p. 77 — 135
CHAPTER V.
Occupations at home — Resolves on a voyage to the south
— Goes to New York, is disappointed, and returns home
— Visits New Haven — Bleeds at the lungs — Circum-
stances of his sickness and death— Letter from his Tu-
tor to his parents — Concluding remarks. p. 135 — 150
MEMOIRS,
CHAPTER I.
Charles's Birth — Early dispositions and habits — Course
pursued in relation to his studies — Religious impressions
and their result — Fondness for writing— Specimens of
his first poetical efforts — Remarks.
Charles Pond, was born at Milford, Conn.
Oct. 13th, 1S09. His parents, Charles H. and
Catharine Pond, both of respectable families,
were also natives of Milford, and the subject of
these memoirs was their eldest child, and only
son.
When a child, Charles possessed in a high
degree, those qualities which in children appear
interesting and lovely. Placed at school when
very young, the sweetness of his disposition, and
the unusual propriety of his conduct, won him
the affection and confidence of his instructors ;
and among his companions he was ever a unf-
versal favorite.
J
He early gave indications of an active anu
observing mind ; manifesting an ardent desire
to learn, and eagerly availing himself of every
means of improvement. As an occupation for
his leisure hours, he preferred reading, to the
ruder sports which usually engage the attention
of children ; because he thus obtained, at the
same time both entertainment and instruction.
He was not, however, wanting in vivacity ; but
on the contrary, was remarkable for his spright-
liness and humor ; often amusing those around
him by the playfulness of his remarks.
From a child there was a singular purity
about his character — a tenderness and delicacy
of feeling, which led him always scrupulously
to avoid whatever might be the occasion of pain
to others. His obedience to the wishes of his
parents, was always the most cheerful and un-
hesitating, whatever might be the dictates of his
own inclination ; nor were they ever in a single
instance under the necessity of correcting him
for any impropriety of conduct.
From the time when he was nine years of age,
his father, in consequence of the location of
his business, was constantly absent from the
o
family through the week ; vet he never mani-
iested any disposition to avail himself of the
absence of paternal watchfulness for the pursuit
of self-gratification. This freedom from res-
traint, seemed rather to furnish an occasion for
the display of his affectionate and obedient dis-
position. Instead of occasioning his mother
unnecessarv trouble, he seemed always desir-
ml J J
ous of diminishing her cares and contributing
to her happiness by acts of kindness and atten-
tion. "W hile towards his sisters who were
younger than himself, his conduct was always
the most tender and obliging ; and nothing seem-
ed to afford him greater satisfaction, than to be
able to engage them in employments, from
which they might be expected to derive ration-
al amusement, or permanent advantage.
When his father returned home on Saturday
evening, it was his regular custom to examine
Charles in relation to the books he had been
reading, and the studies to which he had atten-
ded when at school. These frequent examina-
tions, while they enabled his parents to mark
the progress which he made in knowledge, af-
forded also an opportunity of observing the pe-
culiar characteristics of his mind. The analy-
ses which he save on these occasions, of the
subjects, both of his reading and his study,
evinced discrimination and reflection rarely ex-
hibited at his early age. He seemed to digest
and classify the knowledge he acquired ; and
possessing as he did, a memory remarkably .re-
tentive, what he had thus learned was treasured
up in his recollection, so that he could recal it
whenever he had occasion. And there is rea-
son to believe that the precocity of intellect for
which he was afterwards so remarkable, was in
a great measure the result of a practice, which
thus early called into exercise all the powers of
his mind.
Charles was favored with the prayers and in-
structions of a pious mother ; and was habitu-
ally attentive to whatever was said to him on the
subject of religion. It is not known, however,
that his feelings were ever particularly excited.
until he was about thirteen years of age ; when
he became the subject of deep religious impres-
sions. Many of the youth in his native town,
were at the same time similarly affected : and
he used frequently to meet with several of hi.-
young acquaintance, for prayer and the reading
of the scriptures. His apprehension of the
truths of the bible, seemed uncommonly distinct,
and his convictions of their immense impor-
tance, deep and pungent. He did not at this
period, however, entertain any hope that he had
become a new creature in Christ. Yet it was
evident that the views of truth which he then
obtained, and die impression which they made
upon his heart, exerted a lasting influence on
his character. He ever afterwards manifested
a tenderness of feeling on the subject of religion,
which clearly evinced that although the strong
excitement produced by the first discovery of
his character and prospects as a sinner, might
have in some degree subsided, yet there was
left, the permanent conviction, that nothing else
could confer a happiness worthy of an immortal
being.
Charles early discovered a fondness for wri-
ting ; and was accustomed when quite a child
to amuse himself and sisters, by composing little
scraps of poetry. It is to be regretted that at
a later period, he committed to the flames al-
most all these juvenile productions. A few,
*1
6
however, are preserved, and will be inserted ac-
cording to the time when they were written. — ■
It is necessary, however, to premise that it is
not presumed that the effusions of a boy, who,
at sixteen, to use his own language, "renounc-
ed the courtship of the Nine," and who had
previously wooed them only as a pastime, should
interest from their intrinsic excellence. They
are chiefly interesting as they serve to illustrate
the character and progress of his mind. Of
these which are inserted, the first appears to
have been written when Charles was twelve
years old.
BEAUTY AND PLEASURE.
Beauty is like the summer flower,
That blooms enchanting for an hour ;
Then like the sun's departing ray.
It quickly dies and fades away.
But there's a beauty never die5,
That's scann'd with joy by heav'nly eyes .
'Tis that Religion's pow'rs impart,
The heav'nly beauty of the heart.
Pleasure's a phantom false, yet fair.
Which leads into a deadly snare ;
Pleasure is but an outward show,
That oft conceals internal woe.
But they who walk in virtue's train,
Who banish grief and soften pain,
Who clothe the poor, the hungry feed ;
Ah ! they feel Pleasure true indeed.
The next was written soon after he was four
teen.
TO WINTER.
And art thou come old hoary head,
With all thy snow, and ice, and frost ?
I had begun to think thee dead ;
Or that thy sceptre thou hadst lost.
( 'ome, sit thee down ; I joy to see
That thou retain'st thy empire yet ;
For thou possessest charms for me,
And I am glad we're so soon met.
I love to see thy clear blue sky —
1 love to feel thy bracing air —
I love on thy smooth ice to fly —
To see, to feel thee every where.
And when the fire burns clear and strong,
And I have shut the casement fast,
I love to hear thy varied song
Borne swiftly by upon the blast.
3
The following piece, with the remarks by
which it is prefaced, was also written while
Charles was in his fifteenth year.
" Among the many and various scenes which
our country has exhibited to the admiration of
mankind, the journey of La Fayette through
the States, was perhaps the most pleasing to the
philanthropist, and the most interesting and sin-
gular to the world. When a% king, attended by
the splendid pageantry of nobility, marches
through his kingdom, his subjects it is true,
greet his passage with joy and acclamation. —
But how often is this joy occasioned by the
pomp and magnificence of majesty, while the
king himself is secretly detested. Not so with
the journey of our Fathers' Friend. Here, the
homage paid, was prompted by the best feelings
of the heart. 'Twas gratitude inspired it ; and
'twas felt by those who rendered it, and by him
who was its object.
" The following lines were written on hearing
of his arrival."
JLA FAYETTE.
The Hero's come ; the Patriot's here
In this fair land he lov'd so dear;
Then hasten all to pay the debt
Of gratitude to La Fayette.
Thou Friend of Freedom, child of heav'n I
To thee a nation's praise is given ;
And thou shalt hear whene'er thou'rt met,
Our grateful welcome La Fayette !
And shouldst thou e'en protract thy stay,
Till length of years have roll'd away ;
How should we all still then regret
Thy too brief visit, La Fayette !
i
But oh, go not — come, pass thy life
Here, far from war and murd'rous strife ;
And till thy sun of life be set,
We'll treat thee kindly, La Fayette !
And when we lay thy honor'd head
Among our country's mighty dead ;
A nations tears thy grave shall wet,
Thou child of glory, La Fayette !
The history of childhood — especially of a
childhood spent at home, can of necessity be
marked with little variety. Charles continued
10
to attend a common school without interruption,
except occasionally from his health, which was
always delicate, until his fifteenth year. His
habits of reading, combined with observation
and reflection, had by this time, greatly enlarged
and matured his mind. He had thus also, as
he usually read authors of a standard character,
acquired what is justly regarded as the best
foundation for a finished education, a thorough
knowledge of his native language.
11
CHAPTER II.
Commences fitting for college — His character at this pe-
riod— Diligence in study — Rules of conduct — Favorite
authors — Further specimens of his attempts at poetry —
Renounces the " courtship of the Nine" — Reasons for
doing so.
Charles having now reached the age when
it was proper for him to enter upon classical
studies, it became a question with his parents
whether or not he should be sent from home.
So unwilling, however, were they to be depriv-
ed of the pleasure of his company, that not-
withstanding the disadvantages attendant on
such a course, it was at length concluded that
he should remain with them ; and accordingly
he commenced fitting for college, reciting to
the Rev. Mr. Pinneo, the clergyman of his na-
tive town. The following extract of a letter
from that gentleman, accurately delineates the
prominent features of his character at this
period.
1$
" Milford, March 5th, 1829.
" DEAR SIR,
" The lamented youth, a memoir of whom I
understand you are preparing for the public
eye, belonged to my pastoral charge, and for
several years before he entered upon a colle-
giate course of study, was under my particular
instruction. This was previous to his sixteenth
year, at which time he entered college. At
this early period, little can be supposed to have
occurred worthy of record ; although to the
fond heart of affection, affording the most en-
dearing recollections. It may however be tru-
ly said, that the powers of his mind had devel-
oped themselves to an uncommon degree ; and
gained a strength and maturity quite beyond
his years. It was indeed often observed by his
acquaintance, that he had passed early and ra-
pidly from the lightness and instability of youth,
to the vigor and maturity, and I may add, dig-
nity of manhood. It pleased the God of na-
ture to endow him with an uncommon share of
good sense ; as well as with those higher,
though not more useful talents, which lay the
foundation for eminent attainments. All his
13
faculties were remarkably well balanced, and
duly proportioned. He possessed to an un-"
usual degree, what is denominated genius ; but
this in him did not stand alone to perform mere
feats of strength, but was restrained and direct-
ed by sound judgment and discretion. In a
word, I consider our young friend, who cannot
now be affected by our applause or censure, to
have possessed talents eminently fitting him for
high acquirements, and for great distinction and
usefulness in the world, had it pleased God to
spare his life. Nor were his excellencies mere-
ly intellectual. His Creator had richly endow-
ed him with those amiable and affectionate dis-
positions, which, far more than mere abilities or
knowledge, secure the love and esteem of man-
kind. That he was faultless, it is not intended
to affirm ; but his very deficiencies afforded
the opportunity of discovering a trait of charac-
ter as rare as it is excellent. He received re-
proof, not with sullen silence, or resentment, or
attempts at self-justification ; but with deep
feelings of self-reproach ; and the effect was
permanent and happy." * *
2
14
Having now commenced a regular course of
study, he seemed more than ever, to feel the
importance of diligent and systematic industry.
This may be seen from the following little frag-
ment written about this time, which was found
among his papers, entitled
Rules of Conduct.
Sensible that method, and a regular course of
life, are indispensable to the correct fulfilment
of duties, I here compose a set of rules for my
conduct, which I am determined to observe as
far as lies in my power. Some might perhaps
appear unnecessary, or of trifling importance ;
but a close observer of nature, will easily per-
ceive that all its great machines are moved by
innumerable small wheels ; and that howeveF
inconsiderable a great part of them may be in
themselves, yet they are each and every one re-
quisite to produce harmony and perfection in the
whole.
Rise at six in winter, and five in summer.
Retire at ten.
Study — from nine A. M. till twelve — from
two P. M. till three — then recite. Evening.
15
from seven till nine or ten as circumstances
shall determine. Write after recitation.
Exercise — from six till nine A. M. — from
twelve till two, and from four till six P. M.
Sleep nine hours. — Study eight hours. — Ex-
ercise seven hours. * * *
In accordance with these rules and others
which he prescribed to himself, Charles appli-
ed himself industriously to the prosecution of
his studies, and to other employments calcula-
ted to improve his mind. He used frequently
to remark, that the sources of a man's happiness
must be within himself; and hence he was ea-
ger to possess himself of rich stores of useful
and interesting knowledge. A considerable
part of his leisure at this period was devoted to
choice reading ; the British Classics he per used
with great delight. Of the poets, Milton,
Young, Cowper, Montgomery, and Shakes-
peare, were his favorites. He continued also
to amuse himself occasionally with attempts at
poetical composition. A few more specimens
of these efforts are here inserted, which were
written during his fifteenth and sixteenth years.
16
a
The following verses suggested themselves
on reading Thomson's History of the Late.
War:'
The thunder of battle had ceased in our land,
And hush'd was the tumult of war on the plain ;
The warrior ungirded his slaughter-stain'd brand,
And the rose had long bloom'd o'er the grave of the slain.
The flag of our country wav'd proudly on high,
In the far distant climes of the " isles of the sea,"
And every land spread beneath the blue sky,
Bore the prints of the march of the Sons of the Free.
O who but would pray with a patriot's zeal,
That thus might the land of his fathers remain ;
That ne'er the dire conflict's dread jar might she feel,
Nor see her bright fields red with blood-shed again.
But shall she then, whose pride was once humbled so low
Bj" our sires, heap oppression and scorn on their race :
No; — rather their life's blood in torrents shall flow,
And sooner their country shall rock to its base.
And hark ! the cannons roar
Rolls onward to the shore
Like the mutt'ring of the thunder in the dark brown cloud :
And a voice comes on the wave
Like the requiem o'er the brave
When the mermaid binds the warrior in his sea-green
shroud.
17
War wakes its dire alarms
Our country calls, — to arms !
'Tis Britain throws the gauntlet at our feet once more ;
She was our father's foe,
They laid her Lion low ;
Let's meet her like our fathers then, and we shall lay him
lower.
Now ye heroes, rouse from slumber !
Valor points your glorious way;
Join — increase the warlike number,
Standing eager for the fray.
Steel your hearts, ye sons of ocean !
Bare your arms for toil and blood ;
Show the world by your devotion,
That your country's cause is good.
Hark ! the shout that went to heaven-
Now the battle is begun ;
Heart and hand to conflict given,
Till the deadly work be done.
But 0 Muse, pass silent over
All the horrors of the fight.
Slaughter'd son and sire and lover.
0 conceal the dreadful si^ht.
2*
18
Let those deeds alone of glory,
That exalt our country's name.
Be the theme of song and story ; —
War shines thus — the road to fame.
ADDRESS IN A LADY'S ALBUM.
Sent on love's errand by my owner's hand,
To you, her Friends, a suppliant I come ;
Bound, in obedience to her strict command,
To ask your favors, and then hasten home.
With tokens then, to long acquaintance due,
Of friendship pure and love without alloy.
Prompted by virtue, and inscribed by you,
Adorn these leaves, and I return with joy
A FRAGMENT.
Why do ye walk along so slow,
Men of the warm and bounding soul r
Have ye ere felt the throb of woe,
Or the full tear of sorrow roll ?
I thought, within these quiet walls,
That ye were free from grief and care ;
That Pleasure's home, was learning's halls,
And nought but sunshine entered there.
iy
I could not think that eyes so bright
With hope and joy — and brow so brave-
Would so soon lose their living light,
And fade and moulder in the grave.
I thought that-
FAREWELL TO THE ALROI*.
Farewell to thee, thou little book ;
Farewell to all thy numerous train,
I will not on thy pages look
To write another word again.
"Twas thou that first entic'd my feet
To venture near the Muses' hill ;
And then I found the draught so sweet,.
I fain would stay to take my fill.
J ever, for thy owner's sake,
Have shown thee tenderness and care.
But henceforth this fair warning take,
And tell thy brethren too, beware !
For should ye near my precincts stray,
0, I should tremble for your fate !
And ye will surely rue the day,
And mourn your lot when 'tis too late.
20
Then go, thou little wand'rer, go ;
'Twere needless now for me to tell
The reasons why I treat thee so;
They are sufficient — Fare-thee-welL
A FAREWELL.
Farewell Eliza — we have met,
And while life lasts, 0 I can never
The joy I've known with thee forget ; —
But now we part — perhaps forever !
Thus Friendship throws her silken chain
Round those who seem that nought can sever
But soon the chord is snapt in twain —
They part — perhaps, like us, forever !
But there's a world supremely bright,
Where grief is heard at parting never ;
Where Friendship dwells in heavenly light,
And Love endures — pure — warm forever.
Farewell! then, since on earth we find,
Time soon will all connections sever ;
Save only that blest tie of mind,
Which there endures — unchanged, forever'
21
ON THE DEATH OF ADAMS AM)
JEFFERSOX.
Say — did ye hear that spelling cry
That rose so loud to heaven ?
It went from bosoms beating; hio;h
With joy, for blessings given.
And hark ! — the cannon's deafning roar,
Successive thunders pealing ;
From inland hills to distant shore,
It wakes the noblest feeling.
And hark ! — that dying sound — again
What glorious notes it raises !
It is the choir's enchanting strain ;
Our Fathers God it praises.
But lo! that swelling cry is gone —
Deep hush'd that cannon's thunder —
And e'en thai choir's enlivening tone
Is mute in fearful wonder.
■6
For they — the Patriarchs — loved and blest.
High crown'd with age and glory,
Have sought in peace a hallowed rest ;
Their names entombed in Story.
From what we have seen of Charles' poet-
ical talents, it may be supposed that had he
thought proper to devote his attention to poetry.
22
he might have done it with considerable success.
This however he did not judge expedient ; and
accordingly with his characteristic deliberation,
he writes as follows.
" From an attempt now made to write a
verse of poetry, it is pretty evident, that what-
ever of fame may be obtained by me in after
life, is not to be found on the Muses' hill. Some
other path seems to be marked out for me,
which I shall do well to follow. So henceforth
— I renounce the courtship of the JVwie."
It is not known that after this, he ever wrote
a line of poetry. He had become persuaded
that other pursuits were of paramount import-
ance ; and it was a trait in his character worthy
of remark, that when convinced that a given
course was on the whole to be preferred, he
always proceeded immediately to conform his
conduct to the dictates of his judgment, instead
of suffering himself to be swayed by inclination.
And he was wont to value every pursuit in pro-
portion as it seemed calculated to qualify for
usefulness ; believing it to be the appropriate
business of existence, to contribute to the wel-
fare and happiness of mankind.
23
CHAPTER IU.
Enters College — His feelings on the occasion — Personal
appearance — Standing as a scholar — Remarks relative
to his correspondence — Correspondence — Interesting
state of College — Becomes interested in the subject of
Religion — Letter giving an account of the change in his
views — Remarks — Farther extracts from his corres-
pondence— Remarks.
In the autumn of 1826, having completed
his preparatory studies, Charles became a
member of Yale College. This period was
one to which he had for some time looked for-
ward with no small degree of anxiety. He
was now in his seventeenth year ; and had
hitherto enjoyed without interruption the quiet
and the indulgencies of home ; but from these
he was about to be removed. This, howev-
er, was not the principal ground of his so-
licitude. He greatly feared the influence of
the numerous temptations incident to college
life ; and often remarked that it appeared to
him of the highest consequence that a student
24
should possess fixed and unbending principles.
That his own were of this description, none, it
is believed, who knew him will be disposed to
question ; for although mildness and modera-
tion were striking features in his character, his
conduct was always marked with energy and
decision.
His appearance at the time he entered col-
lege, was highly prepossessing. His person
was rather tall, erect, and well formed ; his
deportment modest and retiring, yet remark-
ably dignified and manly ; his manners and ad-
dress easy, unembarassed, and engaging. Add
to this, that it was evident to all that he pos-
sessed talents of the highest order, and feelings
the most correct and honorable, and it will not"
appear surprising that he soon became, among
his classmates, in an eminent degree respected
and beloved.
The course of systematic industry to which
he had previously become accustomed, he still
continued to pursue ; and his standing as a
scholar was such as it was natural to expect
from his abilities and diligence. At the end
of the first term, he received one of the three
25
prize- awarded to his division, fur excellence
in English Composition.
His affection for his sisters, and efforts for
their improvement have already been noticed.
W hen he had become settled in college, he
made it his regular custom to write them a let-
ter every week. He wrote also frequently to
his mother, and occasionally to other friends.
We shall make pretty ample extracts from
his correspondence, for two reasons. In the
first place, it is believed that his letters are of
a character to be read with interest ; and those
of them addressed to his sisters, in which, with
all the particularity of the most ardent wishes
for their welfare, he advises them in relation
to the cultivation of their minds and manners,
may perhaps be read with benefit by those of
similar age and circumstances. They certain-
Iv evince accuracy of observation, correcmess
of sentiment, and maturity of judgment. — And
further, there is probably no way in which
character can be studied to greater advantage,
than as it is exhibited in these confidential effu-
sions, which are at once the unlabored effort-
of the intellect, and the sincere — unaffected
26
language of the heart. More particularly may
this be supposed to be true in a case like the
present, where the monotony of college life
necessarily furnishes but little of characteristic
incident.
New Haven, Wednesday, Oct. 1826,
DEAR SISTER,
Instead of sitting down by my table at home,
as I now begin to call Yale, to answer your
letter, I have taken my seat in Papa's office.
We have just been into the Chapel to hear the
weekly speaking, and the criticisms of the Pro-
fessor ; and next week, we also shall be called
on in our turn. I am thus far pleased with
college life, and every day affords something
to strengthen my attachment. Although some
mornings, when the air seems to have an extra
chill, the college bell appears to sound with ap-
palling tones, yet by the time its never ceasing
peal calls to breakfast, there seems a pleasing
harmony in its toll. Here every thing is timed
by the bell ; studying, eating, sleeping, all go
by die bell. There is time enough for every
27
thing, but none to spare. So that when I
write home, I must work hard and get my les-
son quick, and then make my pen fly nimbly
for a few moments, and you have a letter.
The object of correspondence, in connection
with the pleasure derived from intercourse
with our friends, should be to instruct and im-
prove each other. It does not belong to the
student alone, to reflect ; although his business
is chiefly — nay, exclusively, the cultivation of
his mind, yet every one is possessed ol talents
equally with him : and as nothing was ever
given for our misimprovement or abuse, it lol-
lows of course, that all should feel the impor-
tance of cultivating the understanding to the
utmost of their power. Now here you have a
mind capable, (or rather which can be made
capable by application, which is the same-
thing.) of comprehending the knowledge of all
that is good, great, and important to be under-
stood ; and unless you employ its powers right-
ly, you are not only depriving yourself of that
respect, and (which is far preferable) of that
never-failing source of enjoyment which is pos-
sessed by the virtuous and the learned, but you
28
are also laying yourself under the weighty re-
sponsibility of neglecting to improve the talents
which you have received. I was glad to find,
therefore, that my proposition met with your
approbation. For if we can, by mutually at-
tending to the maintainance of a constant in-
tercourse, forward this object, viz. the cultiva-
tion of our minds, the time which we shall de-
vote to it must certainly be considered as
profitably employed.
As you all like to know how I get along, I
can assure you that I am able to get my les-
sons, and perform other necessary duties, pretty
easily and agreeably, although the fashionable
monster, Dyspepsia, would fain assert his right
to propagate a few notions in the region of my
brain : but I am in joyful hopes that next week,
when it is expected our regular exercises in the
Gymnasium will commence, I shall be enabled
to give his Monstership a polite dismission from
the premises.
Upon reading over what I wTrote somewhat
hastily last evening, I find some parts which I
think might be improved. Now this is my
plan : I wish you every week to examine my
29
letters attentively, and to point out to me, in
yours, with a critic's finger, every fault. Let
every particular be noticed ; and I promise
vou it will be advantageous to us all. Our
Professor told us the other day, that among the
various kinds of composition to which we shall
attend this year, will be that of letter-writing ;
and as soon as we receive our instructions on
that subject, I will transmit them to you ; and
then, says I, we will have our letters written in
fine style. But as it may be necessary for me
in the mean time, occasionally to tell you a
plain story, I shall beg leave to do it without
his Professorship's assistance.
I am pleased to hear your school is to com-
mence so soon. You are now old enough to
attend it with a definite object in view. Con-
sider it not as a mere thing of course to go to
school — to spend a few hours in the school-
room, as it were a' duty, of regular occurrence,
and therefore to be performed indifferently, or
totally neglected ; but remember it is a privi-
lege which but few, comparatively very few, are
permitted to enjoy ; and the neglect of which
were, in you, not only ingratitude, but sin.
3*
30
1 wish to have you inform me of the studies
you are to pursue, and the progress you make ;
which I trust will be creditable to yourselves,
and encouraging to all your friends. The
books I sent, I hope you were pleased with :
I shall endeavor to send an interesting one to-
morrow.— Give my love to all.
Your Brother,
Charles.
Yale College, Friday, Nov. 1826.
DEAR SISTERS,
* * * * * *
We begin now to study in good earnest ; as
the time for study, namely, cold, short days,
and long nights, has arrived ; and we make the
most of it, I can assure you. I suppose you
too begin to see that the proper season for im-
provement, both of the year, and of life, has
come ; and I hope you will see its advantages,
and rightly appreciate and use them. You
may be assured, that as the right performance
o
I
of duty, renders the inclemencies of Autumn
incapable of souring the temper, or of marrine;
your enjoyment, so the reflection that time has
been spent well, and no duty left neglected,
will make the autumn of your life rich in pleas-
ures, and every moment of existence sweet.
You probably attend school steadily — per-
forming all your tasks, and cheerfully obeying
all the commands of your instructor. Now.
unless you cheerfully obey, obedience, (if in-
deed it can be called obedience,) is one of the
most irksome duties imaginable. And so you
will find, on the contrary, cheerful obedience
the source of much happiness. It affords sat-
isfaction both at the time of performance, and
(which is far better) long afterwards.
Our regular Gymnastic exercises have be-
gun. The commencing exercises are very
simple and easy ; but I declare I thought the
other day, if Mamma had seen with me, as I
was looking from my window, a tall student
mounted on the top of a mast, at least seventy
feet high, and there balancing himself on his
breast, with his feet extended on one side, and
his head on the other, she would have been
32
somewhat loth to permit me to commence per-
forming feats, however simple and beneficial,
which might terminate in ones so hazardous as
this. However, as I am generally more con-
tent with terra firma than middle air, I think
there is but little probability of my having my
head so high in the world at present.
Now it is about half past four ; and I have
just come from the recitation room, where I
was called on to recite. I could not help
thinking, as I took my seat to day, calm and
collected as if I had been reciting at home be-
fore the family, how different it was last week
at this time. Then we were strangers to each
other, and our tutor, and every one's voice,
by its slight trembling, gave evidence of em-
barrassment. Xow every one thinks, as he
rises, he is surrounded by his friends — his
class-mates — his brothers. I believe this is
the grand reason why we hear so little of
home-sickness in college ; we have left our
home, but we have found another.
It is amusing too, as well as instructive, to
observe the different persons of which our
numerous family is composed ; and to con-
oo
template the diversity of character and senti-
ments it exhibits. Every day discloses some
new trait, and every hour affords fresh proof of
the individuality of our species, and of ihe
strength and beauty of those harmonious ties,
which can bind together in peace and love so
promiscuous a multitude.
# * ■* * * *
The bell rings, and I must lay down my
pen and take my book.
Your Brother,
Charles.
Yale College, Friday, Nov. 1S26.
MY SISTERS,
I have been and borrowed a pen from one
of my class-mates to use for the few moments
of leisure we have until prayers, in answering
your letter.
In the first place, (as men generally think
of themselves first,) I have had a severe cold,
for some days past ; but last evening a class-
mate came up to my room, and told me I must
take some of the sovereign remedy, viz. bom1-
34
set tea : and accordingly I was dosed off well
last night, and to-day feel much better again.
In the next place, (to keep self uppermost still,)
one short week brings Thanksgiving ; and I
hope will also bring your brother home ; when,
if my cold, or some other unfavorable accident
does not alter the case, and I am in the full
possession of the delightful appetite I have en-
joyed this term, mother need not fear lest I
should do injustice to her dainties. As usual,
I suppose the " note of preparation" has al-
ready been, or shortly will be sounded ; Nand
the chopping of meat, and screaming of pigs
and poultry, and the pounding and grinding of
allspice and pepper, and the clattering of plates,
and the red faces of the good folks at the oven,
will give bustling and brisk intimation of the
approach of merry Thanksgiving. It is one of
the thousand proofs that we have of the good-
ness of our forefathers' hearts, and of the cor-
rectness of their judgements, that they insti-
tuted so joyous a festival, and accompanied its
celebration with so many manifestations of pros-
perity and happiness. For who can look
around at Thanksgiving upon the richness of
35
the bounties which greet him on every side,
without feeling his heart warmed with gratitude
to the Infinite Benevolence that bestowed them,
and becoming better for the feeling.
When I commenced my letter, I said it was
to be in answer to yours ; but so far from an-
swering:, I have not yet mentioned it. How-
ever, better late than never. Upon looking
over M 's part, I must say, I am pleased
with her intention as to her conduct, both at
school, and at home. Although from her age,
I could have expected nothing less than a de-
termination to " learn all she could" in the one
case, and to " be as useful as possible" in the
other ; still I am glad she has so frankly com-
mitted it to paper, because a resolution in plain
black and white, looks more like real design
than the mere formation of it in the mind : and
I cannot hesitate to believe, that it is her firm
purpose to conform to the very letter of the
declaration. Of one thing she may be — she
doubtless is, certain, that from such conduct
will result pure pleasure to herself, and the
highest gratification to her friends.
Your Brother,
Charles.
36
Yale College, Saturday, Dec. 162b.
DEAR C
As I found a joint letter from yourself and
M , on Monday, right it is that you should
receive an answer. I was pleased to find your
part written in so good a style ; there is yet,
however, great room for improvement. A
lady's hand-writing should be plain, rather fine,
and very true and neat. In all your letters,
you should select the best words you can think
of, as by so doing, you acquire a knowledge of
language : still, avoid those which seem far-
fetched, as they would tend to make your style
appear stiff and awkward. Be particular in
your pointing also ; otherwise your meaning
may be obscured, and often appear ridiculous.
Whenever you intend to write a letter, do not
put it off till the last moment; for by so doing,
you are unable to pay that particular attention
to every part, which is necessary in order to
derive any advantage from the exercise. Let-
ter-writing is considered the easiest, and if pro-
perly conducted, the most beautiful species of
composition. The subject is generally very
37
simple, but admitting of much embellishment.
Often you have an opportunity to introduce
sentiments and observations, which, if aptly ap-
plied, give great force and beauty to your
epistles.
You doubtless attend school punctually, and
do your best while there ; but it is the time at
home I wish to know the most about. How
do you spend that ? Do you get a lesson
every evening, or not ? I hope yourself and
M — — will be able to answer these questions
satisfactorily when I come home ; otherwise,
I shall not after that write you any more letters ;
thinking that you care so little about them, it
would be a waste of time. Can vou answer
every question in Geography and Grammar ?
There is need, then, of more study there.
But — Geography and Grammar — why they
are nothing comparatively ; and yet, you are
not well acquainted even with these. I say
this not to discourage, nor disparagingly ; for
I presume you understand these branches of
knowledge as well as most young girls of your
acquaintance and age. But what I mean is,
4
38
that you should feel the importance of learning,
and act accordingly.
3Irs. Royal, I dare say, afforded you a great
deal of amusement ; judging from what I have
seen and heard of her book. You had an op-
portunity also, to see the appearance a lady
makes when out of place ; a thing which you
will assuredly confess, should be carefully
avoided.
This afternoon, it is in contemplation to unite
all the classes under their respective Monitors,
and make a short march to East Rock in
Gymnastic style. But the present coolness of
the air, and threatning appearance of the
clouds, somewhat damp the ardour manifested
in the morning. Just like life ; bright, sunny,
and gay in the morning, but frequently over-
shadowed with darkness at noon-clay. Let
us then obtain those means for making our ex-
istence perpetual sunshine, which are possessed
only by the learned and the good.
Your Brother,
Charles.
39
Yale College, Dec. i 52(3
DEAR MOTHER,
I have taken the liberty of encroaching a
little upon my study hours, to write a word or
two to you. I did indeed forget, in my last,
to send you a single line : but did you there-
fore think I had forgotten you, Mother :
Every returning week brings with it too manv
indications of your continual recollection of
your son, to give a place for forgetfulness in
him. I acknowledge apparent neglect ; but
the never-ceasing routine of business, and the
imperious call of duties to be performed, make
me almost forget myself. But never mind ;
in all this hurry, a word from home will always
ensure an answer ; and signs of remembrance
there, call for a return, too loudly to be dis-
regarded.
The pies too — not a word cf them ! Well
it was strange : but do not think because I did
not mention, I therefore did not love them.
The empty plates declare, that if indeed their
source was not regarded, their contents receiv-
ed a soodly share of our attention.
40
It is a beautiful night ; and the shouts of the
students, every now and then, show that they
are out to enjoy it. You, I suppose, are quiet-
ly sitting in your bedroom, rocking to sleep
that noisy baby, and seeing, I hope, with a
great deal of pleasure, M learning her
lesson, or together with C — — , writing that
composition which is to give me so much pleas-
ure, and to lead the way for others, which will
tend so much to improve their minds, and con-
sequently to increase their respectability, use-
fulness and happiness. Tell M I was
much pleased with her discovering the faults
in my last letter, and that I hope she will at-
tentively examine this ; and find, and report to
me every place where the sense might be bet-
ter expressed, and the words better written and
spelt. And so, proceeding from small tilings
to those of more importance, learn critically to
observe the beauties, and the defects of the
characters of those around her, and with the
utmost nicety to imitate the one, and avoid the
other.
And now, as time presses, I must stop my
pen, feeling a great deal easier, that I have en-
41
deavored to account for the appearance o\
what, were it real, would indicate a wonderful
change in Your Son,
Charles.
New Haven, Dee. IS29.
DEAR MOTHER,
I have been so busy the past week, that 1
came into the office now, without having writ-
ten a word home. Here, however, Papa told
me you would certainly believe me sick, un-
less you had a written declaration to the con-
trary. So to prevent all mistakes, I thought it
no more than reasonable that I should just sit
down to let you know that your own son
Charles Pond, is still a resident in the jroodlv
city of New Haven, a member of the college
located in the same, being at present in pretty
good estate, considering the weather and othei
unfavorable circumstances, and expecting (•
thing preventing,) to visit the home of his na-
tivity, on Wednesday next : — which is all, al
present from
Your affectionate Son,
Charles.
4*
u
Yale College, Saturday, Feb. 1827.
DEAR MOTHER,
After leaving you on Wednesday, we had a
pleasant ride of about an hour and a half, and
arrived safe at Yale again. We were all much
pleased with our visit, and resolved to make
as many more as we consistently can, in com-
ing time. Truly, as Dominie Sampson would
have said, such visitations are marvellously
agreeable, and refreshing to the mind of youths.
But nevertheless, wholesome restraints must
needs be imposed on the desire of such recre-
ations, lest peradventure that we should lose
sight of more important and noble objects,
which should ever be kept in view, in the al-
luring pursuit of relaxation. However, I trust
the few times I shall take a peep at home will
be no essential detriment to my scholarship,
but rather by giving a little loose to invigora-
ting recreation, my mind may be enabled to
apply itself more closely to my studies.
*******
Your affectionate Son,
Charles.
43
Yale College, March, 1S2T,
MY SISTERS,
I received and read with much pleasure,
your separate parts of the same letter, on Mon-
day ; and in compliance with justice and my
own inclination, I have taken my stand at my
desk to spend a few moments in inditing an
answer.
You hoped I would pay attention to your let-
ters. Be assured I do so ; and consequently
it is proper that I make the same request of
you. Not but that I am persuaded you pay
them as much attention as they, as letters, de-
serve ; but as containing advice, which I hope
would if regarded, be of advantage to you, 1
flatter myself that they cannot be cherished too
nicely, or inspected too often.
You mentioned in your last, that mama smil-
ed at my account of my tailoring ; but I believe
could she see my coat at present, she would think
I made but little use of my skill in the art. —
However, when I set about it in earnest, with
my needle, thread and scissors, and no thimble,
I make quite a respectable appearance for a
gentleman tailor !
44
We have had for a few days past, exceeding
cold weather, and as you can well imagine, have
experienced all the pleasures of rising at six
o'clock to prayers. You I suppose, rise, if not
at six, yet certainly by sunrise, as we are then
just breakfasting, and think the greater part of
the morning gone. It is, you may rest assured,
the most healthful practice imaginable, and at-
tended with the greatest benefits in other res-
pects. Be very careful not to lie till breakfast
time ; as from experience, I give my testimony
to its injurious effects. And believe me, the
habit once acquired, is most inveterate ; and
therefore, should you perceive the least tenden-
cy in yourselves towards it, make a bold and
decisive effort to overcome it, and you will al-
ways commend yourselves for so doing.
I was pleased to find you so far complying
with my wishes, as to devote so much time to
writing last week ; especially when it gave me
so much pleasure to read your account of your
manner of spending time. Among what you
very justly style " useful if not elegant accom-
plishments," viz : knitting, working lace, study-
ing Geography, he. you mention reading. —
45
I hope you read proper books, and try to re-
member what you read. Because the object
in relation to all these acquisitions, should be,
that we may be able to make use of them in
the concerns of life ; therefore to make reading
subservient to this object, you must treasure
up in your memory every thing you find useful
and interesting ; as thus, you not only strength-
en the memory, one of the most important men-
tal faculties, but you also obtain materials for
future usefulness. But as it is growing late I
must close for to-night.
Your Brother,
Charles.
During the greater part of the winter of
1826-7, the religious aspect of college had been
promising. An unusual spirit of prayer, and
uncommon zeal in the discharge of christian
duty, were apparent in the church. In addition
to the ordinary means of grace, a sermon was
usually delivered in the Theological Chamber,
on Saturday evening, when large numbers of
the students were present, exhibiting peculiar
seriousness and attention. About the first ol
46
March, it was evident that God had begun to
pour out his Spirit ; several were awakened by
the power of truth, and were anxious to learn
the way to eternal life. Charles was one of
the first who entertained a hope of having found
peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ.
All the particulars relative to his feelings at this
time, are detailed in the following letter to an
intimate friend.
Yale College, March, 1S27.
DEAR FRIEND,
I have commenced my letter early in the
week, so as to be able if possible, to give you
an exact account of all tne workings of my
own mind, and the operations of the Spirit,
when I was called to see my hopeless situation
as a transgressor of the law of God ; and was
enabled, as I humbly hope, to cast myself on
the mercy of the Saviour for salvation. And
oh, that the Father of all mercies would grant
me a full supply of the riches of his grace, and
aid me to spend a life forfeited to death, in fur-
thering the interests of the Redeemer on that
47
earth, where he suffered and died to ransom it"
guilty inhabitants.
For some time past there has been a Sermon
preached in the Theological Chamber, on Sat-
urday evenings by some one of the Faculty or
Theological Students ; and they are of the most
practical and pointed kind. It was by one of
these that my feelings were more particularly
excited, but they might all have subsided in a
few days, had I not been invited by a young
man of the most fervent piety, (to whom I feel
under the greatest obligations) to attend an in-
quiry meeting of Doct. T's on the succeeding
Monday evening. Here I had set before me,
in the strongest possible light, my situation, and
the course of conduct necessary to be pursued
immediately, or I should be daily involving my-
self in greater danger and difficulties. Sev-
eral times during the evening as he pressed the
point of an instantaneous resolution to become
a christian, did I feel strong in the determination
to renounce the world and return to God. But
when the pleasures of sin, and the difficulties ot
a holy life occurred to my mind, I felt a great
inclination to put off the work a little longer ;
48
until some of my present difficulties should b
obviated, and I should have more leisure to de-
vote to the business. However, when Doct. T.
requested all who felt disposed, to call at his
room at any time, and said that he would be
pleased to converse with any one after the meet-
ing had dispersed, I left the room with the rest,
(excepting one Sophomore who remained) but
on going into the hall something whispered ; go
back, or you may lose your soul forever. I
felt my cheek burning at the thought of going
before a man like Doct. T. to confess my sins ;
and I suppose too the idea of coming out before
my classmates and the world, as one who meant
to renounce the pursuit of worldly pleasure for
the- love of God, added a little to the glow; so
to regain my calmness and consider a little be-
fore I proceeded farther, I took my seat in the
window, and never before had I such a conflict
with my feelings. You cannot imagine my
situation. The night was dark and stormy, and
as I sat and heard the wind whistling round the
steeple of the Chapel, I felt the loneliness of
my situation, the blood rushed in haste to my
face, and my feelings became too strong for
49
control. How much longer I should have con-
tinued here, I know not, had not the clock com-
menced striking the hour directly above my
head. At every stroke of the bell, the still
small voice was heard, bidding me beware, how
I treated the strivings of the Spirit, for that hour
might be the last that I should spend on earth.
And thanks be to the mercy of God, who gave
me at that critical moment, a determination to
sleep no longer in a state of sin, but to rise and
make use of all the means in my power to re-
turn to our heavenly Father. Having related
my feelings, and engaged in prayer with Doct.
T. and having received instructions from him,
I left the room ; and then again the scene re-
curred to my mind accompanied with the most
overpowering sensations. What have I been
doing ? I thought to myself ; and what shall I
do now ? — and as I gazed around on the cheer-
ing lights of the College windows, and heard
the voices of their occupants raised in mirth
and revelry ; it appeared like a dream more
than like a sober and all-important reality ; and
I could hardly bring myself to feel, that I was
now to go on and give up all these pleasures,
5
3Q
and become a new creature in Christ. How
too, should I appear before some of my friends ?
and how could I pay any attention to my les-
sons, which I must certainly get ? In mis state
of distress I walked about the yard, muffling
my face in my cloak, regardless of the tem-
pestuousness of the night, and fearing I should
meet some one who might laugh me out of
my feelings. At times I almost determined to
abandon all concern, and return to my accus-
tomed state of mind, and then shuddering at
the thought of losing the day of grace and of
being forsaken of the Spirit ; at length I resolv-
ed to go to a friend's room and stay during the
night, and there to make my peace with God.
Consequently I proceeded up stairs to the door,
and after having walked a few times through
the entry to summon resolution, I entered and
sat down. Here again was another trial, but
after having told my feelings to my friend, and
having conversed and prayed together till 9
late hour, we retired to rest.
In the morning I could scarcely bear the idea
of going out among my acquaintance, as I fear-
ed their influence, and the weakness of mvowjr
51
resolutions ; but my friend having persuaded
me that all necessary duties must be attended
to, as far as the state of my feelings would war-
rant, I was enabled to go through my lessons
and other exercises, and still keep the great
work constantly before me. For the two fol-
lowing days my feelings were much the same ;
I was in darkness as to what it was necessary
for me to do, and as far as I can judge of my
own feelings, I was trying to make myself bet-
ter, and more prepared to become a Christian,
not believing that I must or could come with all
my sins upon me, and cast myself at the foot
of the cross, and receive forgiveness of my in-
iquities from the Saviour as an act of free grace
on his part. But I would fain purchase it my-
self, so as to take some of the praise to myself,
of my salvation. My heart was too proud and
stubborn to bend low in the dust, and implore
mercy on my guilty head, as a lost and dying
worm, but I must do something which would
lay God under obligations to forgive my sins.
At times I could contemplate my vileness and
catch a faint glimpse of the character of the
Redeemer, but still I was unable to understand
DJ.
the gospel way of salvation, and unwilling (al-
though I did not think so then) to accept the
atonement of Christ as the only means through
which I could ever hope for mercy. And, al-
though I felt willing to receive and acknowledge
the Lord Jesus as my Saviour on condition of
his granting me assurance of forgiveness and
reconciliation : vet I could bv no means brins
myself to submit unreservedly to God as my
Maker and Supreme disposer, and to love him
for his own character, and not because he would
ever show mercy to me. In short, I was a
proud and rebellious sinner, ready to dethrone
the King of Heaven, if I had the power, and
take into my own hands the direction of my
fate, and rule the universe at will. I soon went
to Doct. T. again, and told him my difficulties,
and received directions. I returned to mv
room and there determined to eive myself away
to God. After much struggling and anguish of
spirit, I was at length enabled, as I would hum-
bly trust, to make an entire and unreserved ded-
ication of all my faculties, of soul and body, to
the service of the Saviour, and at the foot of
the cross to receive pardon from my God.—
53
Since that hour, oh, how changed have been
my views of life, and death, and eternity ; — of
the character of God and the Saviour; — of
his service and the interests of his cause on
earth ; — of my own responsibilities, duties, and
desires ; — of the condition of sinners and the
professed disciples of Christ ; — and although I
am still far from God, yet I can say with a heart
responding to the words, that I have enjoyed
moments which I would not exchange for all
the vain objects of this lower world, and all the
happiness the worldling ever felt.
Yours very affectionately,
Charles.
Such was the process of feeling by which he
came to indulge the christian hope ; a process
which it is believed, must commend itself to
every one, as strikingly simple, rational, and in-
telligible. From this time he exhibited the ac-
tive devotedness of a decided christian. The
affectionate earnestness with which he convers-
ed with those of his classmates over whom he
supposed he might exert an influence, in rela-
tion to what he now regarded as their highest
54
interests, it is to be hoped, will not be soon for-
gotten. His efforts to do good, were charac-
terized by a modesty and delicacy which always
secured them a kind reception, although they
might fail of producing the desired result.
We have already seen from his correspond-
ence with his sisters, with what particularity he
pointed out to them those habits and accom-
plishments, the acquisition of which, he thought
necessary to their usefulness and happiness in
the world. He now regarded religion, as of
every other, die crowning excellence. He felt,
that for the intercourse of life, it gave a love-
liness to character, which no merely external
graces could impart ; and that to the highest per-
sonal enjoyment here, and as a qualification
for an immortal life hereafter, it was absolutely
indispensable. Accordingly he began imme-
diately, with earnestness to recommend the sub-
ject to their attention.
This will be seen from some*of the following
letters.
55
Vale College, Tuesday, March, 1827.
MY SISTERS,
I have begun thus early in the week, and
thus near the top of the sheet, because I have
determined to write considerable. I was as
usual, much pleased with the letter which I re-
ceived from C on Monday : her hand
writing is improving fast, and I think promises
fair to be soon a very neat and graceful hand.
M must pay all possible attention to hers
also ; for, as she is the oldest, it is always nat-
ural to suppose her the most accomplished in
every thing useful and amiable.
But while I thus recommend care and atten-
tion in relation to your external accomplish-
ments, I would chiefly impress on your minds
at this time the importance of the utmost regard
to your eternal interests ; as they are the only
subjects which can claim the supreme atten-
tion of any created being. And be assured
that every word I am about to say, will be dic-
tated by the purest love to you, and the deep-
est solicitude for your happiness. For, (with
gratitude to our Maker would I say it,) I have
been led during the past week by the goodness
ob
and mercy of God, to a contemplation of mj
hopeless situation as a transgressor of his laws,
and a despiser of his offers of reconciliation
through the Saviour : and looking at the sub-
ject, therefore, as one which is worthy of the
most serious and careful attention, I would re-
commend it to your consideration, with all the
earnestness which an ardent zeal to promote
your present and future welfare, can inspire.
And I beseech you to consider, and endeavor
to profit by what little I shall say respecting it.
Life, my dear sisters, is short and uncertain ;
and however prosperous or honored the living
are, all must die. No age escapes the hand of.
death, no acquirements can debar his access,
no strength oppose his power. The learned
and the ignorant — the wealthy and the indi-
<reni — the aged and the young — the haughty
and the lowly, — all must die. But the word of
God informs us, that " after death cometh the
judgment," and that on that day, a division will
be made of all that have lived, and will hereaf-
ter li\e on earth. And can aught which this
world can offer, enable us to stand that decision,
or meet the sentence which we know will be
57
pronounced ? Oh no. Nothing but a hope in
Christ, will fit us for that hour. Then how
wise, and how important, that an interest in a
subject so momentous, be early felt. We are
old enough to feel the truth of the declarations
of Scripture, that all have sinned and come
short of the glory of God : and we know that
the Saviour made no distinction when on earth
in his invitations to sinners ; but commanded
all to repent and believe on him. And we
know too, that he ever manifested a peculiar
love to the young ; saying, suffer little children
to come unto me, and forbid them not: and,
those that seek me early shall find me. We
are but just commencing the journey of life,
and we know not what may befal us on the
way, and how long we shall continue in it : but
whether we shall be permitted to reach old
age, or whether we be called early away ; reli-
gion is indispensably necessary. If the Lord
is pleased to give us length of days, with reli-
gion, we shall be prepared to discharge all the
duties of life in a proper manner ; should our
lot be prosperous and happy, we shall be wil-
ling to do our utmost to serve with faithfulness
58
the kind Being who smiles upon us, and our
hearts will be drawn closer to our Maker in
the bonds of gratitude and love. In every stage
of life, Jesus will be our friend and guide — in
the hour of death, our comforter and deliverer ;
and when our hold on life is lost, angels will
bear us to the right hand of God, where we
shall spend an eternity of bliss.
With ardent prayers that such may be our
happy lot, I subscribe myself
Your Brother,
Charles,
Yale College, Friday, March, 1S27-
DEAR MOTHER,
As I have written so long a letter already to
L , I do not know as I shall be able to say
a great deal in this. The girls' letter on Mon-
day, was a good one ; and has received the ap-
probation of M , J and myself, who
constitute the imperial criticship, if such a word
can be found elsewhere, in all matters of home
relations, whether letters, cakes, or any thing
else of like importance or pleasure. I think
59
their hand writing is much improved ; and I
believe that by constant attention and care,
they will soon become good writers in both
senses of the word. I hope they will remem-
ber the importance of improving every mo-
ment of time, and every particle of talent : for
let them recollect, they enjoy peculiar privi-
leges, and consequently, peculiar responsibility
rests upon them. They live too, at a peculiar
period of the world ; and should they arrive at
mature age, they will probably be witnesses of
great and glorious doings. For although man
can see but little of coming time, yet the wisest
and the best of men in this and other countries,
are constrained to regard the events which are
now taking place in die moral world, as die pre-
cursors of that exalted period, which so often
played before the prophetic vision of the inspir-
ed of odier times. And although I am by no
means ready to believe, that nation shall no
longer lift up sword against nation, and thai
we shall immediately see all the exhibitions of
that supreme love to God which will consritute
the glory of diat latter day which prophets have
foretold ; still it appears to me, that the differ-
60
ent associations formed by the good of our ownr
and other Christian nations, having for their ob-
ject the dissemination of the Word of God, and
the spread of the religion of Christ among the
ignorant and heathen inhabitants of the dark
places of the earthy are to be powerful means in
bringing about that blessed period. I hope,
therefore, as I said before, they will endeavor
to realize their interesting situation, and to ex-
ert themselves to become qualified to assist in
carrying on this glorious work, should Provi-
dence ever place them in circumstances where
they could be advantageously employed. Let
them be well assured too, that thev will never
have better opportunities than they now have.
Their cares are few and small ; they are at
home. And, however, fools may sneer and
witlings ridicule, they never will find a place on
earth like home : for although greater advan-
tages of education and improvement may be
found elsewhere ; still I believe no one can
look back on the days he spent at home, with-
out sighing over the loss of many a valuable
privilege he there enjoyed. I tell you, moth-
er, there is a magic in that word home, which
61
I am persuaded is more powerful than any
however celebrated in romance, or historic
truth ; excepting, perhaps, I should have said
that of mother. They are both associated so
inseparably with the bright hours of childhood'*
happiness, and the wild scenes of boyish reck-
lessness, that they never can be heard without
exciting a thrill of the most exquisite joy. I
never saw but one being, who ever knew a
mother's kindness, that could speak with scorn
and ridicule of that parent's admonitions of ten-
derness. And never did I see the power of
sin, and the depth of depravity so strongly ex-
emplified before. * * *
Oh how I pity his wretched
mother. Would that the spirit of all grace
would enter the heart of her miserable off-
spring, and bring him to bow in deep contrition
belore the mercy of that Being whose power
he so dreadfully despises !
Give my love to all.
Affectionately,
Your Son,
Charles.
6
>2
Yale College, Friday, April, 1827.
MY SISTERS,
I was much pleased with your letter on Mon-
day ; not only on account of the neatness with
which it was written, but also on account of the
good sentiments it contained : and while we
thus speak with so much feeling respecting the
pearl of great price, God grant, that we may-
all of us at last, be found to have used our ut-
most endeavors to become its happy pos-
sessors.
In college, it is absolutely necessary to pos-
sess religion ; both to enable us to fulfil our du-
ties as scholars, and to guard us against the
thousand temptations to which we are constant-
ly, and in a very great degree, imperceptibly
exposed ; and to give us a disposition to im-
prove the opportunities afforded by a life like
ours, of acquiring a knowledge of all that is im-
portant in the doctrines of the Bible, as ex-
plained and illustrated from the desk by the
ablest of theologians — in the Bible class, by
scientific and pious teachers — and in the writ-
ings of those who have made the truths of-
Scripture their almost only study. But in the
63
enjoyment of each other's society, religion ex-
erts her purifying influence, in a degree almost
inconceivable. She tells us to beware of inti-
macy with those who forget their God ; but to
bind to our hearts with the cords of piety and
friendship, those with whom we can share our
pleasures and our sorrows, while, as pilgrims
and sojourners here, we fix our views upon a
better world, and travel to a dearer home. Oh,
I have felt my pulse beat high, when after a
short absence I have met my classmates' wel-
come grasp ; but never did the ardent pressure
of the hand, and the speaking glance of warm
affection, tell so much of pure and settled friend-
ship, as when they hailed me as a Christian
brother. Often have I met them too, in the
social circle, to talk of home, and long gone
davs of bovhood, and the scenes of frolic and
of joy which we knew long since ; but never
have I felt the working of a spirit too strong to
be restrained, so much as when we raised our
voices in the solemn song, and united in ascrib-
ing praise to him who died to save a ruined
world, and in imploring the blessing of our
Heavenly Father upon those dear friends with
64
whom we daily meet to show our progress in
the path of learning, and whom we long to see
united to the church of God.
I wTas rejoiced to hear there had been a small
revival at home ; and hope that all those who
have experienced a change of feeling, may con-
tinue to give good evidence of real piety. The
work here we hope is gradually increasing ;
and during the last week, one or two others of
my classmates, have been brought, as we hum-
bly trust, to renounce the world, and seek a
better portion in heaven.
I suppose mother is not able to step about a
great deal with that mouse of a baby yet, al-
though the weather is so fine, and the time of
the singing of the birds is coming, and the voice
of the turtle is soon to be heard. You said
Mary could read a little of my letter ; let her
try if she can read this. I hope you will be
a good girl and mind mamma. I suppose
Maria can read the Testament finely, so that
one of these days she will be able to read a
good deal of my letters, and write me too.
Charlotte must try to get up to the head again,
so that when the young gentlemen come home
65
with Charles, she will have another beautiful
certificate to show them. I hope you will all
write me a good long letter on Monday.
Your Brother,
Charles.
Yale College, Saturday, April, 1827.
MY DEAR SISTER,
It is with feelings which I should in vain at-
tempt to describe, that I sit down to address
you ; nor would I now write another word
which I imagined might in the least degree,
wound your feelings, did I not think it to be
my duty. And I intreat you not only to read
this, but to preserve it and not suffer it to leave
your hands, unless to be deposited where you
can resort to it at pleasure.
You. my sister, are placed in peculiar cir-
cumstances. You are the eldest, in my ab-
sence, of the family circle. On you, therefore,
devolves the important office of setting such an
example in every respect, as you would wish
the younger ones to follow. And now ask
yourself, I beseech you, whether you feel wil-
a
06
'Ling that they should imitate you, in all respects.
Examine yourself. Do you rise in the morn-
ing before any of them, and then see that they
rise and are properly dressed, and every thing
respecting your clothes and room, arranged
aright for breakfast ? At breakfast, do you see
that your mother and sisters are helped before
you help yourself, and that there is no confu-
sion or disorder at the table ? Do you after
breakfast, assist your mother in preparing your
sisters for school, and see that they all go at a
proper time ? Do you prepare and go yourself
in season ? Do you at school, conduct in such
a manner as to give satisfaction to your teacheY
and parents, and your own conscience ? Do
you at home, strictly obey your mother, and
endeavor, as far as you are able, to assist and
please her ; and do you pay strict attention to
the conduct of your sisters, and see that they
too, do the same ? In short, is your whole con-
duct such as to give you satisfaction in reflect-
ing upon it ? Now I do not, by any of these
enquiries, declare that it is not as I should hope,
in one who has now arrived at years of discre-
tion, and who is so peculiarly situated as you
67
are. I only wish you to read these interroga-
tions frequently, and with attention : and, as a
pure desire for your welfare, dictated them, so
also, when I know that you can answer each one
of them to your own conscience, without the
least reserve, will my satisfaction in having such
a sister, be increased. * * *
?
Your Brother
Ch lrl.es.
A little before the close of the spring term,
he was at home on a short visit. After his re-
turn, he writes as follows to his mother.
Yale College, May 1st, IS2T.
DEAR MOTHER,
After a pleasant visit at home, I reached col-
lege again on Monday noon, in health and pret-
ty good spirits ; although before night, the re-
action, as metaphysicians, I suppose, would call
it, of the excitement, made me feel rather dull
and melancholy. But my accustomed studies,
and the novelty of performance at a society's
exhibition, have restored me again to my wont-
ed state of feeling ; and things are going on as
68
regularly as ever. Thejfirst tiling tliat struck me,
when I sat down to think of my visit, was the
great change which every body seemed to have
undergone at home, since I saw them last. I
had formerly been too apt to measure out my
respect for the good folks of Milford, in propor-
tion to the fineness of their garments, or the
gracefulness of their demeanor. But I now
paid more attention to the evidences of their
principles. And when I looked round in meet-
ing, and saw some of those, whom I had for-
merly been too ready tq. look upon with some-
thing like pity for their ignorance of worldly
accomplishments, seeming so eager to catch
every word which fell from the lips of the rev-
erend preacher, I could almost envy their con-
tented and teachable dispositions, connected
with that christian humility, which our Saviour
so strikmdv exemplified while on earth. Chris-
tians of every description seemed nearer to me
than any other class of people, and more worth;
of high respect.
We have nearly finished the duties of this
term, and can now look back upon two thirds
of our first, 'year collegiate,' which has cone
like a dream. Thus, in all probability shall we
feel, when we have arrived at the close, not only
of our college course, but of our mortal life.
Lofty mountains rise in appalling magnitude be-
fore us, but we find nothing behind us but tran-
sitory visions. Yet I think, if any period leaves
a more vivid impress of its passage than an-
other, it must be the time spent here. No one
that has not learned it from experience, can
have any idea of the frequency of those occa-
sions, wheni mpressions the most powerful, are
made upon the mind — impressions, which must
naturally implant themselves so deeply in the
memory, that they can never be obliterated. —
For myself, I have felt since I entered college,
as if I was engaged in a course of life, higher
in its nature, and more peculiar in its character,
than I had before conceived ; and I feel assur-
ed, that whatever may be my ccnditon in after-
life, recollection will present the scenes of col-
lege to my view, in a light which will exhibit
their connexion with the happiest hours of my
existence.
Please give my love to all.
Affectionately Your Son,
Charles.
70
The following letter, written during the spring
vacation, exhibits very happily his easy wit,
combined with elegance of sentiment and ex-
pression.
TO A COUSIN.
Milford, May 7th5 1827.
COUSIN C ,
I suppose you have looked at the signature,
and as your surprise at seeing my name, is prob-
ably over now, I will just inform you how I
came to write so unexpected an epistle. You
must know then, that I am at home in the spring
vacation, and it being a very rainy day, I walk-
ed up stairs into my Aunt's room, for the pur-
pose of writing to some of my absent friends ;
and as I was looking about for writing materials,
my eye fell on a letter, the superscription of
which I instantly knew to be your hand-writing ;
and without waiting a moment to deliberate on
the propriety or impropriety of the act, I soon
became engaged in the contents. Now, 'says I
to myself,' I will see whether cousin has forsot-
ten old times. So on I went till at length my
eye met "Your sincere friend, C ." Again
I ran over a few of the last lines ; but not a
word could I find, that could be construed into
the least intimation of remembrance of myself.
Now I have no doubt, cousin, but it appears
mighty presumptuous to you, tiiat I should think
of being mentioned in a young lady's corres-
pondence ; and so perhaps, from the nature of
the case, would it strike the mind of every one.
But let it be remembered, Miss, it is no trifling
affair to be neglected, when one feels such per-
fect innocence of every thing which might be
made just ground of such neglect. Now, ' says
I to myself again, this moment I'll sit down
and try to compose myself enough to dictate,
if I cannot write myself, a few lines to this young
lady, and demand an explanation. And there-
fore, Madam, I beg you will with all candor
and frankness, answer a few queries, and much
oblige your humble servant.
Can any reason be assigned for such neg-
lect ? And if any, what are the grounds on
which it is based ? Did I not use all the means
in my power, when you was in the goodly "land
of steady habits," to render your situation as.
pleasant as possible ? Did I not watch every
opportunity to show my eager desire to mani-
fest towards your ladyship all possible polite-
ness? In a word- "have vou any thins; to sav
why sentence should not be pronounced against
you according to law :"' Far be it from me to
transgress the well known laws of honora-
ble courtesy, in my demands of an expla-
nation respecting this mysterious affair ; I on-
ly request your ladyship to consider these brief
interrogations, and if you esteem them worthy
an answer, to grant me a speedy return.
And now cousin, if you will give me credit
for any sincerity, I really should be much pleas-
ed with a letter from you ; and I hope you will
often think of re-visiting us, until the idea be-
comes a reality. You say the recollection of
the rime you spent widi us, often brings with it
unhappiness; and that sometimes you are almost
led to regret the gratification vour visit aave us.
Oh, no — when vou find the scenes of vour re-
turn to the home of your childhood bring up
to your view an}- tiling which you can rank with
the bright hours of life, you should suffer re-
membrance to paint it with a livelier hue, till
imagination removes the time and distance, and
then the warmth of enjoyment will be kindled
again. Now I believe, that much of the pleas-
ure we feel in our pilgrimage, is derived from
retrospection. Why I can sit down sometimes,
when I feel a slight touch of the dark eyed gen-
ius, and before I really know whither I am go-
ing, I find myself laughing at some of the odd
things of this life, which occurred when I was
a little aproned boy, but just old enough to know
that there were two sides to fortune's picture.
I dare say you too, sometimes find yourself un-
der that large elm tree which spreads itself so
majestically, in the yard back of the mansion
house, a romping girl of four or five years of
age, with a light heart, sporting on the green
turf, and gazing at the cloudless skies. There,
now I want you to burn this nonsense as soon
as you have read it ; and when I write a^ain, I
shall try to be a plain New England student.
Yours truly,
Charles.
74
It seems appropriate here, to make a remark
or two in relation to the influence of the change
in Charles' religious views and feelings, as de-
tailed in the preceeding letters, upon his char-
acter ; more particularly, as his example may
serve to correct an impression but too common
among the young, which is as pernicious in its
influence, as it is unreasonable and ill-founded.
Many entertain the idea, that religion necessa-
rily throws a gloom over the vivacity of youth-
ful feeling, clouds its bright visions of enjoyment,
and renders the character forbidding and un-
lovely. Such, evidently, was not its influence
on him. On the contrary, he habitually exhib-
ited that cheerfulness, which is the natural off-
spring of a mind at peace within itself, and be-
nevolently desirous of contributing to the hap-
piness of others. And his own testimony in
relation to his enjoyment, is, as we have already
seen — that he "would not exchange it for all
the vain objects of this lower world." Those
who knew him will remember, that he was still
the frank and affable companion, and others
may infer from his correspondence, that his
heart was not the seat of gloomy or unsocial feel-
75
ings. Indeed it is perfectly obvious, that while,
with a piety of the most ardent and genuine
character, he aimed to have a conscience void
of offence, towards God and towards man, he
fully realized the truth of the assertion, that
wisdom's ways are pleasantness and all her paths
are peace.
77
CHAPTER IV.
Religious character — Letters — Decline of his health —
Diary — Remarks on his diary — Diligence and success
in his studies — Letters — Themes — Finds it necessary to
relinquish his studies on account of his health — Leaves
college — Letters illustrative of his feelings on the oc-
casion.
'. It is too frequently the case, not only in college
but in almost every situation, that those who
have but recently begun to hope that they are
christians, manifest an unwillingness to take on
themselves the full responsibilities of the chris-
tian character. For although they regard them-
selves as interested m the subject of religion,
yet as they have not avowed before the world
their determination of devotedness to Christ,
they seem to themselves to stand on a kind of
middle ground, where it is not to be expected
that they should exhibit the same activity m
duty, as those who have been long and openly
walking in the fear of the Lord. And under
*7
g
the influence of such an opinion, making Iittf<
or no effort to exhibit the influence of religion
upon their characters and conduct, before they
are prepared to make a public profession, they
have become so much accustomed to regard it
as a matter of personal feeling, rather than as
an active principle, that their usefulness as chris-
tians is thereby very much impaired.
Such were not the sentiments by which
Charles regulated his conduct, on assuming the
christian character. On the contrary, no soon-
er was he satisfied that his heart was right with
God, than he set himself faithfully to perform
all the duties of a religious life ; and as a natural
result of such a course, he advanced in piety
with a rapidity but rarely equalled.
The following is the testimony of the Rev-
erend gentleman, whose opinion of the early
character of his mind, has alreadv been addu-
ced.
" I saw him in vacation, when he appeared
not merely as the amiable and accomplished
youth, but as the serious and devout christian.
Although young in years, and in his christian
course, it cannot but be recollected, with what
79
\igor and beauty shone forth in him the graces
of the spirit. As has been remarked of his
natural character and talents, so there appeared
in his christian character, an early maturity and
strength. His humility also was worthy of re-
mark. Although he was conscious of his own
talents, and well aware of the estimation in
which he was held by his friends and indeed
by all who knew him, he still gave no indication
of pride, ostentation or self-preference ; but
seemed to regard himself as too much thought
of — too much beloved."
Here it may be stated, partly from personal
knowledge, and partly from private records ot
his habits, that he was peculiarly attentive to
the perusal of the Scriptures and to the duties
of private devotion ; and to this circumstance
probably is it chiefly to be attributed, that he
exhibited in his life and conduct so much of the
spirit and beauty of religion. The Bible, he
regarded as of all books, the best calculated to
refine and enlarge — to elevate and purify the
mind of man. The closet was to him, as it is
to every real christian, the place where is found
peace, with which a stranger intermeddleth not.
80
and where the heart gathers strength to sustain
it in execution of every virtuous, every holy
purpose.
The spring vacation he spent at home, and
at its close returned to college, and resumed his
studies with his wonted ardor.
Soon after his return, he wrote the following
letter to his mother.
Yale College, June, 1827.
DEAR MOTHER,
After spending four weeks very pleasantly at
home, I again find myself surrounded by all
the old companions, books and buildings of
college ; and am fast sinking down into the old
fashioned, quiet and peaceable state of acting and
thinking, which so peculiarly characterizes the
life of a student. Here we sit from morning;
till night, and sometines nearly round to morning
again, poring over Latin and Greek, undisturb-
ed save by the thrilling tones of our little bell,
and the light-hearted playfulness of intermission
hours, from a term's commencement to its close.
The world — why it is something far beyond us,
\vhich we gaze upon only through the long vista
$1
of a four years residence within the walls ot
Yale, as a theatre in which to exhibit our parts,
when we are free from the task of committing
them to memory, and rehearsing. When vaca-
tion arrives, why we gradually break our bonds,
till at length, we are sufficiently similar to the
"men of earth" to go out and mingle among
them, without exciting too much attention by
our singularities. When the vacation is ended,
we come together again, and for a week or so
undergo a gentle drilling, till we at length get
cleared of our home accompaniments, and are
prepared to use free heads in the service.
The weather has been very favorable since
we returned, giving us good appetites and spir-
its ; which I must confess I did not believe were
so indispensably necessary to prevent certain
indescribable sensations (which we commonly
laugh at in little children, under the name of
home-sickness) from exerting on those who call
themselves almost men, an influence so strong
as to stamp on their conduct the impress of
childishness. It is, I think, a wise institution of
Providence, that the associations of infancy and
home should entwine themselves so inseparably
S2
around the finer feelings of man. For next
to die unspeakable joy of being enabled to look
forward with the eye of faith to the blissful
mansions prepared for the redeemed in heaven,
is the calm glow of unmingled delight enkindled in
the soul, by dwelling on the hours which glided
so swiftly away while he basked in the sunshine
of parental tenderness, with a heart bounding
with the exultation of innocence and happiness.
It is now Saturday afternoon, and as I have
considerable to do yet, I must close and go
down to the office.
Give my love to all ; and believe me,
Affectionately, Your Son,
Charles.
Unhappily, the zeal with which he commenc-
ed the term was destined to receive a speedy
check. His constitution wras naturally delicate ;
and no small care had hitherto been requisite to
enable it to sustain the pressure of close appli-
cation. But the relaxing weather of the sum-
mer so much impaired its energies, that after
two or three weeks study, he was compelled
ro leave the duties of college, and return home
$3
to recruit his strength. During" this visit he
wrote the following letter to a friend who wa ;
on a visit in the State of New York.
Milford, June 30, 182T,
DEAR L-
In compliance with the request contained in
your letter of the 26th inst. received this morn-
ing, that some one would send you a few lines
from home, I write the following to accompany
the enclosed, which were handed us last night.
The letter enclosing your's, I took tire liberty of
opening, hoping to find one for myself. Ap-
ropos— I discovered a word I could not help
smiling at. You observe when speaking of the
brother of Mr. , that Miss calls him a
"very respectable young gentleman." Now
within a few days I have heard it reported, that
Miss was soon to be married to a Mr.
who was soon expected from the South. It
struck me at once, that this " very respectable "
personage was the young gentleman in ques-
tion.
We have learned the gratifying particulars ol
your pleasant excursion up the North River ;.
84
and all that occasioned regret in me, was that J
had not accompanied you.
Perhaps you will wonder at seeing my name
at the bottom of a letter dated at Milford. —
When I returned to college after vacation, my
health was excellent — the weather was fine — and
our studies, although hard, were exceedingly in-
teresting, and I soon became engaged with ail
my heart. But in a short time my strength be-
gan to fail me, and I was obliged, a week ago
last Friday, to make a short visit at home. —
Change of air, scene and diet, in a few days so
beneficially effected my health, and spirits, that
on Monday I returned to college. But on the
following Saturday I was again compelled to bid
adieu to Yale — I did not know but forever. I
have now been at home a week ; in which time,
by gentle exercise and care, I am almost as well
as ever again. I have obtained permission to
board out of the Hall, and hope to be able to
board with Mr. S where the similarity of liv-
ing to that of home, and the agreeable company
of the family, I have no doubt will be of great
advantage to me . I think I shall return on Mon-
dav, and bv attention to mv diet and exercise I
85
believe I shall be able to finish this term with
pleasure.
Yesterday I was extremely gratified by an
Ticcidental visit from Mr. C a member of the
Junior Class, of distinguished talents and piety,
and one of my particular friends, who has been
absent from college since Monday, performing
^ pedestrian tour on account of his health. He
spent the night with us, and started on foot in
the morning for New Haven. Sometimes I am
almost led to regard college as the destroyer of
many parents' hopes, and many youthful expec-
tations. However, I have in view a very pretty
object to enable me to tug through this sum-
mer. For if my ears are ever again gladdened
by the sweet sound of ' vacation,' I think the
famed land of ' steady habits' will contain one
smiling youth, no longer than will be necessary
for the proper blacking of his boots, the discreet
frizzling of his hair, and the nice adjustment of
his cravat, preparatory to a comely appearance
before the blue eyes of Long Island.
And now I have only to hope and intr eat, that
you will write me as soon and as often as you pos-
sibly can while in the city and on the Island — and
8
86
to request that you will give my respects to my
friends, and assure them of my highest regards.
Yours truly,
Charles.
His health on his return to college did not
appear materially improved ; and on resuming
his studies, again rapidly declined. Yet he
could not reconcile himself to the idea of ab-
sence from his class, and his pursuits ; and by
exertion to which his strength was altogether in-
adequate, he continued his application without
remission, throughout the term.
Soon after he became interested in the sub-
ject of religion, he commenced a diary, in which
he continued to write occasionally while he re-
mained in college ; though probably with less
frequency and regularity than he would have
done, had not his health been such as to render
it necessary for him to make his labors as light
as possible. There is something at first view
rather disagreeable, in the idea of bringing out
to the inspection of the world, thoughts which
were only the breathings of private devotion r
and intended for the scrutiny of no eve but that
87
of Him who seeth in secret. Yet they are often
so highly illustrative of the moral feelings of
the individual concerned, that it seems diffi-
cult to pass them over in delineating his chris-
tian character. Such being the case in the
present instance, it seems proper to insert a part
of the memoranda which Charles occasionally
made of the private feelings and exercises of his
heart.
Yale College, April 13th, 1S27.
Jfliereas, I believe that I was created, and
sent into the world, by a beneficent Creator, for
the purpose of glorifying him in doing all the
good I can to my fellow creatures, and ad-
vancing the interests of the Redeemer's king-
dom ; and, that as the most reasonable service,
I should devote all my time, and all my facul-
ties of soul, and body, as well as all which I
possess of worldly riches, to the cause of Him,
who died to ransom my guilty head from the
punishment, which my many and heinous trans-
gressions of the divine law so richly merited,
Therefore, Resolved, That by the grace oi
God, (without which I can do nothing accepta-
88
bly,) I will make it my supreme object, in what-
ever condition of life I may be placed, to glori-
fy, and serve my Maker, and my Saviour in all
things, and I would, therefore, at this time, in
the presence of God, and the holy angels, ded-
icate myself entirely to Him, for time, and for
eternity. And Oh ! that He would enable me
to realize the solemnity of the act, and give me
to know, and feel what are the requisitions of
His law, and strength to fulfil them !
Resolved, With the assistance of the Holy
Spirit, to live near to God by prayer, medita-
tion, and reading of His word, and to draw all
my strength, support, and consolation from the
same unlimited and all-bountiful source, and to
strive with all my might to destroy all self-right-
eousness, self-confidence, and pride, and to
walk humbly before God, in the sight of all
men.
Resolved, To make it my constant supplica-
tion at the throne of grace, to feel strong, and
ardent love for my brethren in Christ, and next
to that love of God, which, by the influence of
his Spirit, shall pervade and engage my whole
soul, to desire, and manifest disinterested nt-
- 89
tachment to those, who, like myself, are hoping,
and praying, that they may be the children of
God.
Resolved, That since I believe my present
situation as a member of College, is one of high
responsibilities, and that the exerting a power-
ful influence here in favor of religion, is an act
of incomparable advantage to the cause of
Christ, I will make it my constant aim, to im-
prove every opportunity, which I may enjoy
while here, of conversing with those, over whom,
I deem it probable I may possess any influence,
afTectionately and solemnly, concerning their
eternal interests ; and to remember them in my
prayers.
Saturday, April \Ath, 1827. — It is now
nearly six weeks since I begun to hope I had
become the Lord's, and during this short time,
Oh ! how far have I wandered from the path
of duty ! How little have I done to the glory of
God ! Oh, that I could be enabled to renounce
the world and live for heaven !
Sunday. — Have enjoyed something like re-
ligious peace and happiness, but still find great
coldness and spiritual deadness. Temptations
8*
90
are numerous and powerful, my health is poor,
and all combine to create much darkness and
unhappiness. Still the Saviour appears alto-
gether lovely, and the character of God has ap-
peared inconceivably awful and delightful to-
day. But I do not enjoy so much of confidence
and faith in prayer as I desire ; my thoughts
wander, and seize on every thing but God.
Oh, for that perfect holiness promised to the
redeemed in heaven !
Tuesday. — When I look back on the state of
mv feelings to-dav, I find more and more cause
for great alarm in that change which has taken
place in them within so short a time. I have
solemnly dedicated myself to the service of my
Maker, and my only prayer and heart's desire
is grace to enable me to fulfil all the duties of
a professed child of God. Oh, for humility,
for every Christian virtue ; none of which it
does appear I do possess. Oh for a deliver-
ance from this transitory scene of wickedness
and sin.
Saturday evening. — We are now reviewing
our studies preparatory to the spring examina-
tion, and I have been forced contrary to mv de-
91
sire and usual custom, to sit up late for a few-
days past, which has materially affected my
health and spirits, and consequently my reli-
gious feeling. But still I know that I am wil-
ling to make any thing a cloak for neglect of
duty. I feel that I might do more, if I had a
strong desire to do it. My own heart con-
demns me. Oh, what a load of guilt am I con-
tinually accumulating, constantly retreating from
the ready embrace of my Saviour, and willing
to be far removed from so kind and merciful a
God. Temptation I feel to be strong ; and
yet expose myself to its influence every hour.
I must be more watchful and prayerful. I
must, and by the blessing of God, I will no lon-
ger suffer Satan to triumph over my inconstan-
cy and irresolution. I will return to my Heav-
enly Father. Oh receive me, thou God of
love ; take me in thy arms thou compassionate
Saviour, and let me be one of the dear lambs
of thy flock ! Oh what a refuge is the arm of
Jehovah, how securely can we repose under the
shadow of his wings. Spirit of grace, oh, de-
scend into my bosom, fill me with love to God
and my fellow sinners, warm the ice of my af-
92
lections, and build up in me the temple of holi-
ness !
Saturday evening, May 12th. — Since I
wrote in my diary last, my course of living has
been very diversified. I have passed through
the spring examination, have visited a friend
and classmate, and now have returned home in
vacation. I find but very little attention to reli-
gion here, although blessed be God there are
indications of the operations of his Spirit suffi-
cient to animate to increased prayer and active
exertion. Mr. P. the minister of the society to
which I belong, appears to feel anxious for a
revival, and I do hope before the close of the
vacation, to witness good doings here. I at-
tended conference on Friday evening, and
found a full room, and I intend if possible, to
converse with some of my young religious
friends to-morrow, about having evening meet-
ings for prayer and the formation of some plan
of effort. Oh, that the Father of all mercies
would grant them and me the influence of his
gracious Spirit, and disinterested devotion and
zeal in His service. Without his blessing and
assistance, how ineffectual are all the endeavors
93
of man to promote the interests of Christ -
kingdom.
Wednesday afternoon, May 2\st, 1827. —
This is one of the days appointed by the chnreh
of college as a day of special prayer for a reviv-
al in Yale on the next term. Many a devout
praver, I have no doubt, has ascended to-day to
the Throne of all Grace, and oh, may that God
who hears the ravens when they cry, permit
the petitions of His unworthy children to come
up before Him like sweet incense, and draw
down a rich and long-continued blessing ! He
knows what is best for His creatures. He fully
and clearly understands what will most promote
His own glory and the welfare of man, and if
He sees fit, we shall be blessed with a copious
outpouring of His Spirit. Not our will, but
thine, O God, be done. — In one week from to-
ciav, our vacation closes, and we shall again
commence the routine of our collegiate duties.
Mingled with fears concernins; the influence of
the scenes at home upon myself and my young-
brethren in Christ, is the anticipated joy of again
grasping the hand of those who are so dear to
my heart from their ardent Christian zeal and
94
love, and how I do desire that we may all go
on with one heart and mind in praying and la-
boring for a revival in college. May the Lord
God in the infinite fullness of His love bless
our feeble endeavors to serve Him while on
earth, and at length grant us an open and abund-
ant entrance into His heavenly kingdom, where
is fullness of joy for evermore.
Tuesday evening, June 12th. — I have again
returned to college, with feelings, oh, how dif-
ferent from any with which I ever came before.
Christians appear to be determined to be on
the Lord's side, and pray and labor for a re-
vival here this term. Oh that God may bless
them. — Since I have been here, one of mv
dear Christian friends in the senior class, has
proposed to me to join the church in college
next communion. Although I have looked for-
ward with a kind of wandering gaze to the
time when I shall become one of the members
of Christ's visible family, yet when another
brought it so distinctly before me, it appeared
to me something with which I never could en-
gage. It is a solemn thing to take the vows of
God upon us. Oh, how few appear to realize
95
it : I can only go to God and plead the merits
of His Son, that He would guide me in this
solemn time, and preserve me from doing any
thing that will ever dishonor His cause.
Wednesday evening. — There were during
the revival last term, about twelve in my class,
who expressed hopes of being Christians, and
to-day, nearly all that number met in the reci-
tation room, our regular place of meeting. Oh,
my heart is sad when I remember the anima-
tion which brightened every countenance, and
the warmth of feeling which beamed from eve-
ry eye when we met on similar occasions last
term, and contrast it with the appearance of
my brethren, and my own feelings now. But
what can be done ? If we are indeed the chil-
dren of God, we are born for some end.
Doubtless to glorify and serve our Heavenly
Father. Oh, it is sweet to live near to God.
But I every day see so much proneness in my-
self to return to the world, and so little love to
my Saviour, and my fellow students, and es-
pecially to those whom I call my brethren, that
I feel almost tempted to believe the whole is a
delusion of Satan. Oh. for brighter views of
96
the character of Christ, for stronger faith in
the promises of God, for stricter conformity to
the requisitions of Jesus !
Thursday Morning. — I have attempted to
pray this morning, but my mind is so darkened
by sin, I cannot lift up a single petition to God.
Oh, how dreadful it is to be forsaken of God.
Father who art in heaven, return, Oh return
to thy penitent creature ; enable me, Oh God.
to live to thy glory forever.
Friday morning. — I attended a meeting in
our entry, last evenmg,and afterwards convers-
ed sometime with one of the late converts of the
Junior Class, who has been spending his vaca-
tion in a Revival, and who consequently came
back with his feelings warmly enlisted in the
work of Christ, and by the blessing of God, I
hope I was enabled, during the evening to re-
solve in His strength to live hereafter more de-
voted to his service than I have ever done be-
fore. I must now be more frequent in prayer
and reading the Bible, with strict self examina-
tion, and faithfulness to my brethren, and im-
penitent fellow students, and endeavor, in what-
ever I may do, to keep constantly in view the
97
glory of God. — Ob, what a blessed state of
mind. Father who art in heaven, grant that
thy sinful creature may experience its happi-
ness.
Saturday evening, September 1st, 1827. — I
have again taken my diary, but little have I to
write. During the past week, I have, with
others, who also hope they have found an in-
terest in the Saviour, been examined by Pro-
fessor Fitch, previous to admission into the
church. This forms a new epoch in my life,
and appears to call loudly for something worthy
to accompany it. 1 can do nothing better than
form new resolutions of obedience and entire
devotion to that blessed Saviour, whose cause
I am about to openly profess to espouse.
October, 1827. — First Term, Sophomore year.
As I am now about to commence a new
year, it appears necessary to take a brief re-
view of the past, and to form some resolutions
for that which is coming. Among the events
of the past year, I reckon my entrance into Col-
lege as important in a high degree, but chiefly
9
$$
on account of what I deem inexpressibly in*-
teresting and important ; an event which should
ever be remembered by me with feelings of
the utmost solemnity and gratitude. I refer
to the event of the last revival. Then I was
permitted, through the mercy of God, to hope
that I was led to cast myself as a ruined sinner
at the foot of the cross, and to receive forgive-
ness of my sins, through the atonement of
Christ. To hope that from death, I passed
unto life, — from a condemned rebel, to become
an heir of eternal life, through faidi in the pro-
mises. I have therefore come forward, and
in the presence of the world, have united my-
self to the church on earth. It appears to me,
that as far as I can see, I was influenced by a
desire to become a partaker of the manifesta-
tions of the love of Christ, and to feel as if I
was enrolled among the soldiers of the cross,
and to experience an active and zealous dispo-
sition in the service of God. God only knows
the heart, and to Him my earnest prayer is,
that I may not be deceived ; but that I may
be enabled, through His grace, to fight man-
fully the good fight, and sincerely to desire
99
His glory, and the good of souls. I now feel
it to be a glorious thing to be on the Lord's
side ; and feel as if I could pray more earnest-
ly for direction how to act, — for faith in his
promises, — for an untiring and ardent zeal in
His service. — for entire devotedness to His
cause. What I most fear, in the coming year,
is the influence of ambition. Our studies are
hard, and I fear the consequences. My only
hope and consolation, is the promise of our
Lord, My Grace shall be sufficient for thee.
From the preceeding extracts, it is appa-
rent, that he habitually kept his heart with all
diligence. They exhibit the spirit of fervent —
devoted piety ; evincing that humility, self dis-
trust, and fear of sin, which are the highest
evidence of genuine religion. His admission
to the church was on the first sabbath of Sep-
tember, and the last of the summer term.
At the prize-speaking, on the day preceed-
ing commencement, at the close of the term,
he received the first prize awarded to his class.
A £* Q O K Pi
100
Thus ended his first collegiate year. The
vacation which succeeded, he spent chiefly in
travelling and visiting his friends; hoping by
exercise and recreation to regain his exhausted
strength. His hopes, however, were destined
to disappointment. The benefit which he de-
rived was only temporary ; and very shortly
after the commencement of the succeeding
term, the state of his health was such as to
threaten the necessity of a total suspension of
his studies. It is probable that the prospect of
being thus compelled to relinquish pursuits in
which he so much delighted, and to dissolve
his connexion with a class to which he was
most ardently attached, conspired with the in-
fluence of his disease, in producing a state of
mental depression, under which he, at this pe-
riod, labored at frequent intervals. However
notwithstanding all the embarrasments with
which he had to contend, he continued to dis-
charge the duties of college so industriously as
to maintain the high standing he had previous-
ly acquired.
He continued also his regular correspon-
dence with the family at home : a few more
101
extracts from which, it is believed, will be read
with interest.
Yale College, Oct. 1827.
DEAR MOTHER,
If it does not augur well to see a young man
as soon as he arrives at his place of destina-
tion, direct his thoughts and occupations home-
wards, I know nothing of signs. Here you
find me no sooner seated before my fire in my
college room, than I have my papers hauled
out ; in the first place some lines drawn, by
the help of an old slate, nearly as straight as a
scythe ; then an old pen is mended, and lastly,
amidst the bustle of the first evening in the
term, with one running in to ask for a pen, an-
other to enquire how we all do, another to tell
me he would return a book to-morrow, &te.
he. kc, I labor away to condense and ar-
range my ideas sufficiently to commit them to
paper. (Since I began the above sentence,
my room has been nearly full, and about as
noisy as was Babel of yore.)
J and myself were just now comparing
our situation to-night with what it was a year
102
ago. Now, we feel as if we had returned to
an old and well known home, and could, as
one of our fellows said just now, keep our
blinds open in style. Then, we were so many
prisoners and exiles — every hole in the blind
and door wTere filled most carefully ; and we
sat in momentary expectation of some nefarious
trick being played off on our miserable selves,
by the relentless Sophs ; thinking ourselves
happy, when awaking in the morning, we found
our room safe, and ourselves in the land of the
living. * * * * * *
The weather, so far, has been fine for study,
and may be expected to continue so. My
time must all be occupied this term. I feel as
if I had more to do than I ever have had while
in college ; and I also feel more determined,
by the blessing of Providence to do it, than I
ever did before ; so that I think I have two
pretty strong inducements to application before
me *******
Your affectionate Son,
Charles.
103
Yale College, Nov. 1S27.
BEAR SISTERS,
As your hint that I should devote more time
to my letters was well siven, and well receiv-
ed, I had determined at this time, by more at-
tention, to make up, if possible, the deficiences
of my last. Yet I am at a loss how to fill up
my sheet as I designed, owing to my having
but very little news to communicate, and hav-
ing already said almost every thing which I
think would be of importance to you, if attend-
ed to. However, I hone you will find some
thing in every thing you read, which will tend
to improve you in some important particular ;
at any rate, such should be your aim, both in
reading, and in all other exercises you perform.
As to your reading, I must say I was not al-
together pleased with what I saw when at home
last. But I suppose great allowances should
be made, considering that I was there, and
that consequently so much diligence could not
be expected, as when you have the time en-
tirely to yourselves. Nothing I can say, I
trust, can set before you in a stronger light the-
104
importance and pleasures of a cultivated mind,
than vour own calm reflections, and reasonable
views of tlie situation and prospects of those
around you. I would not inculcate the idea,
that unalloyed happiness is the attendant on
any course of life. The workings of Provi-
dence in causing disappointment and trouble, are
witnessed towards almost every member of the
human family, in a greater or less degree ; but
I believe you will find, when you are more ad-
vanced in life, and extend your observation
over a wider field, that true independence of
character — a just idea of the concerns of lile,
and an enviable share of refined pleasure, are
oftener to be found in the learned and the good,
than in any other portion of mankind. True,
man is generally more dependant on the re-
sources of Ins mind in life, than woman ; and
the influence of his learning and mental powers
is more conspicuous, than that of those whose
occupations and feelings, in a measure with-
hold them from an open intercourse widi die
world. But notwithstanding, could the more
apparent, and seemingly more powerful influ-
ence of man. be weighed in the scale of can-
105
dor, balanced by the silent power of woman,
the ktter, I believe, would sink the scale. In
the history of those who have made the world
stand mute in wonder at the various exhibitions
of their powers, you will find, in many instan-
ces, the early bent of mind formed by a mo-
ther's precepts, apparent on every succeeding
page. Read the encomiums which the wise
and good bestow on female excellence, — see
the indications of the power of maternal influ-
ence in the conduct of almost every individual
of our species ; and you are at once convinced
of the importance of the utmost cultivation of
the female mind.
You may never be placed in situations which
will call for extraordinary attainments in sci-
ence ; but I desire you to be well persuaded,
that in no state or condition in life, will the ut-
most possible exertions you can now make, be
without their good effect.
Hoping that you will take what I have said
as proceeding from a solicitous desire for your
welfare ; ^nd with a great deal of love to all,
I subscribe myself
Your Brother,
Charles.
100
The business of English composition holds
a prominent place among the duties of the stu-
dents at Yale College. The class of which
o
Charles was a member, were required, after
the second term of the first year, to write indi-
vidually every week, on subjects which were
proposed by the Professor who superintended
the exercise. In perusing the specimens
which follow of his talents as a theme-writer,
it is necessary that the reader should bear in
mind that they are not the productions of one
who has been through a course of study, and
consequently has a mind stored with general
knowledge, but of one but just commencing. If
regarded as first efforts, they will, it is believed,
be found to posses no inconsiderable merit.
Of these which are inserted, the first is the
first theme he ever ivrote. The two following
were written intermediately ; and the last, is
the last he ever wrote, and one which gained
the first prize awarded by the committee of ex-
amination to bis division.
10'
OX INDEPENDENCE OF CHARACTER.
In the concerns of nations and individuals,
no trait of character appears more necessary,
or more commanding in the eyes of men, than
that of independence. Nations agree in form-
ing relations with each other ; and in the main-
tainance of these, as well as in the manage-
ment of their domestic concerns, it is univer-
sally admitted, that those nations who maintain
a decided and independent course of conduct,
are less engaged in controversy with others —
enjoy more tranquillity at home, and possess
greater respect abroad, than those who in
every step of their conduct evince a disposition
to please, by a servile attention to the views
and wishes of others.
But the causes and effects of this principle in
individual character, exhibit great diversity.
In some men, it would seem to spring from
the natural temperament of their system ; and
we see the evidences of its influence on the
character, in the bold and fearless conduct, and
the high tone of feeling which «o peculiarly
10S
characterises these individuals. Some of this
class are found to be generous, open-hearted,
liberal in their sentiments, and courteous in
their demeanor ; others are haughty and for-
bidding in their behavior, and stern and un-
yielding in their disposition.
Wealth usually occasions a high sense of in-
dependence in its possessors ; but where this
spirit manifests itself in acts of arrogant assum-
ing, we are apt to look with contempt on the
pretensions of the individual, and to despise
him for his weakness.
The circumstances of war, often operate
powerfully in producing minds of an indepen-
dent character ; and where we behold this
quality, associated with the more pleasing pro-
perties of benevolence, humanity and patriot-
ism, we feel a degree of awe in contemplating
its possessor. But when selfish ambition, cru-
elty and a savage love of war and its miseries,
occupy the place of these milder qualities, we
may indeed be astonished at his deeds of valor,
and stand aghast at the extent of his work of
desolation, but we regard him an object of the
utmost abhorrence, and feel shocked at the
109
fierceness of his crueltv. Of these different
characters, the records of antiquity, and our
own remembrance, furnish sufficient specimens.
To mention a few examples : with what dif-
ferent feelings do we contemplate the charac-
ters of tire ambitious tyrant of Rome, glorying
in the pride of vanquishing his country, and
that of the patriotic assertor of her rights, who,
relying on the justice of the cause, could set at
naught the claims of friendship, and all consid-
erations of private interest, and rise in bold re-
sistance to the proud usurper. Why do we
look with such exalted feelings at the heroes
of ancient Greece, but that thev immortalized
their names in acting for their country. And
why does the mention of him who was at once
the wonder and the scourge of Europe, so in-
voluntarily awaken our indignation, but that we
behold in him the haughty aspirant to the gov-
ernment of half a hemisphere, and the proud
contemner of the laws of nations, and the rights
of man. And why, as the result of all his
j J
schemes of madness and destruction, do we,
with pity for his infatuation, but assenting to the
justice of the sentence, behold him banished—
10
110
an exile on a barren rock in the ocean, but
that we consider it as the meet reward of such
barbarous despotism, and such high-toned ar-
rogance. What, on the other hand, throws
around the character of our Washington such
deep veneration, but the fact that in him were
combined the stern qualities of the soldier, and
the milder virtues of the christian.
Again ; strong mental powers, and profound
learning, create a bold and manly indepen-
dence of character ; wholly different in its na-
ture from any which have been mentioned, and
commanding perhaps more respect. We re-
gard such a man, walking as he does, in the
light of every science, and gifted with the
learning of almost every age, as a being claim-
ing more than mortal deference, and command-
ing more than ordinary regard. So far do we
carry this feeling of veneration, that often, in
our encomiums on the scholar, we forget the
character of the man ; and suiter those vices
which, in a person of ordinary attainments,
would render him almost unworthy of the ap-
pellation of a human being, to be lost in the
brightness of his genius. How little is the dis-
ill
soluteness of Shakespeare's genius regarded in
comparison with the beauty of his writings;
but who does not know that, with all the sub-
limity of his conceptions, and the force and
grandeur of his imagery, the true source of in-
terest is wanting to the man of morality and
religion. Around the name of Byron too, the
hand of poesy has entwined its flowers ; but
while in all the pride of intellect, he rears him-
self against the hand that made him, and hurls
defiance at the source of being ; we may in-
deed gaze in wonder at the greatness of his
powers, but not without feeling a degree of
pity on contemplating a mind like his, burying
itself, with the sullen madness of a fiend, in the
gloom of misanthrophy, and sending forth the
offspring of his hate, to taint with infidelity and
'vice, the fairest fields of literature and poetry.
But of all the various kinds of independence
of character, none is more unexceptionable
than that which arises from a high sense of
moral obligation. It is the man of piety who
possesses the highest independence. Behold
him in every situation in life, and you see the
same disregard of the world, the same intensity
112
of interest in his high pursuit, and the same
exhibitions of the grand principle of his con-
duct. In battle, the daring soldier, in the ex-
ultation of victory, the generous friend of the
vanquished ; treading the flowery heights of
prosperity with safety, not rendered giddy by
the elevation : in the rousrh vale of adversitv,
casting aside, as unworthy of notice, what often
drives the man of the world to despair, and like
the rock in the ocean, receiving unmoved the
shock of calamity, and meeting with firmness,
the violence of enemies.
OX CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER.
The human character is a grand and beauti-
ful subject of contemplation. To observe it
in its various forms, and to study the causes
of its diversities, would afford employment for
the longest life, and exercise for the faculties
of the strongest mind. In no state, however,
does it exhibit so beautiful a spectacle, as when
in its numerous operations, its various traits all
harmonize with each other, and a spirit of con-
113
ststency breathes throughout the whole. Bui
when the opposite view is presented, when dis-
cord, inconsistency, and confusion pervade its
actions, nothing can equal the deformity of the
picture.
The truth of these remarks will be clearly
seen, by reflecting a few moments on the evils
incident to an inconsistent character.
In the first place, the man of such a charac-
ter possesses no claims to the respect of his
fellow men, and consequently meets, as he de-
serves, with their contempt. There is some-
thing in consistency which so universally com-
mends itself to the minds of men, that when
it is seen in a character destitute, perhaps, of
every other praiseworthy quality, it commands
respect, and is sometimes even permitted to
throw a veil over conduct and motives deserv-
ing the highest censure. But he who evinces
by his actions that he is influenced only by the
feelings of the moment, who is now ardently
supporting some novel sentiment, and now as
violently opposing it ; at one time eagarly pur-
suing this object, at another that ; soon finds
riiat mankind are unwilling to bestow much
10*
114
countenance upon one so likely to be constant-
ly involving himself and them in such absurd
and unnecessary difficulties.
a/
Hence again, such a character looses all
hold on the confidence of others. The grounds
on which one man is entrusted with the con-
cerns of many, ore. that he is thought capable
of fulfilling the engagements into which he en-
ters. But how can he, who knows not to-day
what may be his plan of operation to-morrow.
J 1 1 J
have committed to his care the interests of
those who expect in their agents an onward,
undeviating, and unbiassed course of conduct ?
How can he promise for others, when he
knows not how he will act for himself?
Strange, however, as it may seem, this is for
the most part, the character of mankind. If
we examine ourselves with the least impartial-
ity, we find that we are the most changeable
of beings, and that instability is stamped upon
all our purposes and opinions. The causes of
this fluctuation are as endless as die changes
they effect ; and as well might we attempt to
count the waves of the ocean, and number the
passing clouds, as to declare the sum of them.
115
Better will it be to consider some of the means
by which we may avoid, or at least, lessen,
some of the evils so indissolubly connected
with this general trait of the human character.
First, then, we should take a comprehensive
view of the various relations of life, and by
considering the difficulties which usually fall
to the lot of man, become prepared to encoun-
ter them, and resolve to subject ourselves to
the empire of reason.
We ought then to choose some great object
of pursuit, to the attainment of which all our
efforts should harmoniously tend, and every
faculty of the soul be employed. We ought
also to determine that nothing shall divert us
from the pursuit. And although the friend-
ship of the great would be the meed of our re-
linquishment— although a desire to gratify those
around us, and an innate desire of ease, as well
as the applause of the world, might tempt us to
swerve ; although ambition might point to the
proud pinacles of fame, or pleasure allure us to
her gardens of happiness ; even although dis-
ease should palsy our energies, yet as long as
we possessed the power to exert one member
116
of our frame, or a throb of our hearts told thaf
life yet remained, that power should be used
for the accomplishment of our purpose, and the
last hearings of our bosoms should be full of
ardor in the cause of our espousal.
OX THE: ORIGIN OF SENSIBILITY.
To most men, the word, sensibility, conveys
but a verv indistinct idea. Generally, however,
it is associated in their minds with the fanciful
notions of the visionary novel reader, or the
sickly dreams of the imaginative poet, but deem-
ed unworthy to be aDplied to the feelings of
men of sense. The course of reasoning by
which they are led to adopt such views is usu-
ally this. We, say they, were placed in the
world to perform our respective parts, and to
receive our share of its good or evil. When
iortune smiles we are to rejoice ; and when ad-
versity comes upon us, we are to bear its sor-
rows with what grace we may. We believe it
to be our duty to aid the truly unfortunate, as
far as a regard to our own interest will permit :
but for him who is forever mourning overimag-
117
mary ills, and sacrificing the enjoyment of the
pleasures of life to unnecessary grief for the
woes of others, or perhaps for those which ex-
ist only in his own disturbed fancy, for him we
feel no sympathy, with him we desire no com-
munion.
And thus it is ; selfishness may clothe itself
in the garb of prudence and be esteemed, while
lie whose generous soul is open to all the mis-
eries of the children of wretchedness, and who,
when he looks out upon the wide family of
man, forgets his own sorrows in his sympathy
with them, may sink unhonored into his grave ;
while those who, perhaps, while he lived were
the objects of his pity, are the first to heap scorn
upon his memory. Can we wonder then, that
so few have appeared among the multitudes of
men, whose hearts have glowed with the gen-
erous flame of sensibility ; and that when an
indulgent Providence has granted one and an-
other as bright examples, they have so soon he-
roine chilled with the cold unfeelingness that
prevailed on earth, and hastened away to the
world where naught but harmony prevails, and
where, from a source pure as Infinite Benevo-
I IS
ience, flow streams of eternal love. Still, al-
though "like angel visits, few and far between,55
have been the instances of men possessing to
a high degree a refined and elevated sensibility,
and although on the greater part of these, aftiir- -
tion laid heavily her rod, and death early seized
upon them for his victims, yet while they lived
they were not wholly destitute of happiness.—
No, although men usually suppose that he who
receives with thankfulness, and uses with mod-
eration the gifts of heaven, should expect to
find no higher happiness than that which results
from such a course ; yet I believe that in the
exercise of sympathetic feelings, in opening the
soul to joy when others are made happy, and in
indulging bitterness of spirit in view of the
scenes of misery with which the earth is filled,
there exists a pleasure high and ennobling in its
nature, as that which swells the bosoms of the
inhabitants of heaven.
The origin of sensibility, and of the pleasure
it affords, is discovered in the constitution of the
mind. When God created the soul of man lie
endowed it with qualities drawn from his own
pure nature, and in the improvement and cultiva*
119
tion of these qualities he placed the happiness
of his creatures. He knew that the other ranks
of being which filled the air, the earth, and the
sea, would find in the indulgence of their animal
propensities, a pleasure suited to the place they
were designed to fill in the order of creation,;
but to man whom he had made for immortality,
Lie knew some other and higher source of
happiness was necessary, than the gratification
of his sensual desires ; one that should be last-
ing as the eternity of his existence, and worthy
of the divine nature of his spirit.
For this end, therefore, He planted in the
heart of man the seeds of love. He fitted him
for friendship— bestowed on him the principles
of his own glorious attributes, and ordered in
his wisdom that if they were suffered to expand
upon earth towards himself and mankind, the}
should ripen in heaven, and be made perfect in
the joys of an endless fruition. But since these
exalted qualities must of course lie dormant in
the soul, unless causes should exist to draw
them into active exercise, He furthermore de-
creed, that in the condition of his creatures,
there should prevail endless variety, and that
120
change should be unceasingly affecting their
probationary state.
Hence to no man does the sun of prosperity
forever shine in a cloudless sky ; and even the
most abject sons of woe and wretchedness, are
often visited by the cheering smiles of hope and
gladness. Hence too, we do not find the hearts
of the most savage dwellers in the wilderness'
wholly destitute of tender and generous emo-
tions ; and even he whose life has been one con-
tinued scene of hardship and privation, who
perhaps from childhood, has been accustomed
to the dangers of the ocean, and whose soul
has acquired from the angry tempest and the
howling storm, a wildness and ferocity, equalled
only by the fierceness of the elements with
which he has contended, has moments when
even the iron stubbornness of his spirit breaks.
Amid, perhaps, the roaring of waters and the
fury of the tempest, he sometimes remembers
his mother, and his God.
Hence too, do we feel in our own bosoms the
workings of filial and paternal tenderness ; —
hence that esteem which at first onlv heightens
in our view the good qualities of the object of
121
our regard, and then insensibly assumes a stron-
ger character, until the adamantine bond of
love can be sundered by nothing, save the pow-
er of the monarch of the tomb.
Hence too, in youth when associating with
each other, do we perceive that early springing
up of friendship, which continues to derive new
strength as it advances, until our hearts enjoy
communion in the language of brotherly affec-
tion.
Hence therefore, flows the stream of sensi-
bility. And in proportion as, in accordance
with the design of a wise Providence, wre drink
deeply of its waters, shall the pleasure it affords
be pure and lasting.
ON THE INFLUENCE OF HOPE, ON THE
USEFULNESS AND HAPPINESS OF MAN.
In the characters and conditions of men, there
exists an almost endless variety. If we look
abroad upon the w7orld, we behold some borne
smoothly on by prosperous breezes ; wThile oth-
ers are struggling with the storms of adversity ;
11
122
some nearly overwhelmed by the billows, and
others just beginning to encounter the fury of
the tempest.
In the countenances of some, we see vividly
depicted the flush of animation, and the bright-
ness of joy ; while others are marked with the
deep lineaments of sorrow and despair.
Could we follow them through life, we
should find one class almost as soon as they
were capable of understanding the nature of
the scenes presented to their view, eagerly
adopting some one of these various parts, and
steadily maintaining it to the end of life ; while
others after having long remained fluctuating in
suspense, might at length be seen, when per-
plexed, and distracted by indecision, rushing for
deliverance to the grave of the suicide ! or in
some rash moment, entering with the vehemence
of desperation some dubious path ; which, when
they had pursued with all the perseverance of
seeming determination for an hour, is forsaken
in disgust and another course adopted, which,
in its turn, is soon abandoned. While yet anoth-
er class would be seen folding their hands in
indolence, nnd afier a few momentary struggles.
u
>
as thfty behold the doom of poverty and igno-
miny which awaited them, gradually sinking
away into silence and oblivion.
Could our view penetrate their bosoms, and
comprehend the workings and influence of their
feelings ; we should behold the hearts of those
who were actively engaged in promoting their
own welfare and that of others, throbbing high
and unceasingly, with the full gush of hope ;
while in those who appeared to act only from
the impulse of the moment, despair would sit
brooding upon the principles of existence, cor-
roding the secret springs of action, and exhaust-
ing every fountain of enjoyment.
And thus it is. When God placed man up-
on the earth, and destined him to a life of toil,
He left him not without abundant stimulus to
enterprize and perseverance, and a rich source
of happiness and consolation in affliction. For
He decreed in his mercy, that hope should enter
his soul, and prove his supporter and stay,
through every scene of life, and in the hour
of death, light up the prospect before him in
eternity. Had he been created to live for him-
self alone, perhaps in the pursuit of his own
124
selfish pleasures, bis days would have glided
joyfully away, and no excitement would have
been necessary to rouse him to exertion, or urge
him onward to the execution of his plans. But
when surrounded by multitudes of fellow beings,
all claiming a share of his attention and labor :
something more powerful than his own corrupt
inclination is requisite to enable him to fulfil the
obligations devolving upon him from his social
relations.
Here, then, is manifested the benign influ-
ence of hope on the happiness of man. For
it is she that opens to him the future, and fires
his soul with ardor, by blessing his vision with
crowns of success awaiting his efforts. To the
student, she exhibits fame and distinction as the
rewards of his toil ; to the man of business, she
points out honor and wealth as the end of his
labors ; the philanthropist she cheers with pros-
pects of wide spread happiness ; she bids the
humble christian gird himself to battle, for end-
less bliss will follow certain victory.
With such inducements to exertion, man can-
not remain inactive. The student forsakes the
giddy round of fashion, and all the pleasures of
125
the world, and devotes the bloom of youth,
the brightest portion of his earthly existence, to
the wasting confinement of literary pursuits.
The man of business determines that no labor
shall be spared till riches and honor are his. —
The philanthropist prepares to extend his help-
ing hand to the miserable and afflicted. And
he who looks away from earth to the bright
world bevond the grave, feels his heart slow
with holy zeal, and in his course of rectitude
resolves to endure every trial, and bear up
against every enemy, until death shall close the
conflict.
But disappointment and misfortune are in-
terwoven with every man's destiny. How often
does the hand of early disease spread gloom
over the prospects of him, who is panting with
all the ardor of vouth after distinction in learn-
ing ; and oh ! how often do the slanders of
envy, or the coldness of neglect come home to
his finely wrought sensibility, with all the bitter-
ness of the sting of death ? How often amid the
wreck of his fortune, does he who has gone
forth after riches, feel ready to give himself up
in despair to the furv of the storm ? How often
*11
does he who has sacrificed every selfish consid-
eration to his enthusiastic desires after the alle-
viation of human wretchedness, feel tempted
to repress all anxiety for a world where he meets
with nothing but ingratitude ? And how frequent
are the seasons, when even he whose hold is
fixed on Heaven, when the cares of life come
pressing upon his mind, and temptation has
drawn him away from the path of duty, feel as
if forsaken of his Father and his God ?
What then, is there in these seasons of des-
pondency that come alike to all, that shall pre-
vent man from regarding his fate as fixed for-
ever in misery ; and enable him to take courage
and persevere ? It is hope, that extends her ma-
gic wand, and through the clouds and mist that
obstructed his vision, are poured golden streams
of cheering light, and while his heart bounds
with ecstacy, he springs forth again to his labors
and devotes himself with renewed ardor to his
chosen purpose.
Such is the mffilence of hope on the useful-
ness of man. Perhaps it were superfluous to
attempt to show its influence on his happiness
as unconnected with his usefulness ; since, if
L27
true happiness lies in the strict performance of
duty, and duty requires man to be useful ; con-
sequently, whatever increases his usefulness,
proportionally increases his happiness.
But when we consider the nature of hope as
being in itself one of the most delightful of all
emotions ; and when we observe its effect on
the mind in raising it from the contemplation of
the present, with which man is never satisfied,
and carrying it forward to scenes of enjoyment
ever fresh, and ever varying, delightful even
from their novelty ; we see it exerting a sepa-
rate, and perhaps stronger influence on his hap-
piness.
It is hope, that causes the high throbbing of
the father's heart, while as he bends over his
sleeping boy, bright visions of his son's future
greatness, rise to his view. It is hope that darts
the thrill of joy through the bosom of the lan-
guishing victim of disease, when in fancy he
breathes the pure air, and steps forth with the
firm elasticity of health again. It is hope that
enters even to the wretched tenant of the dun-
geon; and amid the thick gloom of his prison
and the clanking of his chains, he sees the smile
128
of his wife and hears the glad shouts of his
children at the return of their father : borne on
her wings the wanderer on a foreign shore re-
visits the beloved land of his nativity, while his
soul drinks in the joys that flow from the pure
fountain of domestic tenderness. In short, she
stands the friend of man at every period of his
life and under every change of circumstances.
Spreading her beautiful pictures before his
youthful eyes, urging him onward to use-
fulness and happiness in advanced life — point-
ing him in age to the world where the christian
shall renew his strength and glow again with
more than youthful ardor. In prosperity, re-
doubling enjoyment ; in adversity, smoothing
the rugged steep, and lighting up the gloomy
sky ; in health, promising years of continued
happiness, and softening the pillow of sickness,
she compels us to feel that with her, even earth
with all its dreariness can smile ; without her,
scarce heaven could be happy.
When he returned home at the close of the
term in January, 1828, he had not fully conchi-
129
iled to dissolve his connexion with college. —
After much deliberation, however, with the ap-
probation of his parents, he had his books re-
moved home, and bid adieu, as it afterwards ap-
peared, forever, to the scenes of college life.
At the close of the vacation when the prizes
were declared, his Tutor, Mr. A. N. Skinner,
wrote him a letter informing him of the success
of his theme, expressing his regret at loosing
him from his division, and kindly offering him,
if he felt able to pursue his studies, every as-
sistance in his power. To this letter Charles
returned the following reply ; from which may
be learned with what reluctance he adopted the
resolution of remaining at home.
Milford, Feb. 4th, 182S.
DEAR SIR,
Your kind letter of 31st ult. was indeed wel-
come. Be assured the necessity which for a
season separates me from college, cannot be a
source of deeper regret to you, or any of my
friends, than to myself. Previously to my en-
tering college, my habits of life had been very
^eluded. This was owing principally to my
130
being deprived of the company of those who
were engaged in similar pursuits ; and perhaps
in some degree to a natural aversion to society.
But when I joined college, I found myself as-
sociated with kindred spirits, and at once my
feelings were changed. In the company of
friends, never I trust to be forgotten, and in de-
vising schemes of future happiness, time flew
gaily on. I will not say I looked for enjoyment
too pure and unmingled, nor will my pride suf-
fer me to confess, that my happiness flowed from
thoughtlessness or novelty alone. But soon "a
change came o'er the nature of my dream/'
for it was indeed a dream. My health began
to fail — with it went my happiness. For a
time I sought it in society — for a time in a closer
intimacy with my friends — again in the constant
company of books — again — but it were need-
less to say how. That some plans were inex-
pedient I feel — that all were ineffectual, I know.
As a last resort, home, appeared the most agree-
able, if not the most sure. Whether in having
recourse to this I have acted rashlv or with
wisdom, I doubt not will appear to my friends
in different lights. So far, its effects have been
131
salutary. Generally my spirits have been good ;
And my health, I believe, upon the whole is im-
proved.
My original intention was, to review at my
leisure my Mathematics, and the languages, so
as to join the Sophomore class next September.
To attempt an equal progress with my own
class, I feared would not be consistent with that
"otium cum dignitate" which I believe my health
requires. Still, the idea of separation was pain-
ful in the extreme. But my hope is, to obtain
if possible, a thorough education. That ap-
pears to me incompatible with the superficial
course of study I should be compelled to adopt
in case I continued in it.
For these reasons, I feel myself under the
.necessity of leaving a class which I respect as
a body ; in which I rank my dearest friends,
and a Tutor whom I sincerely esteem, and whose
friendship it will ever be my highest praise to
merit — my greatest happiness to reciprocate.
And now permit me, Sir, to beg you to accept
my warmest — my most heart-felt thanks, for
that kindness of feeling, and that tenderness and
delicacy of treatment which you have ever
132
manifested towards me ; often when I am con-
strained to acknowledge it was entirely unde-
served ; and to forgive whatever of neglect you
have ever discovered on my part, springing as
it did, not I flatter myself from want of percep-
tion or gratitude, but from that unhappy state
of feeling produced by real or imaginary indis-
position, under which I have unfortunately la-
bored during the greater part of the time ol
our acquaintance. Your invitation to New Ha-
ven, and promise of assistance, together with
your excellent advice, as they are but a con-
tinuation of your former kindness, deserve an
equal expression of my thanks ; and believe me.
whether permitted to enjoy your care and guar-
dianship again or not ; I shall ever retain a deep
sense of the obligations imposed by your nu-
merous favors, and shall ever hope to remain,
as I now am,
Very sincerely,
Your Friend,
Charles Pond.
In a letter to one of his college friends writ-
ten about the same time, he expresses similar
sentiments.
" I have obtained, says he, my Father's con-
sent, to spend the remainder of my time until
Commencement, at home, in reviewing my
Mathematics, and endeavoring to regain my
health, so as to be able to prosecute my studies
more satisfactorily, than I fear, in my present
state of health, I should be able to do. No
other considerations than those of health and
future usefulness, could induce me to leave a
class in which I rank my most intimate friends,
and where I have found a warmth of good feel-
ing, and received manifestations frequent and
pleasing, of attachment and partiality, which
leave an impress upon my memory never to be
effaced."
Such were the feelings with which he took
his leave of college, to which he was destined
to return no more.
12
135
CHAPTER V.
Occupations at home — Resolves on a voyage to the south
— Goes to New York, is disappointed, and returns home
— Visits New Haven — Bleeds at the lungs — Circum-
stances of his sickness and death — Letter from his Tu-
tor to his parents — Concluding remarks.
For his occupation while at home, Charles
pursued the course suggested in Jiis letters. A
few hours each day were devoted to reading and
study, and the remainder to exercise, in walking
and riding and to the relaxation afforded by in-
tercourse with his friends. The same desire al-
so to render himself useful, which had character-
ised him while in college, he manifested here.
There had been for some time previous, a very
interesting state of religion in Milford ; and he
was invited by the Rev. Mr. Pinneo, to assist
in conducting the religious meetings, of which
there were several during the week. With
this invitation, although his modesty would have
led him to decline it, a sense of duty induced
L36
him to comply ; and with what propriety of
thought and manner, and what apparent ear-
nestness and feeling his addresses were made
on these occasions, those who heard him will
not soon forget. As it was feared, however,
that his efforts were exerting a deleterious in-
fluence on his health, he was advised by a
friend to discontinue them ; to whom he calm-
ly replied, " Oh, how we reason ; we are
afraid if we do this or that, our days will be
shortened. But what difference does it make,
whether we go sooner or later, if we are only
found in the way of duty."
About the middle of February, finding that
his health, instead of improving, was rapidly
growing worse, he resolved on trying a voyage
to the South ; and accordingly left home for
New York, where he was to embark under the
care of an uncle, who commanded a vessel
from that port. Having been accidentally de-
tained on the way, he was informed on his ar-
rival that he had lost his passage, as the vessel
had sailed a few hours before. On learning
tins, he returned immediatelv home. But he
afterwards ascertained, that although the vessel
137
iiad left the wharf as he had been informed,
she had remained for some hours afterwards
in the offing, and that his uncle was in the city
during the whole time in which he himself was
there, although they were not so fortunate as to
find each other.
When he reached home, his mother remark-
ing that " without doubt, it was a kind inter-
position of providence which had prevented him
from going the voyage, and had returned him
safely home," he replied, " doubtless it is* all for
the best ; but how do you know but that I have
come home to die."
About this time he rode over to New Haven.
On his return, when he had ascended the hill
which commands a view of the city, getting
down from his horse, and turning back, he
looked for a long time upon the scene which
had now become indescribably dear to him, as
the scene of his studies, his friendships, and his
hopes, with a strong presentiment that he
should never see it again. Unwilling, however,
to increase the anxiety of his parents, he said
but little respecting his health, employing him-
self very much in the same manner, as before
12*
136
ins disappointment in relation to his anticipated
voyage.
On the evening of the 28th of February,
while making a call at one of the neighbors', he
raised a small quantity of blood, which evident-
ly came from his lungs. He did not mention
the circumstance, however, when he returned
home ; but manifested his wonted cheerfulness
and sociability. At the usual hour, he per-
formed the duties of family worship, in which
it was remarked that he exhibited peculiar
earnestness and fervor. A short time after he
rose to retire : when just as he was leaving the
room, he felt the warm blood bubbling rapidly
into his throat. With these most alarming
symptoms, and when all around were agitated,
he appeared most surprisingly composed and
calm. To his sisters, who were gathered
around him, he said, " You see upon what a
broken reed you have been leaning." And
until his voice failed, through weakness, he con-
tinued to speak cheerfully of his situation, say-
ing, " it was all well." On noticing the grief of
his parents, he said he " was sorry to see it ;
he feared it spoke a rebellious spirit ; that we
139
must bow submissively to the sovereign will oi'
God — that he knew not what he was going to do
with him, but if he had any thing more for him to
do on earth, he would raise him up ; but if he
had done with him, he would be removed, and
that he wished to have no other will but God's.
When the physician, who had been imme-
diately called, arrived, it was thought advisa-
ble to bleed him ; and accordingly a large
quantity of blood was drawn, by which means
he was reduced to a state of extreme weakness.
His friends flattered themselves, that farther
bleeding at the lungs being thus prevented, he
would gradually regain his strength, and recover.
But He who seeih not as man sceth, had other-
wise determined ; and it soon became appa-
rent that he was sinking to an early grave.
He himself appeared from the first to antici-
pate the fatal result. When his symptoms ap-
peared more favorable, and his friends were
disposed to feel encouraged, he would say, " I
know my disease ; we may hope for the best,
but we must be prepared for the worst."
Throughout his sickness, although his suf-
ferings were often very great, not a murmur
140
or complaint ever escaped Jhim. On one oc-
casion, when a friend asked if he was not in
distress, he replied ; " it would require the
tongue of an angel to describe my agony ;" and
then added, " these light afflictions which are
but for a moment, are working out for me a
far more exceeding and eternal weight of
glory."
Being asked whether he wished to recover,
he said, he " could wish to live to be a com-
fort to his parents, and to labor for the ad-
vancement of the cause of Christ; but that
God knew what was for the best, and if he
chose to call him away, he was satisfied. That
he did not fear death, although he felt it to be
a solemn thing for a sinful creature like him to
appear before a holy God ; but, said he, I
know that the righteousness of Christ is suiH-
cient for the chief of sinners — -Oh, what should
I do if I had not such a Saviour !"
Of his class-mates he often spoke in die
most affectionate manner ; evincing the great-
est solicitude for their welfare, and expressing
the hope " that his death would be the means
of inducing them to seek an interest in Christ ;
141
remarking that if one of them should listen to
his dying intreaties, he should not have lived in
vain." It was his request that one of their
number might be with him in his last hours, in
order to bear to the rest his last farewell, and his
dying testimony to the excellence of religion.
" Tell them," said he, " that they have my
best wishes for their prosperity and happiness
in the world ; and though I am not permitted
to meet them again on earth, my prayer is
that I may meet them all in heaven."
The young and old received his dying ad-
monitions. It was an interesting sight, to see
him, but a short time before his death, with a
primer in Ins hand, explaining in a striking
manner to some of his aged relatives, how
Christ " executeth the office of a Prophet,
Priest, and King."
He was unwilling to take stimulants of any
kind, fearing an artificial excitement, and wish-
ing to have a free and undisturbed enjoyment
of all his faculties. At times he wished to be
left entirely alone, that he might " hold com-
munion with God, and have one sweet hour of
happiness."
142
The day of his death was triumphant be-
yond description. In the morning, as he lay
near a window, from which he felt the refresh-
ing air, raising both hands, he exclaimed, " O,
I feel fresh and vigorous ; I feel as though I
could rise and soar away, if set free from the
body — I long to be in heaven." Being asked
what made heaven appear so desirable, he re-
plied ; " the eternal — eternal — eternal blessed-
ness of the place ;" adding, " I shall soon be
there, with saints and angels, and with God."
He requested his sisters to visit his grave
every Saturday afternoon, that they might be
reminded of their mortality, and prepare to
follow him.
After he had appeared to be dying, his voice
was restored ; and he solemnly intreated all
who were about him to love, serve, and trust
in God ; as he could assure them it afforded
the highest happiness in life, and they could
see the support it gave in a dying hour. Just
before he breathed his last, he said " he was
free from pain, and was filled with joy ; that
his soul seemed to be on the wing, and would
soon be wafted awav." His last words were
n
14
t; happy — happy — blessed — blessed." After
his speech was gone, a friend who was holding;
his hand asked him whether he still felt the
presence of the Saviour ; he pressed her hand
— raised towards heaven his eyes, which even
then beamed with "joy unspeakable, and full
of glory," — and in a moment calmly entered
on his rest.
" His flight he took — his upward flight
If ever soul ascended." —
He who could witness such a scene — could
see the soul exhibiting more than its wonted
vigor when the body was struggling in the
grasp of death, and not believe that that soul
was immortal, must be an infidel indeed. He
who could witness it, and not be convinced
that the religion which produced a result so
glorious, was a reality, must certainly be blind-
ed to the light of evidence. Well has it been
said,
" The chamber where the °;ood man meets his fate.
Is privileged beyond the common walks
Of life:"—
144
The day on which he died, was Monday-
June 9th, 1828. On the Wednesday following,
his funeral was attended by a numerous con-
course of relatives and friends. Most of his
classmates were present to pay him their last
sad tribute of affection and respect. The re-
membrance of his genius and his worth, prompt-
ed many a tear at his untimely fall. Yet in view
of the closing scene, the voice of reason said,
■' Weep not for him ; in his spring-time he flew
To that land, where the wings of the soul are unfurled:
And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew,
Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world."
The following truly consoling expression of
sympathy, and testimony to the virtues and tal-
ents of their beloved son, was received by his
parents soon after his death, from his tutor.
Yale College, June 12th, 1828.
DEAR SIR AND MADAM,
I cannot contemplate the afflicting dispensa-
tion which has deprived you of your beloved
son, without offering you my sincere sympathies
145
in your affliction, and rendering a slight tribute
of esteem and affection to the worth and mem-
ory of our dear and lamented friend. We all
loved him in life — we all mourn him in death.
We feel that one is gone, who was pre-eminent-
ly qualified by his attainments and virtues, to
shed joy and consolation around his path — to
be the hope, the solace, and support of his
friends, and to adorn every station of public or
private life. And when we consider how much
he was endeared to you, by the tenderness of
his filial and fraternal love ; to us, by his amia-
ble manners and benevolent feelings ; and how
much we all expected from him in the cause
of truth and virtue ; — we grieve for the sorrow
that afflicts your parental hearts, and feel that
we and society have suffered a great loss.
But we doubt not you derive heavenly con-
solation from that merciful Father, who chas-
teneth not but for our good. It is His hand
that hath done this, who seeth not as man seeth,
but doeth all things in wisdom and mercy. To
us indeed it is great loss, but to our dear friend
infinite gain. His intellectual gifts — his pro-
gress in every excellence and christian virtue—
13
140
his lingering illness — the failure of his youthful
hopes of earthly good ; were but so many means
of divine goodness to fix his mind on the true
object of his being, to purify his nature from all
earthly defilements, and prepare him for a high-
er, holier, happier existence.
Allow me to say, my dear friends, I have
esteemed and loved your son. I have rarely,
if ever, seen a yroung man that possessed so
many qualities to commend him to myr esteem
and affection. He possessed a mind of uncom-
mon maturity ; more improved by choice read-
ing and reflection than is usual at his age. His
understanding was sound and vigorous ; but he
particularly^ excelled in a nice and delicate per-
ception of moral beauty. In the classics, in
fine writing, in matters of taste and elegant lit-
erature, he was decidedly the first in his divis-
ion ; and was among the first in the mathemat-
ics. In his literary exercises, and in his inter-
course with me and his companions, he exhibit-
ed originality and independence of thought, uni-
ted with die nicest sense of propriety, and the
most respectful and delicate regard to the feel-
ings of others. There was an accuracy and
finish in his attainments, a modestv and dignity
147
in his manners, a warmth and delicacy in his
feelings, and a purity and elevation in his whole
character, which placed him high in the respect
and confidence, as well as in the affectionate
esteem of his companions and instructors.
You had great reason to be happy that you
had such a son, and above all, that he remem-
bered his Creator in the days of his youth. His
virtues have ripened to maturity earlier than we
had anticipated, and he has left us sooner than
our human feelings and short-sighted views
could have desired ; but the God that made
him has in his wisdom and goodness taken him
to Himself in that world of eternal joy, where
sickness, and sorow, and disappointment are
known no more. May the consolations and
blessings of Heaven be with you, and may the
dispensations of Providence have their proper
effect upon us all.
Sincerely and affectionately yours,
A. N. Skinner.
In the Religious Intelligencer of June 14th,
appeared the following notice of his death, and
brief sketch of his character.
146
Died, at Milford, on the 9th inst. Mr. Charles
Pond, a member of the Sophomore class in
Yale College, and the only son of Charles H.
Pond, Esq. aged 18.
We are seldom called to mourn over the
grave of a young man more universally beloved
and lamented. His literary companions who
have admired and loved him for the uncommon
maturity and classical elegance of his mind ;
the warmth, tenderness and delicacv of his
feelings ; for the ardor and purity of his piety ;
and the singular elevation of his whole charac-
ter ; feel that they have lost their model, their
friend and brother. He loved excellence for
its own sake, and he attained it. Those who
have known him as we have known him, will
feel that it is no unmeaning panegyric, that his
class have lost one who was first in their affec-
tions and respect ; his bereaved family the best
of sons and brothers, and society one that em-
inently promised to be a blessing and ornament,
in whatever circle he might have moved. He
was happy in life — happy in death—- and, we
confidently trust, is happy in the reward of a
blessed immortalitv.
149
Here must conclude the brief history of the
lamented Pond. We might proceed to give an
abstract of his character ; but the modesty of
his demeanor, the purity of his feelings, the
superiority of his genius, and the ardor of his
piety, have already been fully exhibited in his
own writings and the testimony of others ; and
it is not necessary. And although his bereaved
friends must realize the touching sentiment of
the poet,
The tear through many a long day wept,
Through a life, by his loss all shaded,
And the sad remembrance fondly kept,
When all other griefs are faded ;
yet they will derive the highest satisfaction from
the reflection, that though cut down in the bloom
of youth, he had already ripened for a better
world; and from the hope that others, by the
contemplation of his character, may be led to
see and appreciate the loveliness of moral ex-
cellence, and to act under the influence of the
sentiment on which he often dwelt, "that the
highest sources of happiness, are accessible
only to the learned and the good."
14
150
TRIBUTARY VERSES.
Beloved Pond ! thy memory claims a tear,
Untimely fallen in thy bright career ;
Death's seal impressed upon thy manly brow.
Thy head on its cold pillow resteth now :
Nor youth, nor genius, could avert the blow
Thy hopes which blighted — laid thy promise low.
In the full bloom of life's just opening morn,
Possessed of all the graces that adorn ; —
Of what attractions talent can bestow —
Of what from real worth are wont to flow ; —
Thou wert, while yet thou lingered with us here.
The pride — the ornament of every sphere.
But when, to death a lovely victim given,
Thy rising spirit plumed her wing for heaven ;
Thy parting lustre, lighted up the gloom
That gathers darkly o'er the silent tomb ;
Shewed us in virtue's path, which thou hast trod,
The path that leads to happiness and God.
So the bright gem that studs the brow of night;—
AwThile it glows with pure and steady light,
Then sudden falling, gleams along the skies,
And shines with brightest lustre, as it dies.
Then rest thee now in peace — the hallowed spot
Where sleeps thy dust, shall never be forgqt ;
Oft, aye, full oft, affection's tears shall lave
The flowers that bloom upon thy lowly grave.
But while thy memory, thus we long shall lovet
Thy spirit, entered on its rest above,
Shall chant the song the ransomed only know.
Beside the streams where heavenly waters flow.
FINIS.
■;!
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