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vard, who realize that it is a breach of etiquette to live and die without bestowing at least a small gift upon their alma mater. But of late, several of her friends, among whom are Joseph Cook, Dr. Ebenezer Alden and Roswell C. Smith, have been generous in their benefactions; and the centennial days, on the 5th and 6th of June, will doubt less witness a rich harvest of funds and endowments.
The most remarkable aspects, however, of the history of Phillips Academy, are the moral and religious. It has ever been, as it now is, a Christian school. At its foundation it was designed rather for the advancement of morality and religion than of learning. "Its first and principal object," its constitution declares, "is the promotion of true piety and virtue." In the spirit of this declaration, it is remarked that "it is expected that the master's attention to the disposition of the minds and morals of the youth under his charge will exceed every other care; well considering that, though goodness without knowledge (as it respects others) is weak and feeble; yet knowledge without goodness is dangerous; and that both united form the noblest character, and lay the surest foundation of usefulness to mankind. In accordance with these principles, Phillips Academy has been governed by every master from Pearson down to Taylor and Bancroft. Her teachers have taught that wisdom whose price is above rubies. Her pupils have learned that "the great end and real business of living is to fear God and keep his commandments." Her graduates have never forgotten those Christian instructions which they have received from her lips. Gross immoralities have seldom occurred in the school, and whenever appearing they have been crushed out with puritanic vigor and rigor. Revivals of religion have been frequent, and nearly every winter has been marked by at least a few conversions. Many of the religious interests of the school are in the care of the Society of Inquiry, an organization of the students, founded in 1833, and designed to awaken inquiry into the condition of the foreign missionary cause, and to promote the religious welfare of the members. Un
In the number and greatness of the ministers and missionaries whom she has aided in educating, Phillips Academy has been particularly blessed. Frequently in a single year more than twelve students, who subsequently became ministers, have been among her graduates; and of the class of 1822, numbering forty-two members, no less than sixteen entered this sacred vocation. the Episcopal Church the Academy has furnished three bishops-Howe of Pennsylvania, Stephens of Philadelphia and Clark of Rhode Island. For the pulpit and the theological choir she has shared in the training of the late Professor Hackett, Dr. William Adams and Dr. Ray Palmer. For the mission field she has aided in fitting the Rev. Dr. Goodell, the prince of missionary scholars and translators, the Rev. Daniel Temple, the Rev. Daniel Poor of Ceylon, and the Rev. William B. Capron. She has, indeed, worked hand in hand with the Andover Theological Seminary, of which she was the precursor and in a certain sense the founder, in educating an efficient ministry.
One of the most important of the works which Phillips Academy has done for American education is in serving as a model for other institutions of secondary instruction. In its constitution the wish is expressed "that its usefulness may be so manifest as to lead the way to other establishments on the same principles." Accordingly three years after Dr. John Phillips had assisted in establishing the Andover school, he founded the Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. It was modeled after the older institution; and the two schools, one in purpose and one in origin, have during nearly a century pursued in noble rivalry a common end by a common road. The Williston Seminary at Easthampton, too, founded in 1841, is fashioned in its organization to a considerable extent after the Andover plan; and its founder, Samuel Williston, and its first principal, Luther Wright, were Phillips graduates. Indeed, the principal Academies of the country have been to a considerable degree modeled after the Phillips
scheme. The Academies recently established at St. Johnsbury, Vermont, and at Hallowell, Maine, are in certain respects copies of the Andover school; and no western school claims for itself a higher honor than that of being the "Phillips Academy of the West."
Such is the Phillips Academy of the past. But the scholarship and the discipline, the
moral and the Christian influences which have made her first century illustrious are still her possessions. That her second century, therefore, may be even more fruitful than her first in the training of young men during their most susceptible years in clear, accurate thinking and noble living, is the hope of every friend of the higher education. C. F. Thwing.
THE ADVENTURES OF AN ORGAN-GRINDER. WHILE living in California, I became acquainted with the characters of this sketch. The passages in their lives which are bound together by acts of sympathy and kindheartedness, I lay before my readers; other passages not so wholesome are lost in the great whirlpool of time, which, though it swallows up many good hopes, kindly draws down into oblivion much of wretchedness, profligacy and crime.
Jack, when I knew him, was a sort of fragment of life himself, having had both of his hands shot away at the battle of Thibackanville, Louisiana, in our late war; and having been taken up by circumstances which we will not now particularize, after he left the City Hospital in New Orleans, he had drifted along by one wave and another, until he landed in San Francisco, California, homeless, penniless, hungry and forlorn. He wandered on, up one street and down another, and on, and on, sad and miserable and despondent, getting never a word nor even a kind look, until he became utterly Kopeless. The pension to which he was justly entitled by reason of his wounds received in the United States' service, was not awarded him on account of some informality in his enlistment as a soldier (he was only a boy then), so that he was left without any support whatever.
One day, in the midst of his loneliness, the thought came to him, "I'll kill myself." But how? He had neither rope, nor firearms, nor knife; if he had, he could pawn them for bread; if he had money he would buy food rather than poison. There was
the water! The thought flashed through his tired brain, making him dizzy for the moment; but he turned and walked wearily toward the wharf, reasoning weakly that God could not blame him greatly; he had tried this life and found it a failure; his parents were dead, and he had long since forfeited all claims to friendship and kin ship. Other people had homes, and friends to care for them; everybody else had hands, too, and here he had these make-believe wooden ones, that some charitable persons in New Orleans had purchased for him. He sat down on a pile of lumber, and wondered confusedly why folks were not made like some of the lower orders of animal life, so that when any of their limbs were torn away by violence, others grew in their places.
In the years immediately following the close of the war, he had found no lack of sympathy; now it was an old story; a crippled soldier was no rarity. "How do we know you lost your hands that way?" he had been asked only the day before, when he had timorously begged for something to eat: "Why don't you go to some government institution, where you will be cared for?" He knew there were such places where a grateful country cared for her helpless sons who had sacrificed all but life on her altar; there was one in Maine where he was born, but how was he to get there? and when there, how would he get the influence of some member of Congress from that State, to try to induce the government to recognize his claim?
"This world is 'played out' for me," he still soliloquised; he would try another; and starting to walk along to a place which seemed to be deserted, a sweet voice singing attracted him. He looked listlessly around. It was a little boy with a tambourine, with which he kept time while he sang:
"God with earthly ills entwineth
Hope and comfort from above; Everywhere His mercy shineth, God is wisdom, God is love." Jack listened and sighed drearily. "Even this child has a way of earning his bread," he said aloud. " God has given him a voice to sing. He has given me nothing!"
"What did you say?" asked the child; "did you speak to me ?
Jack shook his head sadly.
place to which he was led was odd enough. It was a small room in a dilapidated building, at the end of a miserable alley leading from one of the back streets of the town. On a repulsive looking pile of rags and straw, lay the victim of yesterday's accident.
"See! Pedro; here's some one to carry the organ; he's a nice man, I know, and he hasn't got any hands of his own; and he feels very bad; but he's strong. I can turn, and we'll make lots of moneys."
“Buen dia, amigo mio!" said the poor man, looking up into Jack's face. It was Spanish for "Good day, my friend!"
"He is an Americano," explained the boy, "he doesn't know Spanish."
But Pedro could speak English pretty
"Give me a bit," said the little fellow, well; and soon the few preliminaries were holding out his tambourine.
"I have no bit, child; I have nothing, nothing; " Jack answered piteously.
The little boy sang again, "Hope and comfort, hope and comfort from above," with a voice like a bird; and he trilled an impromptu refrain, "hope, hope, hope," which sounded like a chirp.
"Hope for what?" asked Jack; "there's nothing to do, nothing to live for," and he looked again toward the bay which glowed in the still, noonday sun like molten silver.
"Could you carry Pedro's organ?" said the boy, suddenly, taking in the situation at a glance. "Pedro broke his leg, yesterday; the wheels run over it; he can't walk. I've sung, and sung, all day, and shooken my tambourine; but folks don't mind me much, and I don't get much moneys. Do you think you can carry the organ on your back? I can turn it, but it's too heavy for me to carry."
settled; Jack in the meantime somewhat appeasing his hunger by sharing the scanty dinner little Chispa brought from an old table drawer. Then calling to mind his hospital experience, Jack directed Chispa how to apply a wet bandage to Pedro's injured ankle, for the limb was not broken after all. Presently he was in the streets seeking for the parish priest, who, an old woman in the adjoining tenement had told him, knew something of surgery.
After Jack had left the dingy alley and was walking along in quest of the priest, the consciousness that he had something to do, made him feel like a new creature. knew that God had not yet quite forsaken him, and he resolved that he would no longer neglect his prayers he had been taught in the far away New England home, but would thank Him that very night before he slept for saving him from the horrible sin he had so lately been contemplating, and for opening to him a way to gain an honest living. The kind-hearted old priest accompanied him back to Pedro's quarters, and, after examining the inflamed ankle, adjusting the bandage, and leaving some soft linen bandages and washes to be applied as he had directed, took his leave.
On the morrow, leaving Pedro as comfortable as it was possible to make him, Chispa and Jack went forth on their first day's venture. After a little practice Jack
found that playing the organ came within the capability of his poor wrists, and as he ground away, and Chispa sang and danced and shook his tambourine, it would have been hard to tell which of the two was the happier. They had very good success, and when they came back at night tired and hungry, the three regaled themselves with what was to them a royal supper. The dirty room to which Chispa and Jack came at night with their daily earnings, was Paradise to the latter. The dwelling of which it was a part was almost a ruin; degraded and vicious people who were either too besotted or lazy to work in the town or in the mines, occupied other parts of it, and other dwellings adjacent of like character; but it was a home to him.
Yet these people, Pedro's neighbors and acquaintances, treated him with great tenderness. They observed Jack at first with much curiosity, and with some distrust; but before many days he had won their confidence by his kindness to Pedro, and the deftness he showed in house-keeping in such narrow and unhandy quarters; for with his memory of the ways of a New England farmhouse, Jack did his best to transform the rickety old room into the semblance of a home, and was not unsuccessful.
Had the early lives of these neighbors of Pedro's been different, had they not been brought up in poverty and unthrifty habits, their condition would have been more favorable. As it was, they appreciated Jack's efforts, and each as he could brought something to contribute towards his domestic economy. Thus a table, chairs, and at last a comfortable lounge for the invalid found their way into the dwelling. The priest continued his calls; and although Pedro's ankle was nearly healed, a rheumatic fever had slowly crept into his system so that the poor old man was quite helpless.
Jack was the only one of the three who could read, and now old books and newspapers were picked up, and at night pulled out of ragged pockets, when he would read aloud to Chispa and Pedro and a few of the neighbors, thus helping them rapidly to learn our language. If the literature was not always of the best, it was better than
none; and often there would be a bit of story or poetry that would excite a sympathetic thrill in the hearts of these uncultivated children of nature. Jack thought a great deal about Chispa, and when they were out by themselves he sometimes questioned him about his past life.
"Where did you learn that?" he asked one day, as Chispa sang his favorite
"God is wisdom, God is love."
"Oh, I don't know," said the child; "I have known it always, I guess. I somehow remember a lady holding me in her lap in a room where there were flowers, and a bird in a cage, and beautiful pictures, and such a big, nice fire, and a splendid great dog painted in the carpet before it; and oh! it is just like a dream, only it is not a dream. I was not asleep, and she used to sing lots of stories to me."
"What else do you remember, Chispa?" "Oh, I remember the water and a ship; and a great many folks; and a man with an organ who said I was his boy, but I wasn't his boy; and he went away and gave me to Pedro."
After a few days Jack resolved to broach the subject to Pedro himself. The poor old Spaniard was very reticent at first, but Jack was so kind to him that at last he told in his broken English how it was that Chispa came under his care and keeping.
A man, a brother street musician of Pedro's, a rascally sort of fellow, had died two years before; and having no relatives gave Chispa and the organ to him. He said that as he was strolling about the country in one of the Eastern States he heard the little boy sing, and stole him away, leaving some of his clothes on a river bank near which the boy's parents lived, and where he sometimes played, so that they should be made to believe that the boy had been drowned. He brought him to California in a sailing vessel and had but just begun to reap the harvest of "bits" that the sweet singing of this cunning little fellow brought him in, when Bartolome, for that was the stroller's name, was fatally stabbed by an infuriated Chinaman in a street fight. He lived long enough to send for Pedro, to whom he gave his or
gan and the custody of the little boy, as he the newly-arrived steamer. Mr. and Mrs. had said. Terhune almost instantly recognized Bertie; and he very soon recalled the voice and face of his mother in the midst of her tearful caresses. The locket was produced and identified, and the equally overjoyed father rapturously embraced his long lost little boy. So Chispa's career as a street minstrel was ended.
Pedro had too little knowledge of our language at that time to make any inquiries about the child's parentage, had he wished to do so; and I am inclined to think that he did not, for Bartolome's possession in the shape of little Chispa, with his rare beauty and wonderful voice drawing crowds of listeners, had been the envy of the whole brotherhood of organ-grinders. After making Jack promise that no harm should befall him in any event, Pedro took from a small leather bag that was tied around his body a little casket, to which was attached a slender gold chain, and gave it to Jack. On the locket was engraved, "Bertie Terhune, Newark, N. J."
Jack could write after a fashion with his false hand, and he now sat down and wrote out the facts as intelligently and explicitly as was possible in the form of a letter, and directed it, "To the Parents of Bertie Terhune, Newark, New Jersey."
This was before there was a telegraph between California and the Eastern States, or the great Pacific railroad had been built; so Jack knew he would have to wait a long time for an answer to come by the next steamer. He and Pedro had agreed that little Chispa should be told nothing of this locket, or the letter that had been sent, until at least a satisfactory reply had been received. The days passed, while Jack with his organ, and Chispa with his tambourine, continued tramping about the streets playing and singing as usual, until the time when a return steamer was daily expected, which Jack hoped would bring the desired intelligence from the East.
The theory that Bertie had been abducted had never been entertained by the stricken parents, even in the face of the fact that the body could not be found. It seemed that the little fellow being passionately fond of the water, would run away when opportunity offered to the river bank; and it was on one of these occasions, when playing in a boat belonging to his father, a little skiff tied to the bank, that he attracted the notice of Bartolome, the organ-grinder, as he was passing along the street between Mr. Terhune's ground and the river. The finding of the little hat and blue embroidered sack on the grassy bank was evidence enough that little Bertie was drowned. The letter that Jack wrote had been immediately forwarded to Mr. Terhune on its arrival at the Newark post-office, and the glad parents resolved to go to California in person on the next steamer, instead of writing, for they knew a letter could not get to San Francisco any sooner than they.
The little community of Chispa's friends were greatly grieved over the loss of their pet; and Jack, although he had been instrumental in restoring him to his father and mother, was almost inconsolable when it came to the parting. Mr. and Mrs. Terhune both insisted that Jack should return with them, for Mr. T. had determined that The day came at last when the good he would provide handsomely for his future, steamship "Panama" having arrived, Jack and Bertie lent his tears to their entreaties; was to go to the post-office for a letter. He but Jack could not be induced to go. But and Chispa would play and sing on the way on the day before the departure of the thither; so as Jack was grinding away and steamer, Mr. T. having repeatedly urged Chispa was shaking his tambourine and so Jack to let him know in what manner he wonderfully singing and trilling an old could reward him, he ventured to divulge a Spanish ballad near the entrance of one of pet scheme of his that had been revolving the great hotels, they were suddenly con- in his mind during the week the family had fronted by a gentleman and lady who had been waiting for the steamer to start. Jack just alighted from the hotel coach, which told Mr. Terhune that he would thankfully had brought them and other passengers from receive a moderate sum of money with