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in close connection with this was the influence exerted upon him by nature. Again I use his own words: "Nature was full of wonder to me, and wielded a strange influence over my life. The stars, the night-winds, the thunder, the clouds piled up like towers at sunset, the ripples on the bosom of the river, the dark line of the Montour mountains
THE PARLOR, TOPEKA
in full view from my house-all these, and everything else in nature, took hold upon me, filling me with unrest and longing that grew at times into a sort of torture. Everything had religious relations and intimations, and my own life during these earlier years was often morbid, and sometimes wretched." All this must not be forgotten in our effort to estimate his later life.
The special fields of work in which John H. Vincent has shown his power are the varied fields of religious and educational activity. In 1866 he became interested in Sundayschool work, and soon began to give his whole attention to the subject. But he never became a Sunday-school "hobbyist," for he always treated the subject, not as something isolated, but rather in its relation to the home, the pulpit, and the pastorate. Few, perhaps, are aware of his relationship to the earliest Sunday-school lesson-leaves and Sunday-school helps. He originated in outline a detailed. lesson-leaf and periodical note system as published by the " Sunday-School Teacher," afterwards called the "National Sunday School Teacher." He founded the "Northwestern Sunday-School Quarterly," afterwards changed to the "Chicago Teacher," a monthly, from which developed the International lesson system which has played so prominent a part in Bible study throughout the Protestant world. A little later he inaugurated the Berean system of lessons. Nothing shows the spirit of the man better than an address (given in 1871), recommending the home Sunday-school, from which the following briet extract is taken : 66 Visit the homes of the people and organize Sunday-schools there. We say to our Western farmer, If you live on the border, ten miles from every other human being, organize a Sunday-school. If there are only two persons in your house, open a Sunday-school. Sit down and read a portion of God's Word together, talk about it, memorize it, honor it. Save one or two dollars and send for a library of six or eight books. Give your little gem of a home Sunday-school a name, report its existence, seek God's blessing, and keep at work fifty-two Sabbaths a year." In this same connection, in speaking of "window-sill gardens," he says: "If but two or three families live within reach, get them together for a Sunday-school. We know it will require faith and forbearance, patience and love, but this may be had in unlimited measure. On window-sills of the fifth story of crowded tenement-houses in the city we have seen flower-boxes filled with earth, green vines springing up from them and shading the windows. In Palestine we
have seen flowers, green grass, and frequent shrubs blooming in tiny clefts and in thin crevices, on the rock and on narrow terraces. Despise not the day of small things. Verdure and bloom and fruit may come where there is just soil enough for them to grow. Despise not this little cluster of insignificant houses in out-of-the-way country places.
Where you can get a handful of children or adults, organize a Sunday-school. A Shakespeare, a Milton, a Whitefield, a Peabody, may be there. But of this be sure: where five lowly souls are, there are five immortals, redeemed by the blood of Christ, and although their names are never known beyond the limited neighborhood in which they were born, you may register their names in the Book of Life. There they will shine forever." To measure his influence in the work of the Sunday-school, it is only necessary to recall the fact that for twenty-two years he was Secretary of the Sunday-School Department of the Methodist Episcopal Church.
Directly and indirectly, his work in the Church has been one of greatest influence. Nor has this influence been limited in any way to the denomination with which he is identified. In the Sunday-school institute, in the pulpit, and, indeed, everywhere, he has been recognized as contributing to the progress and advancement of the Church at large in all its branches. When, in 1888, he was elected Bishop in the Methodist Episcopal Church, the feeling was general that one who belonged to all the denominations had now been set apart for special work in a single denomination, and that consequently there had been taken away from the other denominations that which rightly belonged to them. This feeling even yet exists.
The literary work of Chautauqua's founder can only be mentioned in a word. More than a score of volumes from his pen have been published. These books, always read with eagerness, include a discussion of technical as well as practical questions, pedagogical as well as ecclesiastical topics, exegetical as well as homiletical material, secular as well as Biblical history. No more charming pages have been written by a traveler than those which are to be found in the brochures, "To Old Bethlehem " and "In Search of His Grave." In the domain of college
sermons from time to time at Yale University, which have been received most graciously by the students. in spite of the compulsory chapel attendance, his sermons and addresses at Cornell Univ.rsity and at the University of Chicago, his lectures at the Johns Hopkins University, have indicated his power over college students and his ability to interest them in the subject of religion. By voice, by pen, and by the Chautauqua service he has devoted his
What is life but a period of training for something higher and beyond? Education is also something which should be symmetrical, running parallel with life itself and adapted to the needs and necessities of life. His mother's doctrine, reiterated by his father, he tells us, was, "Education without religious faith and life is valueless." That this doctrine sank deep into the heart of the son his whole life bears testimony. Still, education must be broad and comprehensive, not a little here and a little there, but something everywhere, and to be regarded as ideal only in proportion as it makes one able to deal with the problems of life, and brings him into contact with all the culture of the higher life of civilization. (2) Education is not to be confined to formal study. It includes this, but it includes much more. Books alone are insufficient.
energies unceasingly to the cause of higher education. His service in that cause has been all the more zealous because of his appreciation of the loss incurred in early life by reason of his failure to receive a college education.
But the friends of Bishop Vincent to-day will agree that his greatest work has been done at and in connection with Chautauqua. If the word Chautauqua signified only the local Chautauqua with its Assembly, its Sunday-School Normal, its Schools of Sacred Literature, its Schools of
Philosophy, Ancient Literature, Modern Literature, Mathematics, and Science, its School of Physical Culture, its schools of practical work in every line of effort, and its platform lectures given by men of every country and of highest position, the work would have been a great work, and more than sufficient to assure a lasting fame. But it will be remembered that the local Chautauqua is really something small and insignificant when compared with the world-wide Chautauqua. When we recall the scores of Chautauqua Assemblies established throughout the United States, the Oxford summer meeting established on the basis of the Chautauqua idea, the hundreds of thousands of readers who have been connected with the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle, the tens of thousands of homes into which a new light has penetrated as a result of the Chautauqua idea, the hundreds of thousands of books which have been bought and read by those who were eager for a learning which had been denied them, we obtain a faint conception of the meaning and significance of the term Chautauqua.
For what will Bishop Vincent's name stand in the fardistant future? As what
will he be best known? As student, preacher, or teacher? I do not hesitate to say that his fame will go down to our children's children as a teacher and an educator. His work has influenced for good the cause of education more strongly than that of any man living today. What are the ideas which he has emphasized? The answer may be given briefly : (1) Education and life are inseparable, indeed identical, and consequently this thing called education is something which should be continuous, never ceasing, lasting as long as life lasts.
LANDING PIER ON LAKE CHAUTAUQUA
One must come in contact with people, and especially with "the ablest men and women, specialists, scientists, littérateurs," "great teachers who know how to inspire and quicken minds," and from whom a special inspiration may be gained for the doing of special service. One must travel at home and abroad, and bring himself into contact
with the localities in which the great lives of the world have been lived and its great events enacted. Perhaps more may be gained than in any other way from personal thought and meditation, in hours during which one is able to examine himself and hold before his soul a mirror in which shall be reflected his inner life and thought. (3) Education is not limited to any place or places. It should be the highest work of the home, and the entire policy of the home life should be directed towards the encouragement of that kind of living which shall be essen
tially educative in its character. It will of course be the exclusive work of the school; but outside of school, at the desk, in the factory, anywhere and everywhere, the desire to secure it should be the most intense desire of the human heart. (4) Education shall not be restricted in time. At no stage in life should one feel that his education has been finished. There is no age at which the work of education is impossible. Every man should be a student every day through all the days of life. Very striking are the words with which Bishop Vincent closes his article in the "Forum," "How I was Educated:" "I am in school now as a student every day, and unfinished curricula reach out into undefined futures. I shall never finish' my education."
These are the principles which underlie the Chautauqua movement; the factors which have entered into that movement to make it so great a success; the ideas for which the founder of Chautauqua has stood and to-day stands. Does some one suggest that these ideas are commonplace; that every one accepts them; that, indeed, they have never been denied? This, perhaps, may be true, but it is Chautauqua's founder who has made possible for many the realization of these ideas, who has laid such emphasis upon them, and given them such prominence that to-day they are the common property of all. Their extended prevalence, it should be remembered, is due in large measure to the world-wide work of Chautauqua.
In conclusion, no one who has been associated with Bishop Vincent has failed to observe two striking characteristics, both of which are closely related to what has already been said, both of which would be expected in a man of his antecedents. As he grows older in life he does not grow narrower. His views are constantly expanding, and his interest in the work that is going on about him increases every day. This is explained by his constant reading and studying, which have become a life habit. At the same time he stands loyally by what he believes to be the fundamental truths of his Church and his theology. No one is in doubt as to his position upon every essential question. This double characteristic which presents itself so clearly is perhaps the truest index of his character.
No man ever heard Bishop Vincent speak without respecting him. No man ever came into close touch with him without loving him.
ON THE LAKE
BY THE LAKESIDE
A Lesson from Nature
One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee,
What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil;
O Singer of the field and fold,
Thou bad'st the rustic loves be told,
T is related that a few years ago the good people of a pretty village, not remote from the great metropolis, having with considerable effort and sacrifice secured a few thousand dollars for the building of a rural church, went to an eminent architect for advice and designs. Their committee were quite aflame with schemes and ideas for the new building-much, indeed, as the private citizen is apt to be when contemplating the erection of a house for his own family. Many of them had sought the available books on Church Architecture, and fastened upon some especial feature or features that seemed to them supremely desirable. One hoped that "whatever else might be lacking, the church would have a plenty of gargoyles, as they were the most charming features of any church." Another greatly admired flying buttresses, and desired to have one or two, "to give it such a cathedral effect," and, when a more practical brother remonstrated that they were unsuitable for their little church, as they were the constructive features of great vaulted naves, replied that "they were remarkable triumphs of construction, and one would certainly be a very educational feature in the town." Still another desired the highest spire in the county, urging that it could be cheaply done in slate, and so "not only be a lofty landmark, but a monument to their economy and ability to make much out of little." A member who was specially interested in matters ecclesiastical longed for "nave, aisles, transept, and an ambulatory-an ambulatory, if possible."
The committee presented their ideas very fully to the eminent architect, who heard them patiently, and when they had concluded said: "Did I understand you to say that you had seventy thousand dollars to begin with?"
"Oh, no!" exclaimed the chairman, "we have seven thousand in all. It's not a large church that we want
only a little village church to seat two or three hundred persons."
"Oh! I see," replied the architect-" you want a cathedral in a bandbox."
This desire for a "cathedral in a bandbox" has for a long time been the bane of our rural churches. It is not always a Gothic cathedral which is desired, but, whatever may be its style, it is apt to be a building of a too pretentious type for the means in hand, the community, or the uses required. This naturally leads to an unsubstantial and tawdry structure-perhaps the most despicable combination that can be thought of. The moldings and ornaments, which on account of expense cannot be carried out in solid material, are executed in some inferior substance or in imitation of the genuine, and so the whole affair is disgraced, not only by poor material and work, but by the evident desire for ostentation, even if attained by a mockery, and by the fact that, if it teaches the community any lesson in connection with the worship of God, it is that display is the most desirable of attainments, and in the church, as in the world, "keeping up appearances," however false, is essential to success.
Some time ago, as the writer was journeying through a beautiful portion of New England, far from railroads and works that reminded of the active forces of the time, but where mountain and lake scenery were of marvelous loveliness, upon passing around the side of a mountain he came in view of a little hamlet nestling in the hills-a scene that must once have been one of rare charm, but which was now quite spoiled by a church that had recently been erected.
It was a cruciform building with a large square tower at the intersection of nave and transepts. The roof of the tower (which presented quite an extensive surface from any point of view) was covered with tiles which seemed to
be of the brightest scarlet, and which, of course, had nothing in common with the natural surroundings, but was always asserting itself in the most positive manner, giving the "rash gazer" constant provocation to "wipe his eye."
Another extremely inharmonious and staring color effect, even at a distance, was the glazing of the windows, which were showily done in opalescent glass, a material which, however fine in its interior effect, is liable to distressing exterior results unless managed with great care. Here the crude blues and whites of the "art glass," as tradesmen nowadays delight to call it, did their best to vie with the scarlet tile of the tower, and, it must be confessed, with no
The nearer approach to the building did not reveal any mitigating features. The elaborate cornice of the central tower proved to be of galvanized iron, painted to match the stone of the walls; the greatly foliated window-tracery was of wood, the joints and cracks of which were opening in many places; the ornate cappings of buttresses and pinnacles were of cement or artificial stone; the showy, clumsy finials and crestings were of cast iron, but gilded in so generous a manner that they added still more to the glaring effect of the building.
Later inquiry brought out these facts: that the summer boarders in this lovely mountain region desired a house of worship, had contributed liberally towards it, and, finally, the large subscription of a wealthy lady completed the amount deemed necessary; that it was thought a fitting and happy thing to make it a memorial to a home missionary who had spent his life-a most laborious and self-denying one-in that part of the country; that the fashioning of the building had been put in the hands of a young architect who was summering in the neighborhood; that it was soon likely to be closed, as it was some five thousand dollars in debt, it having been found that so much "elegance" could not be secured for the sum contemplated. This story of a village church is not an unusual one. the failure to take a simple type of building which could be admirably and solidly built within the means at disposal, which would from its very simplicity be likely to harmonize with its natural surroundings and add to their charms, many a pretty countryside has had its beauty ruined by a building of a style so pretentious as to be unfitted for its place and purpose, and so inherently expensive that it could be built only in a cheap and flimsy manner, even then running its founders into debt.
How often, as we journey in England or France, we are strongly attracted by the village churches, until at length we come to watch for them as among the most pleasing objects to be met! They seem so simple, so effective, so suited to their sites, and so in harmony with nature generally. Not only are the most refined and cultivated charmed by them, but every one declares them "picturesque" and "lovely," and has a feeling that they could not be other than they are without a distinct loss to the little town or hamlet.
And what are the factors from which the little buildings receive this beauty and interest?
Usually low, massive walls of rugged stone; an immense roof that surmounts them, with few or possibly no features to break its surface (which gets quite enough relief from its rough, deep-toned covering); a few simple but welllocated windows, and occasionally the walls between them strengthened by bold, irregular buttresses. Very likely there may be a low, sturdy stone tower connected with the building at some unexpected point, or growing out of its composition-often, however, seeming quite an accidental
Who has not met with such buildings again and again, and longed to transport them to his own neighborhood, or at least reproduce their like?
They were sometimes the crowning glory of the town. They had lasted for numberless decades, and deserve as many in the future, gathering around them the associations, affection, and interests of generation after generation. They cannot become out of fashion, for they have never entered into the passing fancies and fads of the time.
Their reasonableness, simplicity, and honesty have in them. the elements of the best taste, and must always command admiring respect. The most of these churches were less expensive to build than the New England church described in the early portion of this article. Their few simple and solid features cost less than the aggregation of trashy ones that made the latter distressing.
What, then, is the important lesson taught in regard to rural churches by the good and bad examples we have considered? Is it that we should build only very simple and ingenuous buildings, but very real and solid?
Is it not, rather, that no scheme of building should be attempted that cannot be carried out thoroughly and appropriately?
If there is ample means to build grandly, as has been the case in many of the foreign towns, it is a subject of congratulation for the place and the public at large; the building, if carried out in a monumental manner, becomes a distinguishing feature of the town and does it great honor; but if, as is often the case, only moderate means are available, and our rule of procedure necessitates a very simple style of building, we have already seen that simplicity and beauty go hand in hand, and that, when excellent in their way, the humbler as well as the grander buildings are objects of general admiration-are often famous. The only requisite is that each should be excellent in its own way.
Moderate means is not the greatest of misfortunes if used in the right direction. The trouble comes when that is attempted which is not in keeping with the means or circumstances of the case-when the attempt is made to build "a cathedral in a bandbox."