for an institution to be bigger than the man that it has reared. God, when he reached down his creating hand, and swept a circle larger than a continent, broader than an age, and vast as the eternal sphere, said, "Let it be called man."

Burrow not, then, in any hole. Shrink yourself not to the girt of any sectarianism. Love everything; love all men. Use everything; use all men. Use churches as you do hotels-not to live in, but to take your food and refreshment in, on your way to your Father's house. The Father's house is the only place that is fit for the permanent abidance of the soul. And while I would dissuade you from the life of the scoffer, and the scarcely less respectable life of the indifferent man, I beseech of you, do not narrow and demean yourself so much as to feel that any sect or denomination is as big as you need, or that you can find all you want in it.

God did not call you to be canary-birds in a little cage, and to hop up and down on three sticks, within a space no larger than the size of the cage. God calls you to be eagles, and to fly from sun to sun, over continents. Be large, then, be strong, be wise, be pure, as God is; for you are the sons of God.

4. I use this truth as a matter of criticism, to ask you to discern between the true man and the current gentleman of life. No man has occasion for pride of gentlemanliness whose manhood has nothing in it of religion. A man must be a Christian who would be a gentleman. A man who is a gentleman should be a Christian. The current gentleman may have much in him that is good, in single qualities. Indeed, he may be of surpassing excellence. But if a man devotes himself to a single flower, we expect him to get better flowers than the gardener who takes the whole range of botany. For you cannot give to ten thousand flowers as much culture as to a single one. And there are men who pride themselves upon their honesty or truthfulness. That is the only virtue that they have. The whole force of their life goes into that one quality. They ought to have that one; but would you consider that a well-developed man whose nose was developed above everything else on his face; whose whole growth had been concentrated in that one feature? Is that a well-developed man, any of whose limbs is developed out of proportion? Gentlemen of society frequently excel other men in single qualities, having cheated their whole nature to make themselves agreeable and polished. To be a gentleman requires that one shall be a full man. Manhood requires more than conventional refinement; more than the stock proprieties of life. Is he a gentleman who only keeps his word, vindicates his courage, and polishes his intercourse in society, but who does not hesitate to indulge in coarse animal passions, in lust, in glut

tony, in excess of wine? Is he a gentleman who lives in his animal nature? Is he a gentleman who has no higher aim in life than routine duty and routine pleasure? Without appetite for knowledge, without yearnings and inspirations, without growth, without faith, without purity and love, is a man a gentleman? Can you make a gentleman by cutting a man in two, and building up the lower half, and leaving the upper and better half out? Is he a gentleman who merely conforms to a few starveling maxims of conduct and conventional arrangements of society to prevent overaction? And yet, what higher claim than this have many who pass themselves off for being gentlemen? Manners and etiquette are too often but the fine color and empty shell of a thing which is dead. Color is good; but life that makes color is a great deal better.

A Christian should always be a gentleman, because he is true, and because he is right; but it does not follow that he should be rude, or coarse, or indifferent to the feelings of those round about him. Emphatically, a Christian should be a gentleman; and a gentleman should be a Christian. Christianity, as I have said, is the science of being a whole

man.

5. Let me beseech you to take heed to the substitution of class character for manhood. In some lands classes are organized by government. There they are less evils because they are realities. But in communities like our own, where classes are aggregated by certain elective affinities, the worst mischiefs ensue; for, the world over, classes are apt to be arrogant and overconceited. They are small and mean, usually; and yet, men that belong to a class, or to a "set," as it is said, think that wisdom shall die with them. They think they have the diameter of the world. They think their thought the very measure of existence. They run the round of social gaieties; they repeat the talk of their own sect; they live in their own little circle; they know all that is knowable of each other, and run through empty fripperies and rounds of inane vanities; and yet, they consider themselves as model men-the aristocrats of the neighborhood. They regard themselves to be the class of all classes. They despise the lower people-poor men. Thin and wasted are they oftentimes, in all the elements of manhood except position, wealth, and a certain class influence.

Beware, then, of classes. Join them just as a man joins a wood, on his way through it. Go into them, but go through them. Use them, but never let them use you. Be larger than any class will ever let its members be. Stand high, and remember that manhood is better than any of the sections into which it is broken up.

6. Beware of the narrowness of professional character, which will be your temptation. For, although there is a pride of profession-an

esprit de corps-that is wise, and may be turned to account, yet the pride and vanity of men tend always to spoil everything, and the advantages go but little way, and soon give place to disadvantages which are most harmful, most hurtful. For no profession has so many claims. upon a man as mankind has. No man can afford to live for his profession, and in his profession. No man can afford, by the side of the sounding sea, to build his hut on a little rivulet that runs into it, and never go down to wet his feet in the flood, or try its depths. Good as any profession is, you will be obliged, in the order of business, to live in it as much as is useful. Ministers ought not to be too much with ministers. They should go out among other men. Lawyers ought not to consort only with lawyers. They should go beyond their own class. Soldiers should seek civil society. Teachers, dealers in ideas, should dwell more with men that deal in wares; and men that deal in wares should aspire to the company of men that deal in ideas. Men need mixing. Men need to feel a sympathy with the whole of human life.

Therefore, remember that you are not to be educated out from among your fellow men, but for them. No man belongs to those who are below him, so much as the refined, educated and powerful. By as much as you surpass a man, you become his servant. "He that would be chief among you, let him be the slave of all," said the apostle.

But the time is already sped, and I will bring speedily to a close these remarks, by which I would fain urge you to a larger, a purer, a sweeter, and a nobler manhood. Delivering you from the temptations that are in the flesh; delivering you from the temptations that are in your own dispositions; delivering you from the temptations that inhere in the thrall of labor and the bondage of business in life, and from the temptations which are special to classes and professions, I fain would incite in your minds a higher conception of manhood as it is in Christ Jesus. Especially have you such temptations, because in some sense there is a work given you as soldiers which is given to no others. You ought to be nobler than most men, because your work is vicarious. You labor for the Government. You stand for the country. It is for you to be the right hand, the executive hand, of the Government of your land. You need not be cruel because you are warriors; for war may be but discipline. It is the symbol of justice, of law, of liberty itself. We have but just passed through a war which, with all its atrocities, and its incidental cruelties, and the horror of its details, will be looked back upon, when we have drifted so far that we can see them in perspective, as a sublime war for unity, liberty, and human happiness. And all its blooddrops, all its tears, and all its wrecks and desolations will pass out

of view; and no man can measure the abundance of that good which will spring up in consequence of it.

You are a part of the Government; and it behooves you to represent to men something better than common men do. It is yours to guard our flag, which has now more to tell the world than any other flag. Now, thank God, it is clean. Once there was blood on it. Not a drop now. Once the stars that were on it were stars with a background of barbaric slavery, feebly shining out of midnight. Now they are the stars of hope, the world over. And those stripes that are upon the flag are no longer stripes of cruelty, to shed blood. They are the auroral light that plays upon it; for, as you bear it round and round the globe, upon the land or on the sea, that flag means intelligence and liberty. And it is a blessed thing to be a guardian of it. You belong to a profession that is honored. I mean not abroad, though it is honored there; but already in our own land we have those-and those too, happily, that have sprung from the loins of this venerable school-upon whose names rest glory and immortality, for their skill, for their endurance, for their wise victories, and yet more for their humanity, their moderation, and their unambitious patriotism. Nor are any of the stories of battles and sieges and marches so sweet and musical to me as is the story of the five chiefest men whom this war has lifted into conspicuity, not one of whom is not the brother of the others. Without rivalry, with hands firmly clasped, unenvious they stand, to show men what an American man and an American officer should be. While Napoleon could scarcely hold his army together from the envies and jealousies of his marshals, behold how we are twined together like a cord, by the firm friendships of our chiefest men that the war has brought forth, and that this school has bred.

My young friends-you that abide-I beg of you, take aim higher than merely the aim of this school. Enlarge your conceptions of life. Ask inspirations above the text, and above the teacher, that God may give you a conception of what it is to live for a truer manhood than any that you have hitherto followed.

And ye that go forth, what can I ask better for you, than that your hopes may be larger, your ambitions purer, your aims truer, than those which, in your best hours, when you stood on the very mountain-top, you framed for yourselves? May the blessing of Almighty God go with you; and may the blessings of Christ and the Holy Ghost never depart from you. Wherever you are, in burdens, in trials, in wounds, in sickness, in death itself; whether among friends, or in the wilderness far away, and among savage foes, or departing in the thunder of the earnest battle, may you never lack company. May He who loved your father

and your mother, may He who has guided your steps in all the days of your lives, never forsake you in the hour of anguish and trial. And from an earthly manhood, growing more large and resplendent, may there be reached out to you that manhood in Christ Jesus which shall be perfected only in the heavenly land.

§ 88

IS IT I?

By Phillips Brooks

"And as they did eat, Jesus said, Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me. And they were exceeding sorrowful, and began every one of them to say unto Him, Lord, is it I?"-Matt. xxvi. 21, 22.

It was a moment of dismay among the disciples of Jesus. Their Master, sitting with them at the supper, had just declared that one of them should commit an act of the basest treachery and betray Him to His enemies. There could be no deed more contemptible. Every obligation of duty and affection was violated by it. One who stood by, in the rude upper chamber where they ate the supper, might well have watched with curiosity to see how these plain men would take the words of Jesus. Will they break out in indignant remonstrance? Will they fall to accusing one another? Will each draw back from his brother apostle in horror at the thought that possibly that brother apostle is the man who is to do this dreadful thing? Instead of these, there is a different result from either, and one that certainly surprises us. Each man's anxiety seems to be turned, not towards his brother, but towards himself, and you hear them asking, one after another, "Lord, is it I?” "Lord, is it I?" Peter, Bartholomew, John, James, Thomas, each speaks for himself, and the quick questions come pouring in out of their simple hearts, "Lord, is it I?" "Lord, is it I?"

Certainly there is something that is strange in this. These men were genuine. There could not be any affectation in their question. A real live fear came over them at Jesus's prophecy. And it was a good sign,

PHILLIPS BROOKS. Born at Boston, Mass., December 13, 1835; died at Boston, Mass., January 23, 1893; educated at Harvard University and at the Episcopal Theological Seminary at Alexandria, Va.; ordained Deacon in the Episcopal Church in 1859, and advanced to the priesthood a year or two later; from 1859 to 1862 he was rector of the Church of the Advent in Philadelphia; from 1862 to 1869 rector of the Church of the Holy Trinity at Philadelphia; rector of Trinity Church, Boston, Mass., 1869-1891; Bishop of Massachusetts, 1891