BY REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D.,
Superintendent of Instruction.

The season is over. The crowds have gone. The classic groves are again quiet. The silent lake lies by a silent shore, reflecting the lovely verdure of trees and terraces, and the deep blue of overarching heavens. The Temple, busy scene for all these weeks, is solitary now as a deserted abbey. The huge amphitheater with its capacious concave, its chairless orchestra and sealed up organ, seems awful in its vast emptiness, and sacred with haunting memories of eloquence and song, and of surging, enraptured, applauding multitudes. Palestine is deserted. Jerusalem is solitary. The waters of the Dead Sea have backed up until Jordan has far overflown its banks. The fountains have ceased their play, the electric light no more vies with moon and stars, the walks are well-nigh forsaken, and again in the primeval forest one walks alone, and undisturbed meditates in the temple of nature. One spot is doubly sacred since the crowds have gone. It is the Hall of Philosophy. In impressive majesty it crowns the hill. Its white columns present a fine contrast with the brown and gray trunks, and the now changing foliage of the trees in St. Paul’s Grove. The vesper song has ceased. The voices of query and counsel, raillery, jest and melody, are no more heard. The earnest souls who hither came with love and zeal, with hope and desire, have passed forth into a busy world, with memories not soon to be forgotten, joys never to be wholly extinguished, and resolutions which reach out towards the higher, larger plane of human aspiration, to find their end and crown in God.

There is to me an ineffable charm about this dear old Hall. In it nature dwells and God reigns. In it many a burdened soul has found in earnest thoughtfulness, freedom and rest. Many an unsyllabled vow, without human sign to mark it, has here brought peace and strength out of the silent but all-encompassing heavens, to prepare human souls for human and divine service in far away homes, and in coming days of struggle and sorrow. The most sacred center of the whole Chautauqua world is the “Hall in the Grove.” It is not far thence to heaven.

As I linger a few days in these silent and sacred sanctuaries after the multitudes have gone, to rest myself and prepare for severer duties out in the world, I think, of course, of the great and goodly company of readers and students in the C. L. S. C. over this and other lands, and I know you will receive a few words of advice that spring from the grasses and drop from the trees, and steal out of the silences as enthusiasm turns a listening ear to what the unembodied spirit of Chautauqua may say to the sons and daughters of Chautauqua everywhere.

1. First of all let me say that enthusiasm, enkindled by solemn services such as we have here enjoyed, needs to be incarnated and exercised in plain, straight-forward, everyday doing through the whole year. Songs and raptures, longings and covenants, must be transformed into heroisms of a plain and practical type in the unsentimental and homely fields to which stern duty may lead us. The Chautauqua fervor must become fidelity. The Hall of Philosophy must help shop, kitchen, school-room and parlor. Emotion must go into motive and muscle. Songs in August must make sinews for October and May.

2. Our work must be more regular and steady. Spasmodic reading “to catch up” are not as useful as everyday readings with plenty of time to think over what one has read. System demands will-power. In resoluteness is discipline. We retain and appropriate more effectually what we read without a sense of hurry. A feeling of regret and of anxiety must hinder the best action of mind. Therefore let us get into the way of doing a little every day. Overcome the apparent or real difficulty in your way. Resolve and then work your resolve, until it is worked out into action. Make up your mind to this and keep it made up.

3. Don’t wait for local circles to be organized. Be your own local circle till others become a part of you. Don’t regulate your life by the plans, purposes, or whims of your neighbors. Be, and let your simple being stir up other people to be and to do.

4. Go after other people. Talk to them. Tell them what this C. L. S. C. movement means. Put “circulars” in their way. Send messages and ambassadors to them. Don’t “bore” them exactly, but bear on them till they at least examine the claims of the C. L. S. C.

“Day is dying in the West,” and it is time for closing words. Very soon autumn leaves will strew the ground, and very soon the glory of autumn will be hidden by the crystal splendors of winter. The blessed reunions of this summer will have passed into history, and our scattered fraternity be engaged in the conflicts of this weary and busy, but after all, glorious world. In the strife and the weariness and the work let us remember every inspiring service of the past, and gather strength also from our look of faith into the future, the future that is nearest, and the future that is very far off—a future in which we shall be the glad children of a good Father—that father a great King, and that King immortal, invisible, eternal, who has wonderful things for us which one day he will give to us when he gives to us himself.

Chautauqua, September, 1884.