The second division was that of ``Formative Ideas''; and under these--First, equality between different courses of study. In this I especially developed ideas which had occurred to me as far back as my observations after graduation at Yale, where the classical students belonging to the ``college proper'' were given a sort of supremacy, and scientific students relegated to a separate institution at considerable distance, and therefore deprived of much general, and even special, culture which would have greatly benefited them. Indeed, they seemed not considered as having any souls to be saved, since no provision was made for them at the college chapel. Second, increased development of scientific studies. The third main division was that of ``Governmental Ideas''; and under these--First, ``the regular and frequent infusion of new life into the governing board.'' Here a system at that time entirely new in the United States was proposed. Instead of the usual life tenure of trustees, their term was made five years and they were to be chosen by ballot. Secondly, it was required that as soon as the graduates of the university numbered fifty they should select one trustee each year, thus giving the alumni one third of the whole number elected. Third, there was to be a system of self-government administered by the students themselves. As to this third point, I must frankly confess that my ideas were vague, unformed, and finally changed by the logic of events. As the fourth and final main division, I presented ``Permeating Ideas''; and of these--First, the development of the individual man in all his nature, in all his powers, as a being intellectual, moral, and religious.
Secondly, bringing the powers of the man thus developed to bear usefully upon society.
In conclusion, I alluded to two groups of ``Eliminated Ideas,'' the first of these being the ``Ideas of the Pedants,''
and the second the ``Ideas of the Philistines.'' As to the former, I took pains to guard the institution from those who, in the higher education, substitute dates for history, gerund-grinding for literature, and formulas for science;as to the latter, I sought to guard it from the men to whom ``Gain is God, and Gunnybags his Prophet.''
At the close, referring to Mr. Cornell, who had been too weak to stand while delivering his speech, and who was at that moment sitting near me, I alluded to his noble plans and to the opposition, misrepresentation, and obloquy he had met thus far, and in doing so turned toward him. The sight of him, as he thus sat, looking so weak, so weary, so broken, for a few moments utterly incapacitated me. Iwas myself, at the time, in but little better condition than he; and as there rushed into my mind memories of the previous ten days at his house, when I had heard him groaning in pain through almost every night, it flashed upon me how utterly hopeless was the university without his support. My voice faltered; I could for a moment say no-thing; then came a revulsion. I asked myself, ``What will this great audience think of us?'' How will our enemies, some of whom I see scattered about the audience, exult over this faltering at the outset! A feeling of shame came over me; but just at that moment I saw two or three strong men from different parts of the State, among them my old friend Mr. Sedgwick of Syracuse, in the audience, and Mr.
Sage and Mr. McGraw among the trustees, evidently affected by my allusion to the obloquy and injustice which Mr. Cornell had met thus far. This roused me. But I could no longer read; I laid my manuscript aside and gave the ending in words which occurred to me as Istood then and there. They were faltering and inadequate;but I felt that the vast majority in that audience, representing all parts of our commonwealth, were with us, and I asked nothing more.
In the afternoon came exercises at the university grounds. The chime of nine bells which Miss Jenny McGraw had presented to us had been temporarily hung in a wooden tower placed very near the spot where now stands the porch of the library; and, before the bells were rung for the first time, a presentation address was delivered by Mr. Francis Miles Finch, since justice of the Court of Appeals of the State and dean of the University Law School; and this was followed by addresses from the superintendent of public instruction, and from our non-resident professors Agassiz and George William Curtis.
Having again been taken out of bed and wrapped up carefully, I was carried up the hill to hear them. All the speeches were fine; but, just at the close, Curtis burst into a peroration which, in my weak physical condition, utterly unmanned me. He compared the new university to a newly launched ship--``all its sails set, its rigging full and complete from stem to stern, its crew embarked, its passengers on board; and,'' he added, ``even while I speak to you, even while this autumn sun sets in the west, the ship begins to glide over the waves, it goes forth rejoicing, every stitch of canvas spread, all its colors flying, its bells ringing, its heart-strings beating with hope and joy; and I say, God bless the ship, God bless the builder, God bless the chosen captain, God bless the crew, and, gentlemen undergraduates, may God bless all the passengers!''
The audience applauded; the chimes burst merrily forth; but my heart sank within me. A feeling of ``goneness''
came over me. Curtis's simile was so perfect that I felt myself indeed on the deck of the ship, but not so much in the character of its ``chosen captain'' as of a seasick passenger. There was indeed reason for qualmish feelings.
