Again, they must be taught. They have, yet, only, begun to learn. Scarcely, indeed, know how. What an enterprise, to teach a mind to think! To bring out its facul ties. To develope its capacities. To excite its attention. To direct its observation. To quicken its imagination. To strengthen its memory. To secure self-reliance, without self-conceit. To secure boldness, without rashness. To diversify, without diffuseness. To be thorough; and not fatigue. To exert; and not overtask. To store; and not to overload. To keep the powers of mind, in their just equilibrium. Not to engage the reasoning faculty, to the neglect of the imagination. Not to cultivate the memory, at the expense of the judgment. To allow for peculiarity of taste; without over-indulgence. To insist on sacrifices of inclination; and not break the spirit. What a thing it is, to teach! How responsible! How difficult! How perplexing! How exhausting! Can it be done, but in a mother's spirit? How it tasks, even a mother's heart! Is there another figure, that can represent it all, so well-its weariness, its watching, its anxiety, its never-endingness-as that, which is expressed, in ALMA MATER, a nursing mother.

And, still, the work is, but begun. There is a heart, to care for. And, a heart, averse to holiness. And, so, incapable of happiness. And it is not teaching, that can touch the heart. Nor learning, that can lead to virtue. Nor knowledge, that can help to heaven. A moral training must be exercised. A spiritual discipline must be exerted. There must be gracious in

fluences, at work. And, a godly example, presented. And, the word of God must be applied. And, the means of grace must be employed. And, prayer must wrestle, with the Lord. And, there must be utmost patience, and constant perseverance, and unfaltering hope, and unbounded and unfailing charity. See, how the blessed Jesus laboured, for the souls of men! How He pursued them, wearily, from day to day! How He lavished His miracles, upon them! How He urged them with such words, as no man ever spake! How He fasted! How He watched! How He prayed! How He wept! How He agonized! How He bled! Then, see, how carefully He put the souls of men, in trust. His last words, the commission to His Apostles, to " go, teach all nations." His last injunction, to St. Peter, to feed His lambs. His last promise, the gift of His Holy Spirit, to be the Comforter and Sanctifier of the faithful. With what toil and suffering, did the Twelve pursue their trust. In what tears of saints, were the foundations of the Church, first, laid! What blood of Martyrs has cemented them! What privations have been met! What persecutions suffered! What dungeons closed! What scaffolds framed! What fagots fired! And the thing, which has been, is; and is to be. Souls, for which Jesus died, must, still, be wept over; must, still, be yearned upon; must, still, be agonized for; must, still, be saved, through blood. And, kindred, with these toils and pangs, this sweat, these tears, these wounds, must their experience be, who undertake, for Christ, the nurture of His lambs.

The mother's love, that groaned them, into life, must still be tasked; that their new birth, through the new life of penitence, may not be disinherited of its immortal

crown.

Neighbours and friends, I have but hinted at the self-denial, and self-abandonment, and self-crucifixion, which it requires, to be the nursing Mother of immortal souls. We undervalue the difficulty of our salvation. We forget what He said, of the short and narrow way. We forget what He said, of the "few there be, that find it." What madness, to suppose, that, had there been any other way, for sinners, to be saved, the Almighty Father would have given His only Son, to die, for us! What folly, to believe, that, if there could have been salvation, in any other way, than through the Cross, that Blessed One, Who, in the Garden, shrunk and shivered at the cup, which He had mingled, for Himself, and would have had it pass from Him, would still have nailed Himself, upon it! What suicide of the immortal soul, to think, that, when all this is so, the gate of heaven can still be won, in self-indulgence and self-will; and many find the way, to it! Those stern convictions of the truth have been required, to warrant all, that has been done and suffered, that the Christian College, which invokes your prayers, to-day, might struggle, into life; and be the nursing Mother of young saints. Thank God, those toils, those tears, have not been all in vain! Thank God, the mother's heart is cheered, the mother's eyes are brightened, as

she counts His blessings, on her pains. This is but her seventh annual hearth-feast; and she has sent ten sons, to preach the glorious Gospel of the grace of God; and seven stand, waiting, to be sent. The Bar, the Healing Art, Commerce, Mechanics, Agriculture, occupy her children; scattered, as widely, as our vast Republic spreads. And, more than two-thirds of their number own, in the Eucharistic sacrament, the Lord, Who bought them, with His blood. Blessed and glorious overpayment of whatever such results could cost! Not even, to be crucified, with Christ, too much, for the travail, of such children; and the joy, over them, in Heaven. Welcome the worst, so His dear lambs be fed, and sinners saved, and His most glorious name more glorified!

My Children, from this shadowy sketch, of what, it is, to be a nursing Mother, to your souls, you can infer your duty, as her children. The standard, for the ALMA MATER, will be the measure, for the ALUMNI. How can you over-estimate her love? How can you over-value her devotion? How can you over-pay her toil? Instant, in season and out of season; in watchings, in fastings, in prayers; waiting on your unwillingness, bearing with your indifference, patient with your impatience; asking for nothing, but your improvement; caring for nothing, but your salvation: indulge the generous impulse of your hearts in recognition of these things, by your remembrance of her, in your prayers. And, not, to her, but to her children, who come after you, return her debt of love. With a true mother's

nature, she lives, but, for her offspring; and has no greater joy, than, that they "walk in truth." You leave her hearth, to-day; but, not, her heart. She will follow you, with blessings. She will pursue you, with her prayers. You shall live, forever, in her love. God bless you!

THE Eighth Baccalaureate Address (St. Michael and all Angels, A. D. 1857) is not reprinted here. Its subject was "A Christian Scholar, and a Christian Gentleman." It was a memorial of Warren Livingston, a member of the class of 1852; who, after graduating here, went to the University of Oxford; where he took his degree with honour; and returning to this country died in 1857. The address is not reprinted because it is almost wholly in the words of another, the Rev. Dr. Stubbs, Livingston's "admirable friend and Rector." I add the opening and the closing paragraphs.

THIS is the eighth Baccalaureate Address, at Burlington College. For the eighth time, the degree of Bachelor in Arts is conferred, to-day. To-day, for the eighth time, the garland, of the laurels, with its berries on, is laid on youthful brows. We send out, to the Church, and to the world, to-day, our eighth detachment of young scholars. God be with them; and bless them!

With a fond eye, my heart has followed them, wherever they have gone. To the North, to the South, to the East, to the West, they have borne the banner of their Alma Mater, with her blessing. Wherever I have heard of them, I have heard well of them. Already, they begin to make their mark. They are in Commerce. They are planters. They are at the Bar. They minister the healing art. They train and discipline the young. They feed the flock of Christ. Whatever they are doing, they do well. It is a scattered band. But I feel the beating of their hearts. It is true. And I am happy. I would have set my three and forty sons, two months ago, against their number, in all Christendom. But it could not always be so:

"There is no flock, however watched and tended,

But one dead lamb is there;

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair."