PROCEEDINGS

OF THE

MAINE HISTORICAL SOCIETY.

EVENING SESSION, DECEMBER 23, 1882.

In the evening the hall of the Society was well filled by the friends and admirers of Professor Alpheus Spring Packard, who had assembled to do him honor on his eighty-fourth birthday, and a little later he entered, accompanied by Hon. J. W. Bradbury and E. H. Elwell, Esq., and was enthusiastically received. All present gladly noted his vigorous walk, erect carriage and wonderful freedom from decrepitude.

The meeting was called to order by Hon. J. W. Bradbury, President of the Society, who spoke as follows:

MR. BRADBURY'S REMARKS.

Members of the Historical Society:

We have assembled this evening to testify our regard for, and tender our congratulations to, a revered associate, the oldest living member of our Society, for many years its secretary and librarian, and always devoted to its interests, who has by the favor of a kind Providence reached in almost unabated vigor his fourscore and four years, sixty-four of which have been given, without interruption, to the noble occupation of teacher in the oldest and most distinguished college in our State.

The great Roman orator, after filling the highest positions at the bar, in the forum and in the councils of the nation, and enjoying a life-long experience in these exalted stations, took occasion to leave on record, in one of the most carefully considered productions of his pen, his estimate of the services of the teacher.

"It is certain," he says, "there cannot be a more important or a more honorable occupation than to train the rising generation, and instruct them in the duties to which they may be hereafter called."

The most illustrious philosophers whose names have come down to us from antiquity spent much of their time in instructing the young in reasoning, knowledge and virtue. Socrates, Plato and Aristotle were teachers. Nearly five centuries before the Christian era, Socrates had his pupils who attended daily upon his instruction, and he deemed it the most solid reward to form a virtuous character, and make his pupils his affectionate friends. Plato, one of his disciples, attained to such excellence that it was said of him by Cicero, that were Jupiter to converse in the language of men he would express himself in Plato's

phrase. Aristotle, Plato's most illustrious pupil, who ruled the intellectual world for centuries, was a teacher for many years in the Lyceum, and Alexander the Great owed his education to him.

Our respected and revered associate has made his life a grand success in devoting it to this noble calling. Dr. Packard has been so long identified with Bowdoin College that his history is largely that of the college itself. He entered it as a student in 1812, was graduated in 1816, elected tutor in 1819, a professor in 1825, and has continued uninterruptedly a member of the faculty of instruction to the present time. The first class was graduated in 1806, only six years prior to his entry, and of nineteen hundred and ninety-four graduates from this institution, whose names are upon the catalogue (not including our twelve hundred and fifty medical students, many of whom have done honor to the State), to which are to be added those who did not complete their college course, all save one hundred and twelve, making more than nineteen hundred young men, have gone forth from these classic halls, after sharing his instruction. How many have been aided and strengthened in their preparation for the great battle of life by his teaching, counsels and example. I am aware of the instinctive delicacy that shrinks from any personal allusion, but our respected friend must permit me to say, as one of the number, in behalf of the rest as well as of myself, that we always found in him the faithful teacher, the kind friend, the Christian gentleman, who pointed out the path of duty and showed us how to walk therein, and that on leaving our Alma Mater we carried with us and have ever cherished for him sentiments of affection and regard. Teacher of teachers, long may he be spared, by his words and his life to instruct and to guide, realizing that the work he has begun is going forward, that his influence will continue to extend in an increasing circle after all who have listened to his voice shall have passed away.

I will no longer delay you, as it is to others you will have the pleasure of listening. It is enough to have deserved the encomium of our own illustrious poet,

Honor and reverence, and good repute
That follows faithful service as its fruit,

Be unto him, whom living we salute.

At the conclusion of Mr. Bradbury's remarks, James Phinney Baxter, Esq., read a poem, written by him for the occasion, as follows:

GREETING TO THE MENTOR.

Hail, Sage revered! all hail! We, poor of speech,
Greet thee, O Mentor of our laureate!

Though hardly may our voices overreach

A day's brief space, our love for thee is great;
For, in the way which led to Fame's fair gate,
Thou wert the first to set his feet untried;
The first his youthful steps to guard and guide.

It was but yesterday we crowned him here
With leaves he cherished more than leaves of bay;
Since they had grown within the woods so dear
To his lost youth, when all the future lay
In blade and bud, fair as a field in May;
Not hinting of the sheaves so dry and sere,
Experience soon must reap with many a tear.

We greet thee from our hearts: yet, well we know
Not as the Master skilled in speech would greet
His well-loved Mentor, were he here, but now,
To look upon thy face, and voice each beat
Of our full hearts; for on our lips no heat
Hath any coal from Song's high altar shed,
Nor through our veins the inspiring ichor sped.

But, gentle teacher, though we may not bring
To thee the tribute of inspiréd song;

We fain would cheer thee with such words as spring

To verbal life and dissonantly throng

On our rude lips; so, as we halt along,

An antique story we to thee will tell

Of one who in great Athens once might dwell.

Upon a golden Summer's afternoon,

When birds trilled in the hedges, and the bees Hummed to the drowsy flowers one changeless tune,

A man of aspect grave, like one who sees,

Or strives to see,, things men call mysteries,
Walked toward the Agora with troubled face,
As he would solve a riddle hard to trace.

Into the Agora, this moody wight

Wandered like one distraught, what time the crowd Thronged toward the Pnyx, to catch, if so they might, Some drops of wisdom from the surcharged cloud

Of eloquence, which soon would burst aloud

From the impassioned lips of Pericles,
Pride of a day, he swayed with Jovean ease.

He heard the plaudits of the throng, and saw
Their idol stalk along with helmèd head;
As was his wont in time of peace or war;
Yet went not with them; but in silence fed
Upon his thoughts, until his feet were led
Where the grand Stoa of Basileius frowned,
With statues of immortal heroes crowned.

He passed the Eleutherius, where the art
Of that bright age had limned for all to see
Such things as stir within the human heart
Heroic chords, yet cried he bitterly,

These, who so grandly wrought, were but like me,
Yet, now, they are as gods in all men's eyes,
Like that man in the Pnyx who thunders lies.

The temple of Apollo passed he by,--
The Tholus,-Aphrodite's temple fair,-
And drew the altar of the gods anigh,
Where heroes, glorious beyond compare,
In marble seemed to breathe the common air.
On these he fixed awhile his eager gaze,
Muttering his thoughts like one in sore amaze.

"These men once walked like me the sluggish Earth,
Felt, thought, loved, hated, laughed and wept like me,
Yet reign now as the gods above the dearth
Of dread oblivion, whilst I, seeming free,
Go with the human flock, which stupidly
Trots to the shambles of forgetfulness,
Without a luring bait or smooth caress.

"It shall not be! I, too, will climb the height
Where Fame's high house forever brightly beams,
And stand amidst the great ones, though I blight
The hopes of lesser men. No more of dreams!
No more of struggling with what only seems!
For I will carve a way to Fame's high seat,
Through weal and woe; through triumph and defeat."

So, casting off his troubled look, he strode,
Like one who hath awaked from some strange spell,
Toward the Acropolis, while past him flowed
The reflux tide of men with mighty swell
Into the market place,-and, when night fell,
Crouching a statue's creeping shade within,
He planned the course to-morrow should begin.

About the Virgin's chamber, Artemis
From her white crescent shed a chilling light;
And one by one the listening ear would miss
A wonted sound, until the waning night
Lapsed into such deep silence, that a flight
Of heavenly wings had not seemed strange to hear,
Nor sight of ghostly face awakened fear.

When, suddenly before the musing wight
All intervening things dissolved in air;
And beamed in splendor to his dazzled sight
The statue of Athena passing fair,

A stylus blazing like a star she bare,

And on a tablet was about to write

The names which Fame had bruited left and right.

Then came a wondrous vision of the kings,
Who once had swayed the world, in rich array,—
Purple and scarlet; gems and golden rings;
They glittered past him in a pageant gay
Glorious to look upon with eyes of clay.
Surely these mighty ones must at the head
Of great Athena's list be placed," he said.

But, looking on them with sad, searching eye,
She shook her head and murmured, "Ah! not these,
Whom the gods set o'er men, that they through wise
And godlike acts, might lift them through degrees
Of growth to nobler living; for to please

Their baser selves, they scorned the common weal
And crushed men with Oppression's cruel heel."

So passed Earth's rulers; and each august name
She wrote far down upon the eternal page;
When lo! another splendid vision came
In warlike guise, great heroes, who the gage
Oft at Death's feet had cast in noble rage,-
All who through strife Fame had exalted high,
Swept, even like the gods, triumphant by.

'Ah!” cried the dreamer, "Here my lot I cast
With these triumphant ones, whose deeds of might
Dazzled the world:" but, as they proudly passed,
He saw the wise Athena sadly write

Their names low down the page in lines of light,
And, writing, said, "Great opportunities
To serve their fellows the gods gave to these.

“'Twas theirs the rights of weaker men to guard,
And, by preserving peace, promote their weal,
But the gods' purposes they proudly marred
And, fostering strife, bound nations to the wheel
Of wasting war, with chains more strong than steel,
That they might feast upon that joy unknown
To men whom noisy Fame forgets to own."