It affords me much pleasure to greet you this evening, and, on behalf of my classmates, to extend to all a sincere and hearty welcome.
No presence is more inspiring than that manifested in the attendance of friends at such exercises as these. Truly it is a deep source of gratification to us, for, as we gaze into the many kindly faces before us, we are conscious that it is unqualified evidence of the loyal interest taken in our work, and a full appreciation of our past efforts.
We welcome you, gentlemen, representatives of the Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen, for, not only desirous of granting us every opportunity to acquire a knowledge of stenography, without expense, you go still further and lend us your presence, which dignifies and adds grace to this happy occasion.We, in return, express our cordial obligations for your favors and philanthropy.
We welcome Mr. Mason, our faithful teacher, and give him heartfelt thanks for his kindness to us as pupils, and the earnest attention he has shown in conducting the school work. We can truthfully say that the success of the class in their studies is due solely to the skill of his instruction.
When we entered upon the inception of our task about eight months ago, contemplation of such a tedious study as stenography had made us somewhat apprehensive of successful consequences, and when, subsequently, we beheld so many curious marks, hooks, loops, spirals and disjointed straights, then, indeed, did alarm seize upon and almost terrorize us. How could we accomplish such an arduous undertaking? We pondered the subject long and well, and, as in all such matters, a solution was arrived at. You will doubtless not be surprised when I say it was application—yes, application, with hard, earnest study as a relative concomitant, which solved the problem. This was the beginning, an auspicious one, you must admit, because, having unraveled the chief skein of difficulty, it seemed to imbue us with increased confidence, and study we did, with intensefervor and earnestness. Thus it continued. Not a careless and desultory endeavor, but one of energetic determination and indefatigable zeal. “Festina Lente,” as the old Romans were wont to say,—“Make haste slowly,”—was our motto, as little by little we gained in acquisition. The curious little dots and dashes which at first seemed so strange and mysterious, soon lost their mystery and ere long a simple acquaintance with them had ripened into a desirable familiarity. The same success attended our efforts at the typewriter. The irregular and heavy sounds which first greeted the ear of the learner, have lost their harshness, and in their turn, as nimble fingers lightly touch the enameled keys, the regularity of the merry ticks, broken only by the gentle ring of the silvery bell, as the cross-bar passes from side to side, partakes almost of melody.
Such has been the past, and to-night the conferring of many diplomas will convince you that our labor has not been in vain. Stenography as a study is not really difficult. The cardinal requisite is practice. Leave the rest to time and the result will not be disappointing. Since those who have studied here this Winter expect to use the knowledge acquired as a means of subsistence, it is a comfortingreflection that we can thus earn a livelihood in such a satisfactory and congenial manner, especially when bearing in mind that the majority of young women, who toil in this great metropolis, are constrained to pass long and dreary hours at work which is far less lucrative and much more debilitating and unhealthy. Again, the study of stenography requires constant and critical attention, thereby strengthening the mind and doing away with idle day-dreaming. Mental perception is rendered more acute, as rapid yet steady thinking is continually demanded.
So, after all, now that the labors of the term are over, we may indeed feel satisfied and happy, assured that you are willing to endorse the satisfaction we feel at this happy outcome.
And now, thanking you for the considerate attention you have accorded these words of salutation, we trust that our programme will greatly please you; that at its conclusion you will be happy to offer heartiest congratulations to the Class of ’91.
Mr. Chairman, Ladies of the Class of ’91 and Friends: I almost feel as if I were one of the graduates of this institution, I have been here a number of years now. But one thing that puzzles me is how I should go to work to report these speeches, and, really, a moment or two ago I thought the young ladies were engaged in taking down the music. And I should not be surprised if they after a little while would be able to take music down stenographically and write it out on the typewriter and perhaps, by some modification of their skill, evolve it into tune again. I know that they can talk musically, because we just heard some beautiful music talked by one of them and I know that she is a representative of the class.
So I think that after all the only claim I have to representing this institution is the fact that I havebeen honored by being associated with the officers, and the teachers, and the graduates of this school a number of seasons in succession, and age is my only claim to honor, for I cannot write stenographically, although I can make some crooked marks, but I do not believe that anybody else could read them after they get cold, because I know I cannot myself. I can some of them, but I mean I cannot read them all. I feel particularly honored to-night upon being given a place upon the platform. I believe this is the very first occasion when the Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen have pushed out from their own ancient hall into the world to give a larger welcome to their constantly growing and most admirable and enviable constituents. I was wondering to-night how many of the young men and of the young women before me here had enjoyed the facilities of this institution in the times past. I am sure they would have to take a hall that would hold six or seven hundred people, who would fill it full just as this place is filled full, and to-night this is just as full as our old hall over home has been during the past five or six years. We should fill anything because if our friends know they can come and get away alive, they will come, but if they think they are going tosweat nearly to death, and be crushed to death, possibly there will a great many of them stay away.
I want to congratulate these young ladies. There is one matter that was referred to in the salutatory this evening,—there is one aspect of your work and of your success to-night that strikes me. Happy is the institution that puts a class of fifty young ladies year after year into the position which those young ladies occupy who have finished their course, and to-night are to receive their diplomas. Oh, I do not wonder, after what I know about life in New York City, and life among women and girls, that your doors are crowded every fall and that you have two, and three, and four times the applicants for the facilities and opportunities of the school that you can possibly accommodate. I do not wonder at it. Why I know a woman 36 years of age with four children whom she is trying to support, and who works eleven hours a day for six days of the week, and barely makes an average of sixty cents a day, and on Saturday night gets six times six or thirty-six,—$3.60 for her week’s toil, and she has been at it till eleven at night, starting soon after six in the morning. Just think of a story like that. Oh, girls, I will call you girls; young ladies, if you had rather be called youngladies, I pray you never forget the sisters and the mothers who are toiling like this. They were just as bright girls, and just as brave girls when they were girls as you are now, and yet life has crowded them down, and I do not know how we are to lift them up, but, by a tremendous concentration of all of our consciences and all our powers, which shall make a public sentiment, that shall look into the sweaters’ hells as much as it looks into the factories, and into the stores, and establishments of men who do not mean to be cruel or more cruel than you are, and I should be, but who, in the tussle and competition of life, are led to take part in a system which is sweating and destroying life which is as brave and worthy as any of theirs. I wish to create a public opinion which shall make these exigencies of toil impossible in our modern life. You and I must do something not only to lift ourselves up, but to help some one else to climb the ladder to better conditions than otherwise they will be led to, and I congratulate you that you have climbed the ladder and have climbed to a better height than that. This institution just helps you all where your future is secure. Do I say too much? Oh! no, daughters and sisters, mind, thisinstitution has helped you to the place where your future is secure. Nothing can take the place of toil. Nothing can take the place of work. The Emperor Severus, when he lay dying at the foot of the Grampian Hills in the old town of York, a stranger who had taken him from the field turned to the men about him, and making a little address emphasized his last words over and over again, saying, “Laboramus, laboramus, laboramus!” We must work, we must work, we must work, he said, and what was true of the Emperor of Rome cannot be untrue of us; is just as true of all. There is nothing done without work, work, work. But you will work. You mean to work. You came here because you were determined to work. You have been working over hours and overtime. You have been overworked some of you, just to get the facilities which this institution and this blessed year of grace can give to you, and you will do it. I know you will be true. It is not for me to repeat what Mr. Barratt said. I know that he told the truth when he said that one of the essential things is fidelity to the confidences which come into your position, through the relation you sustain to your superiors, your employers and your principals.
I know that that is true. I know, too, another thing, and that is, that there will be times when you will feel tired-headed and wish you could rest. Did you ever read about Charles Lamb? You know what beautiful things Charles Lamb wrote. Some of you have read the jolly story of how roast pig was discovered by the young Chinaman. You have read that, and if you ever want a good laugh some time get the essays of Elia and turn to the paper on roast pig, and read it, and you will enjoy it immensely. At last Charles Lamb was released from his duties in the India office, he went home and wrote a letter and said to his friend,—he was so excited with the fact that now he was free,—he said, “For £10,000 I would not labor ten years longer in that old India office. The best thing anybody can do is nothing, and next to nothing, perhaps, go to work.” And he went out to do nothing. He had nothing more to do. Two years after that he says, “Any work is a hundred times better than no work at all. The sun looks down on no forlorner creature than me with nothing to do.”
Toil is necessary, labor is necessary for our happiness, as well as our prosperity. ButI do not want you to overwork, and I believe you do wrong when you do. Just for a little while, while you are getting this knowledge, you must be willing perhaps to overwork; do not overwork, do not overstrain yourself. You can break your brains as easily as you can your back, and every now and then you hear of some young fellow who breaks his back. Don’t break your back, and your neck, and your brain, and don’t forget, just for the sake of getting ahead a little faster and making a little more money. Remember that your life and happiness are worth more than a few dollars. I say that because I know that some of you would be tempted to overwork, but I want to say alongside of it, another thing that I believe you cannot forget, and that is this, that there is an element in true life and in true service which dollars do not pay for. There is an element that is higher and finer which we usually think of when we think of the faithful performance of our work, the work allotted to us and the faithful keeping of business secrets that are intrusted to us. There is something finer than that. It would be supposed that the men of the learned profession were the men who work for something beside money. The doctor must respond to a callno matter whether it comes from the poorest home, or the richest home. There is something in the professional relation to society that lifts a man up to a point where he dare not work simply for money. The minister must go, and it makes no difference where the call comes from or what time of the night or day a call comes, and he goes without asking anything about what is to return to him. The lawyer will stand up in court and take a case and plead for it, when there is not a single shilling to come into his hands, because the task is assigned to him. He is a servant of civilized society. So is the medicine man. And it used to be supposed that only professional men were the servants of society, in this high sense that takes them out from a mere consideration of gain. That used to be supposed. But they will not be able to monopolize this high idea. The doctors, and lawyers, and ministers in that respect are just like the rest of you. There is a point for which money cannot be paid you, nor the lack of money release you, it is the putting of your heart into your work, the putting of your interest into your work, the putting of your words into your work, and doing your work not simply as long as men’seyes are on you, but doing your work faithfully, to the best of your ability, as long as you receive a man’s money and as long as you hold relations of obligation to him. There is that which money does not pay for. There is that element of the highest profession in all services, whether it be a woman with the needle or a typewriter, or whether it be the stenographer, or whether it be the mechanic in the house,—if he does his work as he ought to do it he will put something into it that he does not expect to be paid for. He will put something into it for which he is to be paid in the improved condition of life and the benefit that he has done to humanity. Humanity is to pay him, and not his employer, not in gold but in goodness, in virtue, in worthy services, he is to get his pay. Put your heart into your work. Join the learned professions, if you please, by being not only true and faithful but by being hearty and conscientious and faithful at every point in your business life.
And now I have said all that I ought to say but I cannot avoid saying that one word more. You remember when Sir Walter Scott lay dying, he called his son-in-law to his bedside and said, “I may not have a minute or two in which to speak toyou my dear, be virtuous, be religious, be a good man. Nothing else will be any comfort to you when you are lying where I am lying now.”
Be virtuous, be religious. Be good women always and bless your associates. Be faithful in your accomplishments. Be useful in your services. Be proud of every achievement that you can make, but above all fear God and in this way live close to the Christ himself who lived not for what should come to Him, but for the blessing which should come to the worthy.
From the time of the creation to the present day, everything that has ever existed has had a history. Every leaf and tree and blooming flower, each have theirs; that sky-lark soaring high in the sunny blue sky has a history, and, as it pours forth a sweet melody, how the air vibrates with the gladsome song! Even that tiny spray of hare-bells clinging tenaciously to a cleft in the rugged rocks, over which the foaming mountain torrent leaps and dashes, has its own little history. So has the torrent itself. It began away back among the snow-capped hills, and at first was only a tiny stream, but, joined by other courses, and swollen with the melting snows and spring rains, it has become a foaming, dashing mountain stream, plunging headlong over rocks and forming many a pretty cascade and sparkling waterfall. Now it runs deeply and swiftly through somedark cañon, and now, emerging into broad sunlight, and flowing peacefully through green meadows, it gives refreshment to the ferns and rushes along its banks, and to many a little songster. So it flows on and on until it reaches the friendly arms of the sea, outstretched to receive it.
The Class of ’91 is no exception to the general rule which governs all Nature. The history of this class began last October; it is thus just eight months old. Its diet up to the present time has consisted chiefly of Phonographic outlines, well seasoned and flavored with vowels and grammalogues, and served á la Pitman. And, in the words of Abraham Lincoln, we say, “For those who like that kind of diet, why it’s just the kind of diet they like.”
From the time of the commencement of the class, we have been climbing, climbing, up the steep and rugged paths of Phonography. We began our ascent from the base, and while traveling up the foot-hills, our guide explained to us something of the nature of the ascent, and brought us into contact with some very amusing incidents.
The road for the most part was straight, but as we progressed we found ourselves following our guide around curves, and sometimes even aroundand around in circles. At first we looked about us a good deal, thought it would not be so very hard climbing after all, and so gradually accustomed ourselves to it. We found that we could accomplish more and more each day, and the higher we climbed the more invigorating grew the air.
One day we had been toiling up a long steep hill which some one suggested was like the Hill Difficulty. We struggled up its steep sides, weary and travel-stained, discouraged, but not ready to give up, and at each step plunging in our mountain canes, which were black, sharpened at both ends, and labeled “Faber No. 2.” Soon we heard a cheery halloa, and looking up saw a tiny little man standing at the top of a hill. “That’s Mr. Try,” said our guide, “he is one of the best people in this mountain. If any one is in trouble, wearied, discouraged, and just about to give up, then is the time you may depend on Try. He comes with words of consolation, and with his bright cheery talk so convinces his poor broken down fellow-beings of future success, that they get up and begin to depend on ‘Try again.’”
Soon we began to notice signs on the trees along our road. One was, “Wash tubs and window-sash, vinegar, putty, pails and glass.” Another, “Two boysto let for the Summer.” This was interesting, and we hurried along in hopes of seeing the author of these strange signs, for our guide told us he was the queerest man in that section of the country. Soon we came to his house and found it fairly bristling with signs. Curiosity overcame us and we stopped in and asked for a drink of water. The object of our curiosity was leaning his elbow on the mantel. He had long hair and was greatly stooped. We found his wife very talkative, and when she found out who we were, began to tell us about the Deed of their Property. “When we were married,” she began in a high nasal voice, “Chauncy’s father gave him a clear title to this place; and after Chauncy’s death it is to go back to the old homestead again.” Then she took us through his work-shop where he manufactured the articles displayed on his signs.
Next we came across another dwarf, just the opposite of Try, our guide said. He was always up to some sort of mischief, and his greatest delight was to get other people into trouble. The country people had long wished to be rid of him but he had a long lease of his house and he meant to stay there. He was a homely little elf, with bright red hair, a slight squint in one eye and a wart on his nose. If a lesson hadnot been prepared, this fellow, who was called “I Forgot,” was sure to be on hand in time to whisper into the ear of the culprit, “Say ‘I Didn’t Think’ or ‘I Forgot,’” and the minute she opened her mouth, out it would come and then the wicked elf would “fold his tent like the Arabs and silently steal away” to parts unknown, with a fiendish grin on his ugly little face leaving his dejected victim to receive a well-merited rebuke for carelessness. This dwarf followed us for many days, but heeding the repeated warnings of our guide, most of us at length learned to distrust him and turn a deaf ear to his excuses. Thus we struggled on and on up the steep sides of the mountain, and at the close of each day, we realized that, “Something attempted, something done, had gained a night’s repose,” for us, although we didn’t always get it.
And now we were nearing the end of our journey, our hopes ran high and we kept our eyes upward toward the summit. The obstacles which had continually beset our path had been overcome, and we could say like the Irishman, who, on capturing three prisoners in the late war, was asked how he secured them: “Indade, sir,” replied he with a knowing wink, “it’s meself that surrounded them, sir.”
At last we reach our destination in time to just view the sunrise. The grass is green, the flowers are all in bloom, Spring is here. The faint gray streaks of the dawn are in the sky and soon the whole East is suffused with a roseate flush. There is a hush of expectancy in the air, the breeze is soft, the birds are twittering drowsily in the tree-tops, and then in a flood of golden splendor “the morning sun comes peeping over the hills.” Instantly all nature is alive, the birds pour forth their sweet melodies, the drowsy hum of the bees floats lazily on the air; there is a pleasant rustling among the tall swaying pines. Dew-drops glisten on the grass, the flowers nod gayly in the morning breeze, and we feel like singing:
“When the sun all gloriously comes forth from the ocean,Making earth beautiful, chasing shadows away,Thus do we offer Thee our prayers and devotions,God of the fatherless, guide us, guard us, to-day.”
“When the sun all gloriously comes forth from the ocean,Making earth beautiful, chasing shadows away,Thus do we offer Thee our prayers and devotions,God of the fatherless, guide us, guard us, to-day.”
The new day has begun, and we have witnessed one of the finest views in Nature’s kaleidoscope; for what could be more beautiful than the dawn! So are our lives just at this time. The air is full of hope and promise; so are we. We are just in the Springtime of our lives; our hopes, our aims,our aspirations are all as fresh and unsullied as the morn itself.
Now, in the dewy freshness of the early morning, we see that we are on a broad table-land, and not on the summit of the mountain as we had fondly hoped. We notice paths running in all directions,—some go straight to the top of the mountain, others stop at different places along the route. Only the future can decide which path each shall take. We have a grand field of labor before us, in this hill of knowledge which we have been traversing for the past eight months. There are still rich and undiscovered resources of knowledge, which, brought to the light, would make the art a perfect one and us perfect in it. Now it is time for us to separate. Some of the more ambitious of us will, by dint of hard and unremitting labor, reach the pinnacle of our hopes.
Others, less ambitious, will be content to spend their days in the peaceful valleys of quiet usefulness. But, before we separate, let us each resolve that we will never, by act or word, do anything which might reflect discredit on this Association, to the members of which we owe a debt of gratitude which we can never hope to repay except by doing our very best,and so bring honor upon those who have done so much for us and upon the Institution which they uphold.
The Class of ’91 is now like the waves of the sea:
On the bosom of the ocean,Dance the wavelet’s glittering band;With a slow and fairy motionMoving onward towards the land;But that reached, they burst and sever,Bound no more by beauty’s spell,Thus, we who have toiled together,The goal reached, must breathe farewell.
On the bosom of the ocean,Dance the wavelet’s glittering band;With a slow and fairy motionMoving onward towards the land;But that reached, they burst and sever,Bound no more by beauty’s spell,Thus, we who have toiled together,The goal reached, must breathe farewell.
Here endeth the simple annals of the Class of ’91.
We extend a hearty welcomeTo you all, both old and young,Who have come to aid in sending offThe Class of ’91.We beg you will be generousIn judging us to-night,See not the faults nor blunders,But keep the good in sight.This class you see united here,To-night will have to sever,But where to go, Ah! who can tell?And shall it be forever?Here, many a pleasant hour we’ve spent,But now we soon must part,And yet the lessons taught us hereShall dwell deep in each heart.In after years we’ll fondly thinkOf pleasant times gone by,And when we’re treading other paths,The memory’ll dim each eye.Our teachers we have sorely triedAs any one might see;At last they’ve succeeded in teaching us,Typewriting and Stenography.Oh, thanks to you, our faithful friends,For what you both have done,For firm, but kind you’ve always been,And patient with every one.These gentlemen deserve our thanks,For their goodness to us here,Your kindness we shall not forget,For many and many a year.May fortune on you ever smile,And blessings on you flow,This, this shall be our prayer for you,Wherever you may go.For many truly grateful hearts,You surely here may find,Who fully all your gifts esteemTo elevate the mind.Now, with best wishes to you all,On parting we’ll not dwell,But to our teachers, classmates, friendsWe’ll say, farewell, farewell.
We extend a hearty welcomeTo you all, both old and young,Who have come to aid in sending offThe Class of ’91.
We beg you will be generousIn judging us to-night,See not the faults nor blunders,But keep the good in sight.
This class you see united here,To-night will have to sever,But where to go, Ah! who can tell?And shall it be forever?
Here, many a pleasant hour we’ve spent,But now we soon must part,And yet the lessons taught us hereShall dwell deep in each heart.
In after years we’ll fondly thinkOf pleasant times gone by,And when we’re treading other paths,The memory’ll dim each eye.
Our teachers we have sorely triedAs any one might see;At last they’ve succeeded in teaching us,Typewriting and Stenography.
Oh, thanks to you, our faithful friends,For what you both have done,For firm, but kind you’ve always been,And patient with every one.
These gentlemen deserve our thanks,For their goodness to us here,Your kindness we shall not forget,For many and many a year.
May fortune on you ever smile,And blessings on you flow,This, this shall be our prayer for you,Wherever you may go.
For many truly grateful hearts,You surely here may find,Who fully all your gifts esteemTo elevate the mind.
Now, with best wishes to you all,On parting we’ll not dwell,But to our teachers, classmates, friendsWe’ll say, farewell, farewell.
Of course, it is not expected that the representatives of the School Committee will have very much to say. You have listened very attentively to all that has been already said, and I think that the ground has been still further covered in what has already been said. It may not be known to all present that this Society, merging community of interest at the time when the camp fires of the Revolution had just burned out, associated themselves together for mutual protection and for one another’s general good. It was to relieve the unfortunate, the widow and the orphan that brought together the great mechanic minds of the past, and all a-down the past century we can find that they have always been ready, always been anxious, always been willing to lend the hand of kindness and attention to thosewhom they found in need, to assist, to protect and to care for. Robinson, in one of his poems, has said, “Who will break the bread of sorrow? Who will give the cup of sympathy? Who breathe of sympathy to those who are suffering, and relieve with the cup of sympathy the sorrowing ones of earth?” I do not think I have quoted that exactly, but it has been the motto of this Society ever to protect those who needed their protection; to care for those who needed their care and their bounty, and to-night we find the result of this care and protection, in the graduates of the Class of ’90-’91. I leave this matter with you for reflection. We all know and realize what it is to be a member of the General Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen, and I, for one, am thankful to be able to say to you in hearty welcome and in hearty greeting that the evidences are now before you of the well-being, and the comfort, and the joy, and the happiness of the graduates of the Class of ’90-’91.
[A]Das ist im Leben haslich eingerichtet,Das Bei den Rosen gleich die Dornen stehn;Und was das arme Herz auch sehnt und dichtet,Zum Schlusse kommt das Voneinandergehen.
[A]Das ist im Leben haslich eingerichtet,Das Bei den Rosen gleich die Dornen stehn;Und was das arme Herz auch sehnt und dichtet,Zum Schlusse kommt das Voneinandergehen.
The words of the poet are but too true. What rose does not hold up its pretty, fragrant head, feigning unconsciousness of the thorns hidden beneath its bright, green leaves? And just so life’s joys are with its sorrows associated. There never was aperfectlyhappy day, unclouded as the skies of June, for every pleasure, inasmuch as it must end, carries with it some sadness—every meeting, the pain of parting.
So to-night the joyous echo of “welcome” is still to be heard, the fragrance of its roses is yet perceptible, when the solemn “Farewell” rings upon our ears and its thorns pierce our hearts.
Ruskin says, “It is a type of eternal truth that the soul’s armor is never well set to the heart, unless a woman’s hand has braced it, and it is only when she braces it loosely that the honor of manhood fails.” If then, the honor of the world is dependent upon woman, if she is to be responsible for all war and all peace, happiness or discontent, it behooves us to consider the greatness, amounting to almost awe, of the duty imposed upon us. Our task may, perhaps, be a difficult one, but not if we seize it with an unyielding grasp, and fight it to the bitter end—“to the last syllable of recorded time”—if need be.
Our circle of usefulness is constantly widening. The doors of colleges, and thus those of every profession, have opened to admit us within their sacred precincts. In all parts of the world our sisters are successful as musicians, painters, sculptors—Harriet Hosmer, for example—physicians, professors, stenographers. Many of them are now on the highest rounds of the ladders from which their lack of superior education formerly excluded them. This is especially true of stenography. Yet some one has recently written, that, owing to their superior tact in arrangement, their neatness, their unobtrusiveness,their faithfulness, and numerous other excellent qualities, the demand for women in this capacity is steadily increasing. We find them filling lucrative positions in banking, commercial and publishing houses; in brokers’ and insurance offices, in law firms, in fact, in every place where the haste of this nineteenth century requires a stenographer’s speed. Indeed, they have made for themselves, in the use of the “wingéd words,” a name which it is our duty to assist in more firmly establishing.
In behalf of my classmates, as well as for myself, I wish to thank our Instructor most cordially for his thorough teaching; for the interest he awakened in us toward this intricate art, without which we would have long since been compelled to cry “Vanquished;” for his timely assistance over the sharp pointed stones and by the brier bushes in the darkened forest, and for his patience which our forgetfulness so sorely tried. And, though our words of gratitude may be weak, the feeling is deep-rooted in our hearts, and through the years to come we shall carry with us many pleasant memories of the hours spent with him, and never fail to appreciate his more than kindness.
The neat typewritten exercises, letters and legaldocuments, which the members of the typewriting class have at different times shown us, are an earnest of the work done in that department, and we can have no doubt that his pupils feel grateful to their teacher.
The School Committee, indeed all the members of the G. S. M. & T., have our heartiest thanks for their kindness in enabling so many to gain a profession, and for the interest they have always manifested in our welfare.
One word of “Farewell” to my classmates: During the past Winter, while studying together, many of us have formed strong friendships, which we hope shall never decay, or have bound more closely those who were friends before. Several of the more fortunate have already obtained positions, making profitable use of the treasures received from our Instructor. But the others need not despair, for if we are faithful and determined we shall in due time receive our call, and “In quiet and in confidence shall be our strength,” perfection shall be our aim, and when we have reached the goal, may it be said of us, as Antony said of Brutus:
“Nature might stand up and say to all the world,‘This was a man.’”
“Nature might stand up and say to all the world,‘This was a man.’”
In our journey through life, when doubts fallthick and fast around us, and the lowering sky seems just above our heads, surely these beautiful words of Goethe will fill us with encouragement:
“Wouldst thou win desires unbounded?Yonder see the glory burn,Lightly is our life surrounded,Sleep’s a shell to scorn and spurn,When the crowd sways unbelieving,Slow the daring will that warns,He is crowned with all achievingWho perceives and then performs.”
“Wouldst thou win desires unbounded?Yonder see the glory burn,Lightly is our life surrounded,Sleep’s a shell to scorn and spurn,When the crowd sways unbelieving,Slow the daring will that warns,He is crowned with all achievingWho perceives and then performs.”
Know All Men By These Presents, that I, having departed this life, have received permission from Pluto, King of the Shades, to return to this world and make known to you, less fortunate mortals, your destiny. While lounging idly on the banks of the “River of Oblivion,” the sovereign of that sunless region permitted me to read in his “Book of Life.” Listlessly turning over the pages I saw a name in bold characters: “W. L. Mason, City, County and State of New York.” Then the pages began to turn of their own accord and the names of my former friends and acquaintances,inter alia, presented themselves in rapid succession.
Mary A. Moore and her husband; John Williamson; our well-known pugilistic friend, John L. Sullivan; a “hen-pecked” Bostonian, and others.
As I read a dim mist seemed to come from the river, causing the words to fade; bona fide pictures arose in their stead.
First.In the famous city of Kroy Wen, stood a large pagoda, on which was emblazoned the startling legend: “College of Stenography, W. L. Mason, President.” At this hour the college doors were open and within could be seen the bulletin of the staff; it was, the President, the right honorable W. L. Mason, D. D., assisted by his able corps of instructors, the professors Massie and Shaughnessy, the latter by their punctuality and the sweet temper of the former, being of the utmost assistance to him. Et signiture was the course.
First Term. Lecture on the Principles of Shorthand, together with practical lessons in disorder, untidiness, negligence, forgetfulness and carelessness, all thoroughly taught in three months more or less.Second Term. Practice in misapplying all that you have learned, with a view to writing as illegibly and slowly as possible.Third Term. Literature, the reading of Mother Goose Rhymes in shorthand, and the writing of dime novels for the literature of the 20th century.
First Term. Lecture on the Principles of Shorthand, together with practical lessons in disorder, untidiness, negligence, forgetfulness and carelessness, all thoroughly taught in three months more or less.
Second Term. Practice in misapplying all that you have learned, with a view to writing as illegibly and slowly as possible.
Third Term. Literature, the reading of Mother Goose Rhymes in shorthand, and the writing of dime novels for the literature of the 20th century.
The Right Honorable President, as hereinbeforementioned, is old and decrepit, unable to keep order in his classes, and therefore always carries with him a jumping rope, the handles of which he uses on the knuckles of his unruly pupils, while the rope itself brings to him recollections of his youthful days when it was used for the legitimate purpose for which it was manufactured.
Second.Now the panorama changes and shows a lady of medium height, fair, slight and happy. She walks through one of the crowded streets of Kroy Wen, handing to the passers by circulars which read as follows:
“To the People of the City of Kroy Wen,“Greeting:“I beg to notify the public that the first issue of my new paper,—Wit,—will be ready in two weeks and I hereby guarantee to the said public that it will afford amusement, entertainment and instruction, with a special column devoted to Phonography.“In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal, the day and year last above written.Signed,“C. Cellpur.”
“To the People of the City of Kroy Wen,
“Greeting:
“I beg to notify the public that the first issue of my new paper,—Wit,—will be ready in two weeks and I hereby guarantee to the said public that it will afford amusement, entertainment and instruction, with a special column devoted to Phonography.
“In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal, the day and year last above written.
Signed,“C. Cellpur.”
Third.A revolution had evidently taken place in England; the people were clamoring for Constitutional Government. Discussions were loudand prolonged in the “House of Lords.” In the latter, on one of the front benches, sat the stenographer who had been admonished on her life to write the turbulent speeches verbatim. She was our dear friend, Miss Rhythm.
Fourth.An imposing publishing house in the city of Not Sob, which city is noted for its cultured inhabitants. Small boys were placing on the doors and windows of said publishing house, the same to remain thereon without hindrance or molestation, large notices which bore this inscription: “Our most recent publication is a book written by Miss N. Murphie. It is important as a work of art and is an authority on all topics of etiquette, especially as regards language. The cultured inhabitants of Not Sob cannot afford to lose this opportunity of making themselves more familiar with those refinements of speech which have long marked them as the most cultured people in the land.”
Then I saw what seemed to be an illegal document purporting to be a marriage settlement, in which Mrs. Ocean is wisely having her property settled upon herself, mindful of the time when she learned that “What’s hers is his, and what’s his isn’t hers.”
Fifth.A convention of the Woman’s Rights Association. The hall is crowded. Several determined looking women who have already addressed the meeting are on the platform. The audience is breathlessly awaiting the appearance of what Edward Everett Hale calls “A Hen’s Right Hen.” She is at length presented, her remarks are interspersed with legal terms; evidently some part of the training has been at the F. S. & T. C. of the G. S. M. & T. Her talk is upon the uselessness of the male sex and the applause is loud and enthusiastic. Her face and manner are very familiar, and looking at the programme I see that the initials of her name spell H. E. M. P.
Sixth.A copy of the “Post and Lightning;” it is yellow with age. It had probably been handed down from generation to generation as a precious heirloom. The column containing the marriage notices is folded outward, and one marked with blue pencil reads:
“Wolf—Lamb. Mr. F. Wolf to Miss M. Lamb, both of the State of Kroy Wen, May 25th, 912, at the home of the bride.”
“The Wolf had devoured the Lamb.”
I beg of you all just a little timeIn which to attend to this dear class of mine.Dear Tuesday night girls you should all have a prize,And it makes me feel sad, and tears dim my eyesWhen I think that for most of you I have no prize.But a dear little “tot” in this class doth belongWhose euphonious cognomen is Margaret Armstrong,If she will come forward, I gladly will giveA prize she can cherish as long as she’ll live.And here is another for Nellie J. Bell,Whose sweet resonant tones you all know so well;Come hither, dear Nellie, a friend greets you now,Here, take thissmallpackage and make a large bow,While I tell your dear classmates, with smiles all serene,That soon you will rival the renowned Lawyer Green.Ah! here is another, it seems to be round,I wonder for which of the class it is bound.It may be intended for some gentle “myth”But no, my dear friends, it is meant for Miss Smith,Who’ll take the world easy wherever she is,—Will she take it this evening and smile as she does?Here’s something else before we pass onFor our dear kind teacher, Mr. W. L. Mason,For oft have I seen the briny tear startTo his bright kindly eyes, while my classmates so smartWere keptwaiting, while I tried to write like the chart.
I beg of you all just a little timeIn which to attend to this dear class of mine.Dear Tuesday night girls you should all have a prize,And it makes me feel sad, and tears dim my eyesWhen I think that for most of you I have no prize.
But a dear little “tot” in this class doth belongWhose euphonious cognomen is Margaret Armstrong,If she will come forward, I gladly will giveA prize she can cherish as long as she’ll live.
And here is another for Nellie J. Bell,Whose sweet resonant tones you all know so well;Come hither, dear Nellie, a friend greets you now,Here, take thissmallpackage and make a large bow,While I tell your dear classmates, with smiles all serene,That soon you will rival the renowned Lawyer Green.
Ah! here is another, it seems to be round,I wonder for which of the class it is bound.It may be intended for some gentle “myth”But no, my dear friends, it is meant for Miss Smith,Who’ll take the world easy wherever she is,—Will she take it this evening and smile as she does?
Here’s something else before we pass onFor our dear kind teacher, Mr. W. L. Mason,For oft have I seen the briny tear startTo his bright kindly eyes, while my classmates so smartWere keptwaiting, while I tried to write like the chart.