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 L10,000 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. But I 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 call no 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's eyes 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 to you 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.



A Class History

BY MISS NELLIE J. BELL.

Class of '91.

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 some dark canyon, 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 a 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 around and 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 boys to 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 had not 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."

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 motion Moving 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.



Class Poem

BY MISS MARION C. BURNS.

Class of '91.

We extend a hearty welcome To you all, both old and young, Who have come to aid in sending off The Class of '91.

We beg you will be generous In 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 here Shall dwell deep in each heart.

In after years we'll fondly think Of pleasant times gone by, And when we're treading other paths, The memory'll dim each eye.

Our teachers we have sorely tried As 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 esteem To elevate the mind.

Now, with best wishes to you all, On parting we'll not dwell, But to our teachers, classmates, friends We'll say, farewell, farewell.



Address of Mr. Henry Moore

To the Class of '91.

IN BEHALF OF THE SCHOOL COMMITTEE.

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 those whom 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.



Valedictory

BY MISS HILDA BUSICK.

Class of '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.

[Footnote A: 'Tis said, alas, that life must have its sorrows, That with the roses cruel thorns should grow; And though we fondly dream of love's to-morrows, Must every heart the grief of parting know.]

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 a perfectly happy 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 "winged 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 legal documents, 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.'"

In our journey through life, when doubts fall thick 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 achieving Who perceives and then performs."



CLASS NIGHT EXERCISES

A Prophecy of the Class of '91.

BY MISS HILDA BUSICK.

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.

The Right Honorable President, as hereinbefore mentioned, 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."

Third. A revolution had evidently taken place in England; the people were clamoring for Constitutional Government. Discussions were loud and 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."



Verses

READ BY MISS CARRIE R. PURCELL, UPON AWARDING PRIZES TO THE MEMBERS OF HER SECTION, TUESDAY EVENING, JUNE 2ND, '91.

I beg of you all just a little time In 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 eyes When I think that for most of you I have no prize.

But a dear little "tot" in this class doth belong Whose euphonious cognomen is Margaret Armstrong, If she will come forward, I gladly will give A 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 this small package 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 on For our dear kind teacher, Mr. W. L. Mason, For oft have I seen the briny tear start To his bright kindly eyes, while my classmates so smart Were kept waiting, while I tried to write like the chart.



Address

OF MISS ELLEN M. PHILLIPS, UPON AWARDING PRIZES TO THE MEMBERS OF HER SECTION, TUESDAY EVENING, JUNE, 2ND, '91.

In these days of model schools it is difficult to find an innovation or to advance a theory of improvement which has not already been made; but it seems to me there is one crying grievance from which all schools suffer, and which I should like to do my little mite to redress. My ideal of a school-master is the one in the opera of "Billy Taylor." His creed is summed up in the quatrain.

"When a pedagogue, I'd often wish, I'd give prizes to the worst boys at school. The good boys I would like to swish, But alas! I would not break the rule."

Since the pleasant duty of awarding prizes has fallen to my lot, I am determined to award them according to my theory, and lest my reasons for bestowing them may not be perfectly clear to all, and the system of reasoning by which my results are attained appear somewhat illogical, I will endeavor to explain my reasons.

What, for instance, can be more absurd than the usual way in which the prize is chosen for the individual obtaining the highest per cent. in an examination? What, forsooth, is awarded but a collection of books!!! Yes! To the very person who is supposed to know all that books contain! It would be much more logical to my thinking to give the aforesaid set of books to a poor plucked student who would be so glad to avail himself of a little of their weighty contents.

For, and in consideration of the aforesaid reason, and for other valuable consideration, I hereby assign, transfer and set over unto you, my dear Miss Reidy, this little volume. It may seem small, but believe me therein is comprised a respectable proportion of human knowledge. It will be your consolation in time of need. In it you will find every thing a mortal mind may desire. Do you desire wealth? You will find it described on all that certain lot, piece or parcel of column 2, situate, lying and being on page 303. Or perhaps happiness is your aim? That you will find near the southeast corner of page 133, the same being therein described as the State of Enjoyment.

In short, you will have no wish unfulfilled. Go, read ye and be wise, and however friends may forsake you, be sure this faithful Dict. will never fail you.

Another striking injustice in the bestowal of prizes is the fact the teachers get none of them, and who, pray, is more entitled to them? Is it not the teacher who has crammed and coached the unfortunate students to the saturation point? Now, in my model school, no such injustice shall be done, but, what to offer? There's the question. Of course a teacher's mind is a compendium of all human knowledge, therefore books would be out of place. So, Mr. Mason, to you I offer no gaudy volume, but only this little machine, adapted for physical culture. It is warranted to exercise every one of the blank muscles of the human body at once; besides cultivating the artistic taste. Note the graceful curve it describes in the air! Note the harmony of color in the handles! Take it, dear teacher, to have, to possess, and to enjoy the same unto yourself, your heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns forever.

Another striking incongruity is the fact that the best student is generally a pale, slender girl, or one on which the ravages of disease have set their mark. To this delicate creature is given a prize of books which will still further tax her powers. Now, would it not be wiser to minister to the body diseased and award a prize of this nature. Will Miss Hilda Busick step this way? Permit me to ask you one question. Be you sick? That is all I wish to know. Be you sick? If that be so, dear friend, take this in time. It is warranted to cure every ill under the sun, and taken internally or externally makes no difference. Take it, and bless your fortunate star which brought this to your lot rather than a pile of dusty volumes.

For you, dear Miss Clancy, I was at a loss, but knowing that your future career will be a busy one, I thought this little engagement slate might be handy. You see you can hang it up in your office when you are called away to take down a sermon of Phillips Brooks, or to report the World's Fair of '92, and the horde of stenographer-hunters may subscribe their names here and their humble supplication that you will attend to them on their return. The other side of the slate may be used in casting up bills.

I quite agree with Miss Sharp that patriotic sentiments ought to be inculcated, and for this reason I have chosen this little flag of our country which I beg she will accept; accompanying it is a little bundle of fire-crackers dear to every patriotic heart. The best way to appreciate them is to tie them together with their fuming little projecting frizzles, set fire to the last one and throw them on the street; the result will astonish you, I am sure.

And now, my dear friends, you have seen the merits of my system, but it is with pain that I point out its only defect. I give prizes to the worst ones at school, the only trouble is there are so few "worst" that the list of prize-winners is naturally small. But I hope you will acknowledge that its defect is amply compensated for by its other excellencies.



A Tale of Woe

BY MISS CARRIE R. PURCELL.

(Read on Class Night, Tuesday, June 2, 1891.)

Listen my friends, and you shall hear A dreadful poem which I have here. 'Tis about the class of '91, And a harrowing tale when once begun. A tale that will make you all shiver and shake; The thought of it now is making me quake.

'Tis a tale of struggle and grief and woe, Of the girls who wrote fast, and the girls who wrote slow, Of girls who came early, of girls who came late, Of those who had plenty, others, none to dictate. Of the girls who held pencils as if they were pills, Of others, who held them as if they had chills. Of the dear darling girls who did everything (write) right, Of other unfortunates weeping all night, Oh! indeed, my dear friends, 'twas a terrible sight.

Of a dear kindly teacher who came every night, And who stayed long after the electric light, Of the class in a circle the teacher around, While he watched every outline, and heard every sound. And the five minutes recess to catch the fresh air. Of return to the circle and "catching" it there; Of the girls who can stand up and read as they'd write. Of others who couldn't if they stood up all night; Ah! yes indeed, 'twas a pitiful plight.

Of Complaints and of Answers, of Leases and Deeds; Of all kinds of letters for business men's needs; Of good sound advice as we all neared the end, From our dear kind Instructor, who is "also our friend." Of that dread Monday eve which had long been expected; Of the papers accepted, and the papers rejected. Of this beautiful calm which has followed that night; And I'm sure that my teachers and classmates unite In thanking Class '90 for this pleasant sight.



Verses Read on Class Night

BY MISS NELLIE J. BELL.

June 2, 1891.

Hail! To our friends, both one and all, Hail! To our neighbors, great and small, Hail! To the sweet June air and sun, Hail! To the Class of '91.

For the past eight months we've been working, Working with might and main, To get Phonographic outlines Fixed firmly in our brains.

But now our work is ended, Our Winter's work is done; Then hip hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, For the Class of '91!

And we smile as we think of the hours That we thought so fraught with pain; They have gone like the fleeting shadows, N'er to return again.

And now we can sit in our cosy homes, And watch the drizzling rain; It used to be, "Put up your umbrella And don't you miss the train."

I was seated one night, with book and pen, The midnight oil burned low; While on the table spread before me lay, A legal doc. with verbiage slow.

When all at once on the still night air, Rang a terrible shriek, so wild and shrill, It curdled the warm blood in my veins, And made my very heart stand still.

I rushed to the casement, and open it flew The pale moon shone in the azure sky, And like costly gems, 'neath a cloud of lace, Gleamed the stars in the Milky Way.

And I looked and shuddered, For what did I see, But Thomas and Maria a lookin' at me, Their voices were pitched in the high key of C.

Classmates, now step to the front, And make your bow to the business world, We are ready to work for honest hire, With our banners all unfurled.

And now in conclusion we bid you adieu And make room for the Class of '92.

Now give three cheers, and three times three For this glorious G. S. M. & T. God's blessing be on it forever, we say, May it know naught but prosperous days.



Address to the Graduating Class

On Examination Night.

BY W. L. MASON, INSTRUCTOR.

MY DEAR PUPILS:

This is the last night of our course, and since we have studied our final lesson together, it has occurred to me that this would be a good opportunity for a little talk with you, as you are about to leave this school and go out into the world. First of all, I want to tell you, as I have many times told you before, how very much I have enjoyed my work in connection with this class during the past Winter. There is a certain satisfaction in feeling that I have been able to help you to learn something, and this feeling is increased by remembering that I, too, have been learning, and that my knowledge of the art of shorthand has been enlarged by teaching it to you. You, on the other hand, must keep in mind the fact that you have not learned all there is to be learned about Phonography. Though you may live many years, and practice Phonography all your life, you probably never will feel that you have a perfect knowledge of all the details of the art. This, however, need not discourage you, but, on the contrary, should fill you with pleasure to think there is something yet to be learned, and thus the fascination which the study of Phonography has had for you during the past few months, can never diminish so long as you have a desire to advance more and more towards perfection. It is not to be expected that you will for any length of time remember everything that I have ever said to you with regard to the advantages of shorthand or its practical use; but of one thing I feel very sure, and that is that whatever I have said that is worth anything will at some future time recur to you when you need it most, and when it will probably be better understood than it is now.

There is one fact that I wish very strongly to impress upon you, namely, that you have, by your diligent study of the past Winter, gained something which is of priceless value to you, and, if used aright, something which must some day, sooner or later, prove of particular advantage. This practical knowledge of shorthand which you now possess is something which cannot be bought or sold; it is something which you can never wholly forget; it is something which many persons would give a great deal to obtain; and I therefore charge you to guard it with care, and treasure it as a talent for the right use of which you will some day be held accountable. Do not by any means give up your practice. Even if you cannot continue it regularly, do not abandon it altogether, but look upon your shorthand as a mine of intellectual wealth which, if rightly worked, will yield rich results.

And now, one word more: be diligent, be persevering, be true to whatever trust is reposed in you; and, if you seek a reward outside of the natural satisfaction that will come from work well done, remember the word of One who said, "Thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things."

With hearty congratulations upon your success, and with the most cordial wishes for your future prosperity, I bid you God-speed.



TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the authors' words and intent. "ā" indicates an a-macron.

THE END