C. 
 D955 
 1888 = DARTMOUTH COLLEGE 
 
 EXERCISES OF CLASS-DALY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SENIOR CLASS 
 
 TUESDAY, JUNE 28, 1888 
 Se Me 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE CLASS 
 
INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. 
 
 CHARLES LESLIE COBB, 
 West Stockbridge, Mass. 
 
 (t)® pause at an epochal point, and turn. The day that we 
 
 are passing is the last link in a chain wrought of com- 
 mon interests, common joys, and sometimes common griefs—a 
 chain whereof each daily link has brought our class together, 
 and formed among us friendships that cannot break asunder. 
 This day we hail with pleasure,—pleasure, because it marks the 
 attainment of a four years goal, and in the future lies a glowing 
 hope; with sadness, because we realize that whatever good 
 may fall to us, it will be impossible to know again the nearness 
 of so many hearts in kindred sympathies. In the world men 
 will meet us as rivals and as strangers, and will come and pass; 
 but the vision of our college days, with their frank manners and 
 gay abandon, is complete, and will grow only fairer and more 
 Utopian as we drift away. 
 
 It is fitting, then, that we make the day a miniature of our col- 
 lege life, as far as possible. And since the time is no longer left 
 to stroll and wander amid the haunts of happy years, and part 
 from each as from a companion whose worth we have learned 
 to know, and whose every feature is graven into our memories 
 in lines not to be effaced; since it is not permitted to dwell 
 with them in those cherished moments that are loath to end,— 
 we do the next best thing: we pay them a final and ceremoni- 
 ous visit,—final, yet in thought to be often reviewed ; ceremoni- 
 ous, but with a ceremony unfelt, because merged in a long 
 acquaintance. It is fitting, too, that we make this an hour 
 of recollection, for it is the one when our collegiate sun is just 
 at its setting; and these years will not again stand out with 
 
4 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 clear-cut figures in its rays, but a twilight will gradually deepen 
 over all, making outlines indistinct and confused, and an even- 
 ing mist will gather to blot out in part the scenes of our college 
 days. 
 
 Looking back, it isa strange, miscellaneous set of images that 
 sparkle forth. The agitation of a class-meeting, evenings spent 
 in study, the remembrance of long walks, the midnight din of 
 a mad horning, the deserved applause of a home-run, the after- 
 noon sun creeping over the walls of the chapel, the light-heart- 
 ed jest that bubbles up anew,—all come trooping in to fill up 
 the record of our college life. Familiar faces glance again 
 upon us, some of them now far away; for, of the ninety-seven 
 who have, at one time or another, journeyed with us on our 
 way, sixty-four only have reached this parting of the ways. 
 
 But as some features come back to us, even in the quick 
 review, we stop, and hush. Four times the silent finger of 
 death has touched the warm pulses of beloved class-mates, and 
 
 ‘they have ceased to beat. Four of our noblest friendships have 
 passed into fond and lingering memories. And at this moment, 
 to which our comrades looked forward, and which they may 
 now view unseen, we do them what honor we can: we prom- 
 ise to remember them with the love they deserved. And as 
 we stand here between two lives, saying to some loved ones 
 Welcome and to others Farewell, and as the hour passes 
 quickly on and our last class-exercises begin, we look to Him 
 who can guide us all aright, and ask that strife may be forever 
 merged in peace. 
 
 And now, while we quickly take leave of our loved nooks, 
 the places where we have hoped, and struggled, and won, we 
 invite you who have done so much toward making this day. 
 happy,—you who have eased anxiety, applauded victory, and 
 comforted sorrow,—to come with us. We bid you welcome— 
 welcome to Dartmouth, with her historic Chapel and lonely 
 Pine, her Park and Campus, her ancient halls and stores of 
 learning. We greet you, also, her Alumni, and bid you, for 
 a time, shake off graver duties, and linger with us a little, that 
 together we may look once more on these classic and familiar 
 scenes. Let me again, in behalf of the Class of ’88, extend to 
 all our greeting. 
 
ORATION. 
 
 CHARLES EDMUND DASCOMB, 
 
 Westminster, Vt. 
 
 N an occasion like this, which marks the close of an epoch 
 in our lives and the beginning of a new era, our thoughts 
 instinctively—now backward, now forward—ebb and flow. We 
 have made a happy sacrifice to mental culture at the altars of 
 youth, and strength, and toil. The furrowing: cares of secular 
 solicitude have not yet set their inevitable seal upon our early 
 manhood, but soon we are to oppose face to face the stern 
 realities of life, and to compete with the world in her profes- 
 sional or business marts. 
 
 Mental culture rests firm as the foundation of the birth and 
 progress of civilization, and, transmitted from age to age, has 
 fashioned, out of the crude babe of barbarism, a child of culture 
 and refinement. Thought in song, philosophy, or science 
 wields a subtle power which rules over all phases and periods 
 of time. The mind, divinely conceived and mysteriously be- 
 gotten, has wondrous capacities and resources which have not 
 as yet been wholly explained. As the eye gathers from one 
 flower a red, from another a pink, and another a crimson hue, 
 so with magical power the mind, in contact with external cre- 
 ations, receives various impressions and makes manifold appli- 
 cations. As education affects the mind directly, it has reached 
 into every field of thought, every executive enterprise, and every 
 subject of social interest. In these closing years. of the nine- 
 teenth century we have witnessed the grandest achievements 
 the world has ever known. We have seen the uplifting of 
 mankind in every sphere of life. Superstition has faded away 
 with the advancement of science. Religion has spread its 
 
6 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 wings over the earth, and the spirit of militancy has given way 
 everywhere before the pacific tendencies of modern society. 
 More than all these, we have seen a nation of free people cele- 
 brate the first centennial of a grand republic. 
 
 This last point suggests my theme, The Relation of Educa- 
 tion to Free Government. 
 
 A single mind may develop a field of science or of literature, 
 but pure, enlightened, free government comes only with the 
 universal illumination of the mental vision, which shall enable 
 men to consider interests beyond those of self, and to recognize 
 as paramount the divine precepts of our common Law Giver. 
 
 From our lofty position to-day, with the blood-crimsoned 
 pages of history spread out like a scroll before us, we mark 
 with interest the different periods at which successive genera- 
 tions have grappled with the problem of self-administration. 
 
 The spirit which was present in our leaders of the Revolution, 
 —in Washington, Adams, and Franklin,—the spirit of human 
 justice which urged them to seek the good and secure the rights 
 of all, stands out in wholesome contrast to the blind and pas- 
 sionate records of remote Eastern tyrants. ‘*Our country, right 
 or wrong,” was Grecian and Roman patriotism and Spartan 
 virtue. Under this watchword dynasties have crumbled, never 
 again to flourish. The red republicanism of France has been 
 a dangerous element in her politics, and the history of Germany 
 and Italy is stained with direful grievances. The monarchs of 
 Russia and Austria, in their vacillating careers, have been moved 
 by no spirit of love for the rights of the people; neither have 
 the people, high or low born, been considerate of the claims of 
 their sovereigns or fellow-subjects. 
 
 Nations have frequently stumbled over mistaken ideas of 
 freedom. Some have deemed it an absolute thing, which could 
 be fondled at all times and under all conditions. France wor- 
 shipped liberty as a God which would bring blessings upon 
 the country without industry, economy, and associated effort. 
 Imitating the acts, not the righteous spirit, of our Revolutionary 
 fathers, she plunged into a struggle, intoxicated by the fervid 
 and vain declamations of those whose only idea of liberty was 
 freedom from restraint. The Utopia which France thus chis- 
 elled out of a misconceived idea vanished as a dream of the 
 
ORATION. 7 
 
 night. America, applying the philosophy and enlightened 
 experience of her stalwart sons, brought forth a republic which 
 is at the close of a century an example to the world. 
 
 True and correct views in relation to society and politics are 
 confined too exclusively to the educated few: the masses of 
 men have never understood the worthlessness of laws and rules 
 to secure freedom, when their own ignorance was adverse to its 
 existence. 
 
 To-day there are suffering millions in the British empire 
 who are looking to parliament for that which she can never 
 bestow ; they trust to free trade as a specific for evils which 
 arise from ignorance, selfishness, and vice, and almost hope to 
 put an end to the potato rot by the ballot-box. A portion of 
 the miseries of Ireland England can no more do away with, 
 than she can legislate away the clouds which so often threaten 
 her harvests. 
 
 In the United States there are multitudes of ignorant men 
 who look to the election of a president or a senator with the 
 vague hope that it will destroy the inequality of wealth and 
 settle the conflict between labor and capital, the principles 
 underlying which are obvious, and but for human ignorance 
 and selfishness would long ago have laid to rest the storm 
 which is to-day everywhere arresting material development and 
 entailing on the wealthy and poor alike hardship and suffering. 
 
 To declare that all men shall be equal in their capacities and 
 conditions is as absurd as to declare that they shall all be of 
 the same height or of equal weight. The equality of political 
 rights is possible, but for a government to enforce equality of 
 social condition would be mere tyranny, since it would deny 
 to the governed the free exercise of those faculties with which 
 they are endowed by nature in different degrees. Human leg- 
 islation cannot abrogate the decrees of nature, nor remove the 
 inequalities which belong to the physical constitution of man. 
 
 As to the future of our own and many European nations, many 
 ominous and grave questions arise, which indicate that the confu- 
 sion and instability of national character must demand the most 
 profound and solicitous consideration at the hands of skilled 
 and intelligent politicians. Whether as optimist or pessimist 
 we regard the fate of coming generations, in this we will agree, 
 
8 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 that the schools of this land must be maintained ofa high order. 
 Every collateral aid must be rallied into service, that intelli- 
 gence and morality may keep pace with the increase of num- 
 bers. Itis essential that a majority of a self-governing people 
 should know the reach and limitations of the elementary truths 
 of the political system under which they live: but this is not 
 all that will secure the safety of the state. They must also 
 comprehend definitely the principles of morality, and be able 
 to apply them to new questions as they arise in relation to 
 society and business. Both the constitution and the decalogue 
 must be written on the heart and practised in the daily life of 
 the nation. 
 
 The spirit of law and religion infused through the. mighty 
 mass of the republic will enlarge its power, purify its life, and 
 perpetuate, its existence. This is the invisible cohesion, light 
 as air, yet strong as links of iron by which heterogeneous popu- 
 lations are to be held together in one unresting but harmonious 
 whole. 
 
POEM. 
 
 FRED LEWIS PATTEE, 
 Bristol, N. A. 
 
 I. 
 
 C¢ BOUT to die, we hail thee!” one has sung, 
 When, on the hoary verge of four-score years, 
 Full-freighted with the garlands Fame had hung, 
 With life all tried—its conquests and its tears— 
 He sought again the haunts where first had rung 
 His magic lute, when life and hope were young. 
 
 We come not with the ripened fruit to-day ; 
 We come not to salute, “ About to die!” 
 
 Agirt for battle stand we for the fray ; 
 About to live, we hail thee! is our cry. 
 
 O woods and fields, and river winding by, 
 
 And ye familiar halls, and guardian tree, 
 
 And faithful teachers, who, in years agone, 
 
 Have shaped our way, we hail,—Oh! look and see, 
 As first we try our new-made armor on, 
 
 The shining brand and helmet forged by thee. 
 
 We know not what the tourney’s end may bring, 
 We know not yet how skilled may be our foe, 
 
 Nor ever have we heard the crash and ring 
 Of steel to steel. We have not struck a blow; 
 
 And yet it cannot be the years were lost, 
 
 The years of toil, that made the muscle hard, 
 That taught us of the sword,—the thrust, the guard ; 
 
 We count it gain whate’er has been the loss, 
 
 And rush where battle-banners heave and toss. 
 
 A voice from out the future bids us on; 
 
 The field is ours,—the nobler knights are down. 
 So hail, ye scenes where golden dreams were born! 
 We leave to-day thy fairy land of morn, 
 
 About to live, and win, perchance, a crown. 
 
IO 
 
 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 About to live! It is not life to sit 
 
 In No-man’s-land; to woo its dreamy breeze 
 Without a care; in Fancy’s boat to flit 
 
 Away where lie the blue Hesperides, 
 
 Amid the spicy breaths of summer seas. 
 And oft I deem that this is lotus-land,— 
 
 “ A land of afternoon ” and tinted dreams; 
 That these quick years are moments on its strand ; 
 
 And he who drinks from out the crystal streams 
 Hears voices in his ears, and sees a hand, 
 
 A misty hand, that beckons to a shore 
 
 That none hath gained, and yet turns evermore 
 To show the wanderer that the land behind 
 Was brighter far than life again can find. 
 
 Sometimes in early spring, ere day was born, 
 I’ve stood within a barren, rocky field, 
 
 And marked, clear-cut, through valley mists forlorn 
 A towering peak, that glittered like the shield 
 
 Of fair Athene in the rays of morn. 
 
 Not over steeps the path, then, would I say,— 
 For, lo! the way is but a gentle rise, 
 
 Nor is the shining vista far away. 
 
 Why, then, in this low pasture ever stay, 
 
 When, just beyond, the world awaits thine eyes ? 
 
 But, ah! that prospect hid a world of woes,— 
 
 Of valleys deep the torrents wild had worn, 
 
 And ragged steeps that sheer, like walls, arose. 
 And when at evening I had reached the bourne, 
 With slow and weary feet and garments torn, 
 
 Behold! the barren field within the west, 
 
 The field I left at dawn, outshone the rest: 
 
 Say ye, who long have borne the weary strife, 
 Say ye, about to die, is’t so of life? 
 
 Our dearest bard, weighed down with fullest store 
 Of fame and honor that a life had won, 
 About to die, seeks out the scenes once more— 
 The golden scenes, where first that life begun. 
 And so the skies their riches may unfold 
 At morning, and again when falls the night. 
 The rising sun looks forward at the gold ; 
 He looks at eve, and all behind is bright. 
 Has life naught but the future that is light, 
 And has it only yesterdays to give ? 
 If no to-day is fair, why do we live ? 
 
POEM. 
 
 But ’tis not life to simply draw the breath ; 
 
 It is not life to wait what Fortune gives: 
 To idly dream of future days is death. 
 
 Who acts, and acts to-day, is he who lives. 
 So, up! Let’s live, nor think of coming tears, 
 Nor think mayhap have fled our golden years ; 
 For men who truly live should banish fears. 
 
 We long for action, battle with the strong, 
 
 And sing with lusty voice our parting song: 
 
 We hail thee, Dartmouth! mountain bride! 
 To-day we raise our voices free. 
 O boyhood’s dream! O manhood’s pride! 
 What charms could win our hearts from thee! 
 Old Dartmouth, we are proud of thee. 
 Oh! true our hearts will ever be, 
 And sweet the memories that will ’round us twine, 
 Of thee, of thee, our College ’neath the pine. 
 
 The forest sons rejoiced in thee, 
 O first bright ray to cheer the wild ; 
 At fleeting time and beating sea 
 Thy rocky towers have only smiled. 
 Thy sons are spread from shore to shore ; 
 Their loyal hearts thy name adore ; 
 Their mountain home, with pride each bosom fills, 
 Beneath the pine, the jewel of the hills. 
 
 To fit us for the storms of life, 
 Our brightest years thou ’st claimed, for when 
 Our morn was fair, and far the strife, 
 ’T was thou that taught us to be men. 
 Old Dartmouth! we are proud of thee ; 
 Oh! true our hearts will ever be! 
 And sweet the memories that will round us twine, 
 Of thee, of thee, our College ’neath the pine. 
 
 And when we meet beneath thy tree 
 
 In coming years, and live once more 
 The sunny days we spent with thee, 
 
 The years thou claimed on youth’s dim shore— 
 O Dartmouth! long we’ll shout thy praise, 
 While songs to Eighty-Eight we ’Il raise. 
 
 Our mountain home with pride each bosom fills, 
 
 Beneath the pine, the jewel of the hills. 
 
 II 
 
I2 
 
 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 II. 
 
 Four flying years! It does not seem four years ; 
 We cannot make it seem so long ago 
 When first the College cheer rang in our ears; 
 For happy moments nevermore are slow: 
 The moments only creep when winged with woe. 
 It rather seems to us like yesterday, 
 When first we gazed upon this well known scene, 
 Amazed, perplexed, and Sophomoric prey, 
 Until at length our shyness passed away, 
 And in our might we rose and ruled the green. 
 Those days are full of memories, sad or gay, 
 Of books long since consigned to Lethe’s shore ; 
 Of desperate battles where we fought “ to pass; ” 
 Of him who oped the Gates of ancient lore ; 
 Of “analyt,” that felled us in a mass ;— 
 I might say on, but why remember more 
 Of those past days? I might tell many a tale 
 Of many a hero yet unknown to fame; 
 But should I tell the truth, I could not fail 
 To put the greatest earthly liar to shame. 
 
 Those careless, happy days,—sweet memories throng ; 
 There are no happier days than college days,— 
 Their hopes and loves, their hearty bursts of song ; 
 
 Their murmurs, fading, echo sweet and long, 
 As mountains fade to don a purple haze. 
 What brighter life than that whose hardest toil 
 Is culling from the past the flowery spoil? 
 To tread amid fair Hellas’ olive groves, 
 Beneath an azure sky that ever smiles, 
 Where fauns and satyrs sport, and Bacchus roves, 
 And legends haunt the blue A®gean isles ? 
 What lighter task than in this mystic land 
 To walk with sages ’neath the ilex trees, 
 To hear the lyre, when swept by Pindar’s hand, 
 By heavenly Homer, or by Sophocles ? 
 Or, should we tire of Helicon’s clear spring, 
 To turn our steps where other fountains sing ? 
 What wonder that the hours flew by, and days, 
 While lost and wandering in so rich a maze ? 
 
POEM. t3 
 
 III. 
 
 About to live! O for some mystic spell 
 To peer ahead! And yet our hearts are light. 
 We come not empty-handed to the fight, 
 And some must win: we can almost foretell 
 Who of our band will fight the battle well ; 
 For sometimes through the misty clouds ahead 
 We catch a glimpse, a peep, at things to be: 
 Not wholly are we veiled, for one has said 
 That in to-day to-morrow we can see. 
 And I have dreamed that I could strike the key 
 To each man’s song of life, or high or low, 
 Nor greatly err in giving each his place 
 In life’s full choir; for we could see and know, 
 In these bright years, the depths that are below, 
 As still streams show their deeps, not those that madly race. 
 
 About to live! As when an aged king 
 
 Departs and leaves his glory to his son, 
 
 So day by day we hear the sad knell ring 
 Of heroes dead, and mark the welcoming 
 
 That calls us to their place and deeds undone. 
 Then hail, bright morn of our coronation day! 
 
 A noble crown is waiting, if we will ; 
 
 A noble throne is that which we may fill; 
 For all are kings who w?/ for kingly sway. 
 The coming age will be a golden age ; 
 
 The lyres to sound its epic are unstrung ; 
 Of all its thousand volumes not a page ; 
 
 Its heroes and its prophets, who has rung 
 
 Their welcome in? Its battles are unsung. 
 
 So hail ye, happy scenes! “ Hail and farewell!” 
 This misty future shore is on our lea. 
 
 We catch vague glimpses, as the clouds dispel, 
 And shout like happy sailors on the sea,— 
 
 Land ho! the voyage is nearly done ; 
 Wait but the peeping of the sun; 
 Wait, and when sounds the signal gun, 
 The weary voyage is o’er, 
 We take the misty shore, 
 And, lo! the goal, our dream, is won. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE PRESIDENT. 
 
 FRED AUSTIN WHITTEMORE, 
 Bristol, N. Hi. 
 
 Oe AND RESPECTED SIR: Nearly four years 
 have passed since you met us as a class for the first time 
 in yonder buildings, and welcomed us to this honored college. 
 But a short time now remains before you will dismiss us, and 
 we shall go from these halls to put in practice the precepts you 
 have taught us. We understand that it is due the industrious 
 man to succeed; that fortune smiles on those who help them- 
 selves. We are going from here with better prospects of suc- 
 cess before us than if we had not spent four years under your 
 instruction. We have read, sir, of that Spartan mother, who, 
 when her son was going out to fight for his fatherland, sti- 
 fling her emotions, sternly said, ‘‘ Return with your shield, or 
 upon it.” We, too, are sons of a Spartan mother, and at this 
 hour we fancy we hear her saying to us, My sons, go forth; be 
 faithful to truth and to duty, dare to do the right, achieve the 
 high, acquit yourselves like men, and return crowned with 
 honors, or come not back at all! We would heed those solemn 
 and impressive words; we would bind them upon our hearts 
 as a talisman, that we may not be unworthy of the brothers 
 who have gone before; that we may be a bright example to 
 those who are coming after, and bring no shadow of reproach 
 on our beloved foster mother. 
 
 And, sir, we have learned that success cannot be reached on 
 beds of ease, but by work, persistent work. We shall find 
 disappointment. The world is not going to recognize us as a 
 superior class of beings. We must compete with others for the 
 
ADDRESS TO THE PRESIDENT. 15 
 
 first place, and prove our worth. The mere fact that we pos- 
 sess a college degree amounts to nothing. 
 
 In a French regiment, during the wars of the great Napo- 
 leon, a soldier had shown unwonted bravery, and had fallen at 
 his post. For years after, when the regiment was reviewed by 
 order of the general, when the name of this hero was called, a 
 corporal stepped from the ranks, presented arms, and answered, 
 ‘¢ Dead at the post of honor.” 
 
 We are a happy, joyous band to-day, but we know full well 
 that when our last farewells are said, and our ranks broken 
 before the old building yonder, that we shall never meet again 
 with a full muster-roll ; but when in after years we shall gather 
 here, and the name of the fallen shall be called, may there be 
 some comrade to answer, ‘* Dead at the post of honor.” 
 
 It is fitting that we pause on this our class day, just before 
 we leave our old college, and recount the joys and sorrows, the 
 successes and failures, that we have experienced during these 
 four years. When long distances separate us from these scenes, 
 we shall ever recall these incidents with pleasure. Our college 
 yell will continue to be the tocsin of victory to us as well as to 
 those that remain. The campus and the faithful college bell 
 will ever bring associations of pleasant events. But none the 
 less pleasantly shall we remember the one who has presided 
 over this institution. We have witnessed the great success of 
 your administration during our stay. The college has grown 
 in reputation, in honor, and in wealth; and may we find you 
 here when we return to pay our vows as the years go by. Now, 
 in behalf of the Class of ’88, I bid you and your associates fare- 
 well. 
 
CAMPUS ADDRESS. 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN ARTZ, 
 
 Dayton, Ohio. 
 
 IGHTY-EIGHT now meets to bid farewell to the Campus, 
 
 asa class. There are so many personal ties that bind 
 these grounds to us, that later each of us will return, and, alone, 
 take his last personal farewell. Ever since our entry into col- 
 lege life, this dear old Campus has been peculiarly united 
 with our fortunes. It has been ’88’s special field. No class 
 can have had more happiness and more pure fun on these 
 grounds than 88. From the very beginning, from the very 
 first rush that united the many parts of ’88 into one glorious 
 whole, down to the present day, ’88 has been preéminently the 
 champion of the campus. 
 
 It is not necessary for me to recall our Campus career. We 
 all know it by heart. I will only recall one incident that shows 
 most clearly the spirit of ’88. It happened Sophomore fall. 
 You all remember the tug-of-war—how our team pulled the 
 other classes. And surely you remember how, on the first 
 pull, one of the men actually pulled the skin off his hands; 
 and then—notice the grit!—went into the second tug, and 
 pulled out a victory, with the blood streaming from the raw 
 flesh. This is the true distinctive spirit of ’88. No matter 
 what misfortune or accident or loss befell ’*88—and no class has 
 had so many losses at critical times—’88 never gave up, but, 
 mustering up their courage, every man worked all the harder, 
 and victory crowned our efforts. We always played to win, 
 and succeeded again and again in the very face of defeat. 
 
 How well do we remember the foot-ball rushes, and our 
 trouble with the powers that be, on that account! Yet we now 
 hold no ill-feelings against the faculty for their action. They 
 did what they thought best: they lived up to their lights. Some 
 
CAMPUS ADDRESS. Le 
 
 day, when we are old, and the feelings of youth are no longer 
 even a memory, we may be of the same opinion; but may that 
 day be far off! I am sure these rushes are beneficial. Surely, if 
 in no other way, the ‘‘ moral courage” displayed here will stand 
 us in good stead in the coming battle of life. 
 
 Eighty-Eight can well be proud of her Campus record, for in 
 every department she has excelled. She has never known how 
 to give up, and as a result has come out second-best in just two 
 class contests; and in these contests, defeat was no disgrace. 
 Since its entry 88 has never been without its representatives on 
 every ‘*’ Varsity’ team,—base-ball, foot-ball, or athletic; and 
 since Freshmen year, has had not only a plurality but a major- 
 ity of every team the college has put forth. 
 
 How often have we met here to cheer our men on to victory, 
 letting them know that we expected them to place the green on 
 top, and then, later on, to celebrate the hard-earned victory and 
 rejoice in the possession of the championship., Shall we ever 
 forget the demonstrations when Dartmouth captured first place 
 at the athletic meet, and secured the inter-collegiate base-ball 
 championship of 1887? Glorious times were these; but per- 
 haps the most pleasant of all were the sings in the evening, 
 and the long, quiet talks of home and the future, that we 
 have all had lying here. Here, in the gloaming, our deepest 
 friendships have been formed; and many a wild, heedless one 
 has shown, unconsciously, his better, truer self. 
 
 Not all our education has been obtained in the class-room. 
 The quick, firm hand, the cool head, the calm temper, that we 
 have had to use on the Campus, and which are most necessary 
 to success, could never have been obtained from books. It is 
 not so much what we know that brings success, as the ability 
 to apply our knowledge. The cool head to see an opportunity, 
 the firm hand to grasp it and push it to completion,—these are 
 the reins by which fortune is guided ; and here is the place they 
 are most frequently obtained. 
 
 Our college course has been a most happy one ;—four years 
 of priceless value, that we would not have taken out of our lives 
 for any money ;—four years that we shall always remember 
 with unalloyed pleasure; and the most happy memories of all 
 
 will be those connected with this dear old Campus. 
 2 
 
ADDRESS AT THE OLD CHAPEL. 
 
 RICHARD BAXTER RAND. 
 Hanover, N. Hi. 
 
 LASSMATES: Through some strange fate I have been 
 
 ordained to speak the words of farewell to this Old Chapel. 
 
 The spirit of progress has quickened the sluggish veins of this 
 
 old institution, imparting to it new life and vigor. We have 
 
 now two new buildings, where beauty of architecture and 
 
 adornment of exterior are important features, and at last in the 
 annals of the college the claims of art have been recognized. 
 
 A century has gone since first that little band of students 
 found their way to this ‘‘ Old Dartmouth” for the purpose of 
 divine worship. No one knew then what a little flame, brightly 
 burning, was destined some day to illumine the whole country. 
 These delectable hills seemed to impart to this noble, earnest 
 band of students a portion of their own vigor, for they were 
 intellectual giants, expounders of the law, and interpreters of 
 the constitution. And not in vain has been the example of the 
 pioneers of our college. Through their high aspirations and 
 blameless lives they pointed out the way in which all who suc- 
 ceeded them should walk. 
 
 It was here that we first met as classmates, and for a year 
 we responded to the call of the dear old college bell to attend 
 the regular morning and Sunday services. But when we re- 
 turned as Sophomores, a structure was ready to receive us, 
 ‘¢ Class of ’88,” which, though more pleasing for the eye to look 
 upon, cannot recall the scenes of grinds, of sorrow, of subscrip- 
 tion lists, etc., that have transpired within the recesses of 
 these walls. 
 
ADDRESS AT THE OLD CHAPEL. IQ 
 
 What a mighty influence has gone forth from this building ! 
 Who can estimate it? or who shall not say that that influence 
 has been an important factor in the moulding and shaping of 
 our New England institutions? Legislators for Massachusetts, 
 governors for New Hampshire, lawyers for Vermont, our 
 highest institutions, look to this college for a renewal of their 
 powers; and scattered over the far West is many a village, 
 many a city, in which high positions of trust are filled by Dart- 
 mouth men. 
 
 Here we have spent the few sad, awfully real, moments of 
 our student life. The bell has tolled, and we meet to pay our 
 last tribute of respect to the memory of a friend and classmate ; 
 not with the same careless and indifferent air, but with bowed. 
 head, and as we followed the hearse down the long winding 
 hill, our thoughts transcended the things of this life. Flashing 
 across life’s pathway are prophetic warnings; they meet us 
 everwhere ; and even in our gayest moments voices come to us 
 from the portals of the tomb. 
 
 And now that we have passed four years at this venerable 
 institution, and are about to leave so many pleasant remem- 
 brances, and also many trials and hardships, behind us, we 
 ask, What have these four years done for us? Have they given 
 us broad and liberal views of life? Are we tolerant of all 
 creeds and denominations? Do we recognize the great plan 
 of universal brotherhood? If so, then certainly our time has 
 not been spent here uselessly. 
 
 Trials and hardships have strengthened us for the great race. 
 We recognize no such words as “fortune” or “luck ;”—but the 
 great law of cause and effect—how omnipresent! how absolute 
 and infallible! Nothing happens without a cause, and no 
 cause that does not produce an effect. We are the cause: we 
 can produce what we will. 
 
 But a new era has dawned upon the college. The work of the 
 Old Chapel is done, and the voices once familiar to these walls 
 are mingling in the din of the battle of life. They come to us 
 from the North and from the South, from the East and from the 
 West, from the senate chamber and from the judgment-seat, from 
 the pulpit and from temples of learning. Far up the heights they 
 are calling us to follow them: their example is an inspiration 
 
20 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 tous. Let us with joy obey the summons, and raise high the 
 proud banner of our Alma Mater. 
 
 To the Alumni this is still The Chapel, and to this place 
 their thoughts return. Memory still lingers here, and will 
 until the last man who worshipped here shall have passed 
 away. 
 
 Yonder beautiful edifice eclipses this in all material respects ; 
 but decade after decade must pass away before its power of 
 influence can equal that attached to this humble place. Its 
 aim has been to ennoble, its beckoning always upward. 
 
 Thus may it be with us; and as we leave this Old Chapel, 
 perhaps never to return again, can we not say, with a heart full 
 of joy or of sadness,— 
 
 “ Fare thee well, and if forever, 
 Still, forever, fare thee well.” 
 
IVY ADDRESS. 
 
 FRED RUSSELL SHAPLEIGH, 
 Great Falls, N. #1. 
 
 es years ago was laid the corner-stone of Rollins Chapel. 
 
 A year later this beautiful structure was dedicated. With 
 the beginning of its use there was introduced into our college 
 life a revivified element. . Compulsory chapel was no longer 
 regarded with the disfavor of former years. It became unneces- 
 sary for the Sophomore to sprinkle cayenne pepper under the 
 Freshman’s seat; or for the Junior, forgetful of his newly ac- 
 quired dignity, to replace the organ pipes with melodious 
 horns,—to speed the long ten minutes that an inflexible author- 
 ity set apart for morning devotions. No more were the exer- 
 cises so tedious and wearisome that the Freshman needed a 
 reservoir of nourishment to support the weakness of his tender 
 years. 
 
 These things were, but they are past. Now, as in the earlier 
 days of the college, the students accord the Chapel its due, and 
 enter its doors with joy and reverence. To us who have 
 watched its development under the hands of the architect ; have 
 felt the power of its beauty, and known the worth of its spirit- 
 ual teaching; and who witnessed its second consecration by 
 the death of its donor,—the new Chapel has a special meaning, 
 and bears a message of peculiar value. Its association will 
 always remain to hallow our recollections of college life. This 
 building, brought into being by love of natural and intellectual 
 parents, is the sign of an active, devoted, successful life. 
 
 It is an appropriate place for our purpose. We have come 
 here to plant our Ivy. We do so in the hope that it will live 
 
22 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 and grow, will climb and expand, will cover and beautify 
 these supporting walls, and that it will long remain a memorial 
 of our beloved class. 
 
 We are standing at the close of our college course. We look 
 back over four years that have brought us up to a new plane 
 of life; that have brought some burdens and some sorrows 
 perhaps, but years that, to all, have opened new views of 
 capabilities, new avenues of thought, and upon which we shall 
 always look with pleasure and satisfaction. 
 
 We look forward to—what? Who can tell? We are not 
 seers, to know our futures. We are workmen, to make them 
 for ourselves, under the guidance of the Divine hand, in the 
 wider world that our paths now meet. 
 
 Each must pursue his own course; each must win his own 
 success. But let us set forward with much courage and joyous 
 anticipation. Let this vine and its surroundings be an exam- 
 ple and an inspiration. Defeat must sometimes come; let 
 despair never. Let the defeats that would wither and chill us 
 be only the seasons whence we derive the nourishment that 
 finally enables us to grow into true manhood. 
 
 Classmates, as to-day we, for the last time, meet in the un- 
 broken, true, sympathetic class spirit, let us determine upon 
 lives of honest purpose and noble endeavors. We have been 
 living in a world of symbols: we must now enter a world of 
 realities. Let us make this day the starting-point of honorable 
 lives. Let us, like our Ivy, improve every opportunity to grow, 
 climb, expand; to beautify whatever place may be ours to fill. 
 
 Then, year by year, as each shoot of this plant mounts higher 
 and spreads broader over the wall, we shall hear of the simul- 
 taneous progress of the members of dear old E1cuty-E1cuT. 
 And when each of us shall have followed those whose faces we 
 so sadly miss to-day to a nobler life, this vine will stand in a 
 true sense, a silent sentinel, our living monument. 
 
CHRONICLES. 
 
 ALPHEUS W. HOYT, 
 
 Natick, Mass. 
 
 EARLY BELOVED: We are assembled altogether at 
 
 this place for almost the last time in our history. Some 
 have dropped by the wayside. Let the rest of us unite to-day 
 in a hearty laugh at others, and not less heartily when the 
 laugh is against ourselves. The experiences of the class have 
 been so peculiar that a delicate touch is needed to bring out 
 some phases of our college course. But to-day let us lay aside 
 personal feeling for the nonce, and, seeing ourselves as others 
 see us, let us thoroughly enjoy the spectacle. 
 
 A class composed of eighty New England boys would nat- 
 urally fall into peculiar situations, which are so rich that it 
 would be a triple extract of selfishness to keep them to one’s 
 self. Some of these are presented to-day, that parents, guar- 
 dians, and other responsible persons may learn, mark, and in- 
 wardly digest a few facts in the lives of their hopefuls. If any 
 of these are considered overdrawn or untrue, do not blame the 
 chronicler, but rather the sources of his information. In a 
 class made up of men ‘‘dropped down from heaven or cast up 
 from hell,” naturally some more than others have made them- 
 selves subject to grinds. But I shall endeavor to trace with an 
 impartial pen a veracious narration of some of the more amus- 
 ing incidents. 
 
 Our first morning in chapel we listened with respect and awe 
 to the oracular utterances of the venerable head of the institu- 
 tion, and learned that the influences brought to bear on us 
 would be proportioned to the following divisions, in the order 
 
24 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 of their importance: 1st, Morals; 2d, Health; 3d, Study. 
 We soon learned that while morals and health were supposed 
 to have no part in the college curriculum, studies must be pros- 
 ecuted although the student had neither health nor morals. 
 In fact; we came here all morals and no learning, and leave all 
 learning and no morals. 
 
 Our first sample of the faculty of Dartmouth college proved 
 to be ‘‘ Tute” Gates, commonly called ‘‘ Cyclops” because he 
 had but one eye, and that a weak affair, strongly resembling a 
 pickled oyster. We were also introduced to the genial ‘‘ Tute,” 
 with his shop-worn saying about ‘‘The average man could 
 do that in ten minutes, while I could do it in two.” Tired 
 ‘* Roots,” with his bundle of facetia, also demands recognition. 
 In short, we were fully launched on the turbulent sea of a col- 
 lege course, with nothing to guide us but the memory of the 
 castigations we had brought from home. 
 
 Many incidents of the class-room might be recounted. 
 ‘*Roots” asked Chauncey Gleason what were the two most 
 prominent buildings on the Acropolis at Athens. With that 
 happy look on his face that he has when he thinks he has 
 the divine idea, Chauncey replied, ‘‘The Parthenon and the 
 Megatherium.” The Erectheum, that gem ofa building, and — 
 the ugly old fossil, meant one and the same thing to Chauncey. 
 
 One Monday morning, in Biblicals, ‘+ Picker” had made a 
 few remarks about St. Paul, and had stated that St. Paul had 
 done a great work in Asia Minor and had accomplished much 
 good, but Italy and Greece were still in a heathen condition. 
 Then turning to ‘‘ Lute,” he said, ‘‘Mr. White, why did St. 
 Paul look towards Europe?” ‘+Why,” replied Luther, ‘for 
 the view, I suppose.” This irrelevant answer greatly shocked 
 the good old man. 
 
 The laugh went round the class, on Gove, in a recitation in 
 philosophy, when he announced, with the air of one imparting 
 important news, that ‘¢ The grove of the Academy at Athens was 
 filled with statutes.” Dick Ely likewise volunteered the infor- 
 mation that ‘‘If you take away all the evil there is in the world, 
 none would remain.” While this was very true, and not to be 
 contradicted, yet it was hardly what was desired, and Dick 
 succumbed amid the applause of the class. 
 
CHRONICLES. 25 
 
 Many things might be recorded about ‘‘ Type’s” recitations,— 
 how the boys contrived to while away the time, and how 
 ‘‘ Type” endeavored to explain something which he apparently 
 comprehended, but which was certainly beyond expression in 
 the words of his limited vocabulary. But why repeat the jests 
 which now have grey hair and wear spectacles ? 
 
 In history Fisher made the true and indisputable statement 
 that the crown of France could not pass through a woman. 
 ‘¢Fish” never understood why the class seemed so internally 
 agitated over a sentence culled from a dry text-book the reverse 
 of humorous. 
 
 Under ‘‘ Dude” Colby we learned for the first time of ‘‘the 
 advantages. and the disadvantages of the monastic system.” 
 What a shy, retiring man ‘‘ Dude” was when he first met us! 
 But a season with the chinners of the class has so hardened 
 him that now he can gaze even into Livy’s fierce orbs without 
 flinching more than an inch or two. 
 
 We may say, in Evidences of Christianity, that the Pagan 
 religions are exterminated in so-called civilized countries. 
 Although the structure may totter and fall, yet college boys will 
 hold up two of the most beautiful pillars, representing Venus 
 and Bacchus. Many have been the offerings and _ sacrifices 
 presented to each. Let us see if they were always acceptable. 
 
 There is Frederic Harrison Chase, who, when a question is 
 asked him, always says, ‘‘If you were in love you’d know.” 
 This same ‘‘Fuddie” was completely fascinated by a girl who 
 was visiting Hanover. At last he fell desperately in love with 
 her, and only waited for an opportunity to declare his passion. 
 ‘‘Fuddie” was in such a state of uncertainty that he even dis- 
 trusted his command of the English language. Accordingly 
 he asked ‘‘ Fish,” in the strictest confidence, for the kest phrases 
 in which to couch a proposal. ,‘‘Fish” consulted a book 
 entitled ‘‘ How to Woo and Win a Maid, Wife, or Widow,” 
 which is his most useful work of reference. He selected a col- 
 lection of words which he thought were neat and appropriate, 
 and ‘‘Fuddie” memorized them. At length, after waiting im- 
 patiently for several days,—for the dear one was shy,—he 
 repeated his little speech to his inamorata. But in vain. 
 Either ‘‘Fuddie” left out some important word, or she was 
 
26 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 previously bespoken. At all events, ‘‘Fuddie” was refused, 
 and the old treat-you-like-a-brother chestnut was sprung on 
 him. If ‘*Fuddie” is now a bachelor he certainly’ is not to 
 blame; he did his best to change that lonely condition. 
 
 Avery was ‘‘gone” on a girl in Lebanon by the name of 
 Nellie She, however, did not succumb to his beautiful 
 blue eyes and artistically curled mustache so rapidly as he had 
 anticipated. At last he bethought himself of a brilliant scheme 
 by which to win the maiden’s esteem. Accordingly he sent 
 her a copy of the Dartmouth. The number contained a short 
 story, which ended with ‘‘so I shall not see my Nellie for two 
 weeks.” He had carefully marked this last sentence with four 
 blue lines, that it might especially attract her attention. With- 
 out delay he received the Dartmouth from the irate maid, and 
 also learned that ‘‘ neither would he see her for two weeks, nor, 
 if she had her choice, would he see her for two years.” Avery 
 doesn’t send any more Darimouths to his Nellie, as it is a 
 decided waste of time and postage-stamps. 
 
 In striking contrast to Avery is ‘‘ Link” Artz, who has ezze 
 deutsche médchen in Ohio most thoroughly devoted to him, as 
 is evinced by his receiving a letter each day from her and two 
 on Monday. But depict to yourself his surprise and delight 
 when, after the great snow blockade, he received five letters 
 from her in the same mail. In her anxiety she would post one 
 letter, then fifteen minutes later, thinking of some more advice 
 in regard to colds, sore throat, chilblains, etc., she would indite 
 another, and yet another. Those of us who only receive one 
 letter a week, and that a dun, envy ‘“‘ Link” his good fortune. 
 
 Stokes and Fisher went to a leap-year party in ‘‘ Leb.” As 
 they had no invitation, they penetrated the sheepfold by the 
 back gate. As they entered all was propitious, and they con- 
 gratulated themselves on their good luck. Stokie, seeing that 
 the most beautiful girl present was unoccupied for a moment, 
 approached her and requested the honor of a waltz. Having a 
 clear understanding of Stokie’s social reputation in ‘* Leb,” she 
 replied that her order was filled. Stokie then asked the lady 
 accompanying her for adance. But, strangely enough, her order 
 also was complete. Fisher then went through the same per- 
 formance, but the young ladies, having in mind the old adage of 
 
CHRONICLES. 24 
 
 ‘*birds of a feather,” etc., refused him likewise. Then Avery, 
 having.a slight acquaintance with the young lady, expostulated 
 with her, and wished to know why she refused Stokie a dance 
 when her order was not filled. She replied, ‘‘ When I told 
 Mr. Stokes my order was complete, he probably knew what I 
 meant.” As she was the belle of the ball, the other ladies of 
 course followed her example, and Stokie did the wall-flower 
 act for the rest of the evening. On his return some one asked 
 him how he enjoyed the dance. ‘‘Oh!” said Stokie, ‘‘I had a 
 hellish time.” 
 
 One beautiful moonlight evening Cobb went to ride with a 
 fair resident of the town. He had understood that the conven- 
 tional thing to do under such circumstances was to encircle the 
 waist of the female with the arm of the male. As an initiatory 
 movement he placed his arm on the back of the seat as she 
 leaned forward a moment. She kept this position until they 
 had traversed nearly two miles. Then, becoming weary of 
 this one attitude, she remarked, ‘‘ Mr. Cobb, will you remove 
 your arm now, as I would like to lean against the back of the 
 seat?” With celerity and a smothered imprecation Cobb com- 
 plied. 
 
 One more incident in this line will suffice. A young lady 
 was visiting at West Randolph in whom Dan Lawrence was 
 greatly interested. Thinking to achieve a conquest of that fair 
 heart he sent her his photograph, together with the following 
 modest request: ‘* My love, look at the picture, gaze down deep 
 into the eyes, and see if you can read my secret there.” If she 
 discovered any secret there, her powers of discernment must be 
 highly cultivated. The only secret I ever read in those cold 
 grey eyes was that those same c. g. eyes needed spectacles. 
 
 The mention of a photograph recalls the time that ‘*Greg” 
 sent his mirrored likeness to a young lady with whom he was 
 engaged in a deep and desperate correspondence. She placed 
 it in the most prominent place on the mantle. ‘*Greg’s” most 
 prominent weak point is his lack of hirsute growth on the ex- 
 treme top of his head. A friend of this lady’s unintentionally 
 caused quite a tempest by asking in mellifluous tones ‘‘ who 
 Old Baldy up there was.” , 
 
 Before W. Byron Furbush came to Hanover, without due 
 
28 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 knowledge of the enticements of the fleshpots of Egypt, he 
 promised that he would never touch a card during his college 
 course. It is indeed true that he has kept the letter of the 
 promise. But he has learned all the games at cards by careful 
 observation and judicious questioning, and has become so pro- 
 ficient in the theory that he is regarded as the college Hoyle. 
 His decisions on disputed points are considered final, and are 
 religiously observed. 
 
 Although he promised not to touch cards, yet no such assur- 
 ance was given as regards dice, and for the last year he has 
 carried in his wallet a set of loaded dice, with which he lies in 
 wait for the unwary, and wins enough to pay for his teams to 
 ‘eb? 
 
 Lest any one doubt the truthfulness of these statements, let an 
 example be cited. Scene, senior room. ‘‘Gabe” is in the 
 chair, and in his ‘‘unique and succinct” way is droning out 1 
 ARABIC or V ROMAN, with the soporific effect of an ounce of 
 ether. The majority are indulging in a rosy dream of a fat 
 position after graduation. Byron at length, possessed by his 
 datmon, takes his dice from his pocket and rattles them loudly. 
 as a challenge. Dunlap picks up*the gauntlet, and soon the 
 two are deeply engaged in the entrancing mysteries of dice- 
 shaking, only now and then casting a covert glance at ‘¢ Gabe.’s 
 This continues until Dunlap has lost 6c., and refuses to play 
 any more, as the jewellers’ trade in Manchester was suffering an 
 eclipse at that season. Thus do the minister and the mission- 
 ary improve the brief season of youth. Forbush then rattles 
 the dice, and casts on the class a triumphant glance, as who 
 should say, ‘‘ Who is greater than I in my own special line?” 
 
 Chauncey Gleason was another man brought up in the old- 
 fashioned customs of the Garden of Eden. When Chauncey 
 first came to college it was very refreshing to hear him ask the 
 name of a card, which proved to be the Jack of Clubs. But at 
 present, so greatly has he improved from a worldly point of 
 view, he could win the false teeth from John Lew himself. 
 
 The late lamented Gilmore was a striking example of virtue 
 and valor gone astray. He had a decided penchant for good 
 cigars and expensive furniture. To satisfy this taste he was 
 obliged to draw on his natural faculties for the necessary where- 
 
CHRONICLES. 29 
 
 withal. At last he resolved to preach Sundays for a pecuniary 
 remuneration, which should presently be transformed into all 
 that heart could desire or imagination long for. He succeeded 
 in obtaining a position, humble it is true, but still a post of 
 responsibility. He borrowed ‘‘ Pa” Leeds’s concordance, drew 
 from the library volumes of sermons by eminent divines, and 
 preached his first sermon. 
 
 He gave great satisfaction, until, alas! one Sunday he re- 
 quested Berry to accompany him and lead the singing. This 
 Berry is a man with a good voice, but according to the most 
 authentic reports is a true son of Baal. He has an extensive 
 repertoire of songs suited to every age and taste. The meeting 
 was proceeding prosperously, and Gilmore thinking what a 
 pleasant addition Berry would be to the choir. But at that 
 moment the Sword of Damocles fell. Berry, forgetful of his 
 holy surroundings, and imagining himself once more in the 
 bosom of his unregenerate associates, started that popular bal- 
 lad, ‘‘ Where was Zachy when the bed fell down?” In aston- 
 ishment and righteous indignation the congregation arose as 
 twins with the firm intention of breaking the sixth command- 
 ment. But Gilmore and Berry, with the wings of a blizzard 
 and the endurance of the Evil One, were soon beyond the con- 
 fines of the little village, and safe from the strong arms of the 
 enraged congregation. 
 
 Gilmore never forgave Berry for his moment of forgetful- 
 ness, and Berry vows that never again will he be found within 
 the walls of a church. 
 
 Your chronicler had a glorious grind on Zach Chandler in 
 connection with the Miner House. But as Mr. Chandler ina 
 body waited on us, and informed us that it would be best to 
 keep it out of the chronicles,—tst, because it would destroy the 
 peace of a prospective household; 2d, because it would involve 
 the annihilation of the chronicler,—we decided, for several rea- 
 sons, that it was wisest and safest to suppress it. While we 
 think it was a high-handed proceeding, yet as we value our 
 personal safety more highly than we do the freedom of the 
 press, we have yielded to a superior force. 
 
 ‘‘Link” Artz has a cool, calm way of obtaining excuses. 
 ‘‘ Link” has the reputation of being deaf. Ask him an embar- 
 
30 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTYV-EIGHT. 
 
 rassing question, or request the loan of $5, he can’t distinguish 
 a single syllable. But when you say anything he likes to hear, 
 or call him by a name of reproach, no one under the blue can- 
 opy is possessed of a more delicate sense of hearing. This sin- 
 gular quality is very convenient when he is endeavoring to 
 obtain an excuse. Let us take an illustration. ‘+ Link” hada 
 severe attack of some fleeting but painful malady, which pre- 
 vented his attending recitations for a week. This complaint 
 manifested itself singularly enough only during recitation-time. 
 At other times he was as whole a man as any of us. The fol- 
 lowing Monday morning ‘‘Link” appeared before ‘‘ Type,” 
 who had the hard luck to be our class officer, and requested an 
 excuse. The following conversation then took place: 
 
 ‘*Type”: ‘*Mr. Artz, how many days do you want excuses 
 for?” 
 
 ‘¢Link”: ¢* For all last week.” 
 
 T: ‘*What reason have you for staying out so long?” 
 
 L: ‘* From Monday morning to Saturday noon.” 
 
 T (Blushing like a lobster): ‘‘I asked why you stayed out 
 so long?” 
 
 L: ‘*Oh! yes, I didn’t understand you. No,I didn’t attend 
 chapel.” 
 
 T (In desperation) : ‘‘ Why didn’t you attend recitations?” 
 
 L: ‘*As you say, I didn’t attend rhetoricals.” 
 
 Seeing that when Nature helps those who won’t hear, it is 
 useless to attempt to make them understand, ‘‘ Type,” feeling 
 smaller than one of his beloved infusoria, wrote the excuse, 
 and ‘‘ Link” departed with the pleasant impression that he had 
 placed ‘* Type” among the agricultural members of the com- 
 munity. 
 
 Fisher had been studying French, and had encountered the 
 word édzte. He congratulated himself on being able to intro- 
 duce such a nice foreign word casually into his conversation. 
 One evening he had called on several of the professors. Being 
 asked where he had spent the evening, he replied, ‘‘I have 
 been calling on the z//¢c¢¢ of Hanover.” 
 
 Robbie Fairbanks’s adventure with the French language may 
 not come amiss. Before going abroad Robbie had taken an 
 advanced course in French, that he might astonish the natives 
 
CHRONICLES. 31 
 
 by his pure Parisian accent. Let the following anecdote relate 
 his success. 
 
 One day, in Paris, Robbie wandered into a café, and ordered 
 dinner. He partook of it, and then, as a mild sedative, ordered 
 a bunch of cigarettes. The waiter, with a polite ‘‘Ouz, Mon- 
 steur,’’ departed, and returning quickly, placed before the 
 blushing and horrified Robbie a foaming glass of beer. In 
 relating this story, he never definitely states whether he absorbed 
 the amber liquid, or pushed it from him- with splendid New 
 England disdain. Whichever he did, he never afterwards 
 trusted so implicitly in his linguistic powers. 
 
 I will here recount an illustration of percentage, which was 
 productive of some amusement at the time. Two years ago 
 ‘¢ Lute” White was doing the tough Sophomore act quite exten- 
 sively. This is a line of conduct which, in order to be a suc- 
 cess, requires a goodly pile of the legalized medium of ex- 
 change. Unfortunately for Luther and his tough career, at a 
 critical point he lacked the unclean but necessary lucre. 
 Learning that ‘‘Josh” Whitcomb was a man of affluence, Luther 
 applied to him for pecuniary aid. At first ‘*Josh” refused ; 
 but as Luther told him that White, Sr., would pay if White, 
 Jr., didn’t, ‘‘Josh” lent him $50, charging 48% as recompense 
 for the mental wear and tear which would inevitably ensue. 
 Some time after, ‘‘Josh” became possessed by the devil of 
 unrest, and hied him to the genial Luther, and demanded his 
 money. Luther didn’t have it, but promised to get it as soon 
 as possible. ‘‘Josh” threatened to write to White Zere, dis- 
 closing the true inwardness of the affair, if he had not received 
 his $50 at the end of three days. ‘‘ Lute” watched the post- 
 office to see whether ‘‘Josh” wrote to his father, while ‘* Josh” 
 watched to ascertain whether Luther received any money. At 
 last Luther became so thin through anxiety and loss of sleep 
 that his friends, fearing for his life, raised a subscription, and 
 relieved him from his hounding creditor. So ended happily 
 one of the most peculiar money transactions of the course. 
 
 In connection with money I recall an incident that happened 
 to ‘* Jakey” Dascomb. A notorious character in New York 
 chanced to see one of our class pictures. He was somewhat 
 of a phrenologist in an amateur way. He examined the faces 
 
32 | CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 carefully to find some one suited to his purpose. Finally he 
 decided that one, whom he found to be Dascomb, was the 
 most promising. Thereupon he wrote a letter to Dascomb, 
 stating that he was a dealer in counterfeit money, and would 
 let him have the bills at 10% of their face value. ‘‘Jakey” 
 saw a rich and prosperous future before him as a passer of 
 counterfeit money. But his duty as a member of the church in 
 good and regular standing prevailed, and ‘‘Jakey” wrote to 
 the man, requesting as a personal favor that he should get 
 behind him. Many a time and oft has he regretted his hasty 
 action. 
 
 ‘«Jakey” appears to be greatly favored by these strange re- 
 quests. Another letter was sent him from New York. The 
 writer wished to ascertain whether ‘‘Jakey” desired to enter 
 their bureau with matrimonial intentions. The registration fee 
 was $2. If he secured a wife, they kept the money; but if he 
 failed to be satisfied within a year, they returned $1.50. Al- 
 though this was extremely tempting to a man of ‘Jakey’s’ 
 temperament, yet his shrewd. worldly wisdom was in the 
 ascendency, and he never wrote for further information. 
 
 There are a few ingenuous men in the class. One of these, 
 Lougee, asked, ‘‘ To what college the base-ball pennant would 
 go if each nine in the league won their series of games from 
 the other team?” As this question has never been answered, 
 it must be deeper than would appear from a cursory glance. 
 
 As Lougee did not feel very well prepared for an examina- 
 tion in Latin, he had taken in several speeches cut from a 
 ‘‘horse.” He had bestowed these after a system of his own. 
 In the upper right hand vest pocket, one; in the upper left 
 hand vest pocket, one; and so on, till the entire ten were pro- 
 vided for. Unfortunately he forgot where he had placed each, 
 and so, by these artificial aids, he was thrown into a confusion 
 of mind and speeches. Hecouldn’t translate because he didn’t 
 understand the constructions, and he couldn’t find the speeches 
 without making a suspicious rustling of the mass of paper with 
 which he was loaded. He says the next time he takes a 
 ‘‘horse” in he will have himself properly indexed, and thus 
 save time and labor. 
 
 ‘* Fuddie” Chase, in his mézve and childlike way, said to a 
 
CHRONICLES. 33 
 
 friend, one day, ‘tI don’t have to study at all here. Daniel 
 Webster never did when he was in college.” The natural in- 
 ference is that the Hon. Daniel must have been a ‘* Fuddie” 
 Chase. 
 
 ‘* Primo” Short asked who would probably ’be the valetudi- 
 narian of the class. It was replied that there were quite a num- 
 ber fitted for the position, but that Morrill seemed to be most 
 favored in that line, and would be selected to fill the place. 
 
 ‘* Tick” Harlow, ‘‘the venerable,” and Phil Thompson, that 
 untrammelled son of nature, amused themselves by a game of 
 ‘*penny ante” one evening. After one of the draws, ‘‘ Tick” 
 held a pair of aces, and Phil a pair of twos. They raised each 
 other in a reckless manner. At last Phil ‘‘called.” They 
 threw their hands on to the table, and then ‘‘ Tick” exclaimed, 
 ‘*Why, Phil, you have beaten me. You have twos and I only 
 have ones.” 
 
 Well might Harlow be called ‘‘ Tick” doloreaux, for he is 
 certainly the melancholy Jacques of the class, especially after 
 .this little game of poker. 
 
 Walker had rather a disconcerting experience while he was a 
 ‘‘sublimated sophomore.” He had taken a sixteen-weeks 
 course in poker, and had thoroughly mastered the subject. But 
 at length he became ill, through a too persistent wooing of the 
 blind goddess, and returned home. He was ‘‘ out of his head” 
 for a short time, and now and again, he would inform his mother 
 that it was her ante, and would wish to know how many cards 
 she would draw. Finally, with many violent gestures and 
 much emphatic language, he would inform her that the pot 
 was his, and no one could take it away from him. His mother 
 at length decided that this was the outward and audible sign of 
 an inward and moral change. But Walker afterward assured 
 her that it was merely the raving of a sick man, and was a fab- 
 rication of the fancy. 
 
 When Dunlap was an ‘‘ubiquitous freshman,” his mother 
 was with him for a few days, as was her wont, to see that 
 ‘‘Dunnie” was treading the strait and narrow path. Hav- 
 ing some use for a Bible, she asked Fred for his. With shame 
 and confusion, he said he had not seen it for a few days past. 
 The apartments were searched and researched, but no Bible 
 
34 CHRONICLES. 
 
 could be found. Then the mother, with a sudden suspicion, 
 asked him what he used when he read his chapter each morn- 
 ing. ‘To minds less ready in expedients this question might 
 have been perplexing: not so to the wily Fred. With an ex- 
 tremely zonchalant air, he replied, ‘‘I translate from the orig- 
 inal Greek text; but as you wouldn’t understand that, I didn’t 
 get jt for you.” ‘This answer was satisfactory, and all cor- 
 roding doubts were removed. 
 
 We greatly fear that there are some men in the class who 
 try to emulate Ananias of Biblical fame. Short had a friend 
 visiting him, who was about as economical of the truth as any 
 native of the Granite State. Some of the fellows listened to 
 his stories for some time, and then delegated one of their num- 
 ber to go and fetch Warren Hazen, of Kansas. Warren con- 
 siders himself somewhat of a liar, and hates to be outdone in 
 this respect. Warren soon entered, prepared to go to any ex- 
 treme to retain the belt. 
 
 Then might have been witnessed a novel contest. Warren 
 would tell a lie, which the stranger would surpass. Warren 
 would give another, with the same result. Finally Warren 
 girded up his loins, drew a long breath, and told such an 
 infernally great lie, that the stranger’s cheek paled, his eyes 
 protruded, and his ears drooped. His collapse and consequent 
 defeat were so evident, that, amid the plaudits of admiring 
 throngs, Warren was crowned monarch of fabricators. 
 
 Let me relate an event in which Warren figured, not, how- 
 ever, with the same good fortune. Warren had made the 
 acquaintance of a girl at the Junction, and used to go there 
 every Thursday evening. A few weeks later Blake also be- 
 came acquainted with a girl there, but he used to visit the 
 Junction every Saturday evening. Warren learned that Blake 
 went to the Junction Saturday evening, so he proposed to 
 Elmer that they should go down together either Thursday or 
 Saturday, thus lessening the expense. Blake agreed, and they 
 proposed to arrange the evening with their respective Saccha- 
 rissas. But, strangely enough, Warren’s girl was ‘‘ engaged” 
 Saturday evening, and Blake’s girl was ‘‘engaged” Thursday 
 evening. 
 
 The next week they met, and imparted to each other the 
 
CHRONICLES. 35 
 
 result. Then Warren asked Blake the name of his inamorata. 
 It was Miss St. J——, of street. With the assistance of 
 a long string of those expletives for which he is noted, Warren 
 unfolded to Blake the fact, that the Thursday evening girl and 
 the Saturday evening girl were identical. They shook hands 
 mournfully, and in silence. ‘* Thought is deeper than words: 
 feeling is deeper than all thought.” Then they separated, 
 mutually agreeing to let the siren ‘‘ gang her ain gait’ in the 
 future. 
 
 In a book of anthology I find that Porter admits that his 
 chief characteristic is his stomach. Beside that implied quality 
 he has another characteristic, namely, desiring for his own 
 everything that belongs to another. This covetousness is ex- 
 tended especially towards thermometers. At one time he had 
 twenty-three thermometers in his room. But sometimes he 
 would fall into the trap set for the unwary. He had taken a 
 thermometer from a house, and was happy in the belief that 
 God helps those who help themselves. But soon he relapsed 
 into his former gloomy condition, as he perceived another ther- 
 mometer in the place of the old one. He came late at night 
 with his trusty screwdriver, and, working manfully, succeeded 
 in accomplishing his fell purpose. But imagine his disgust 
 when he discovered that the good people had been on the 
 watch for just such fellows as he, and had placed a broken 
 thermometer on the door, and carefully fastened it with eight 
 long screws. 
 
 Many queer visions have been recorded, and their d¢zarre 
 appearance usually has been ascribed to the atmosphere, or to 
 some natural phenomenon. AsIam unable to decide under 
 what head ‘‘ Josh” Whitcomb’s experience comes, I will add 
 it, that each in an unbiased way may judge for himself. 
 ‘«Josh” went to Saxton’s River to play ball. After the game 
 he regaled his inner man with the delicacies of life, both solid 
 and liquid, particularly the latter. On the return his eyes saw 
 things that were not, and his mind acted in a most unusual 
 and erratic way. As he kept the gravity of an owl, he did not 
 discover himself. But in passing a station, he perceived a 
 lantern. His strong spirit of curiosity overcame his habitual 
 self-control, and he remarked, ‘‘ Whaz er funny star! I never 
 
36 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 saw suz er funny star an’where!” It is needless to remark 
 that ‘* Chuck” never observed stars of this particular nature 
 and magnitude through his telescope. 
 
 While we are on heavenly topics, it might be well to add 
 one or two astronomical ‘‘ grinds.” In this subject the limb is 
 the wavy, flame-shaped border seen around some of the plan- 
 ets. ‘*Chuck” was showing to the class photographs of some 
 of the planets. At length he produced a photograph of Venus. 
 Then ‘‘Jakey” plunged the class into paroxysms of poorly-con- 
 cealed merriment by asking, in a sentimental, heartfelt tone, to 
 see the limbs of Venus. 
 
 Soon after this, ‘* Chuck” asked White what he knew about 
 Venus. Luther said he knew quite a lot about her, but he 
 did n’t want to make it public. 
 
 ‘¢Chuck” was questioning Sam Nelson with the intention 
 of bringing out the action of tides. But Sam didn’t seem to 
 have any engagement with the correct answers. Finally, in 
 despair, ‘‘Chuck” asked why ships frequently waited outside 
 harbors before entering. With a confiding air, Sam replied 
 that they waited for the moon to rise and draw them in. 
 
 Among other prominent members of the class is Dunlap. 
 His lithe figure and gaudy attire always may be observed 
 where the fun is fast and furious, or where the ladies most do 
 congregate. But occasionally, as sometimes unfortunately hap- 
 pens, the presence of more than one of the fair sex at the same 
 time is a superfluity of sweetness. Dunlap had paid most ear- 
 nest attention to a girl in Manchester, and she was completely 
 captivated by his native grace, and the brilliancy of his conver- 
 sation. Being a Mormon by natural inclination, he had also 
 cultivated the acquaintance of a Lebanon girl, and thus became 
 virtually engaged to two females at once—a very sad condi- 
 tion, and one greatly to be deplored. 
 
 Last Commencement he invited both girls to the exercises, 
 but with the sincere hope and the confident expectation that 
 the Manchester flame could not attend. But what was his 
 anxiety and dismay when, punctually at the appointed time, 
 both ladies appeared on the scene! How happy he could have 
 been with either, with t’other dear charmer away. But with 
 both at once, there was a surfeit of honey and molasses. Fred’s 
 
CHRONICLES. 37 
 
 manly heart trembled, and his golden Burnsides visibly drooped. 
 The Lebanon girl quickly realized the situation, and paled at 
 the fierce energy displayed by her rival. Fred was between 
 two fires, as it were, and did not expect to go through the test 
 unscathed. When two lovely women stoop to such folly, they 
 are like a pair of scissors, and Fred, the unresisting piece of 
 paper between the blades, must suffer. 
 
 At length the Lebanon girl gave up the field, went home, 
 and was sick three weeks with a broken heart.. But, as we 
 have lately heard that she was married to a prosperous farmer, 
 there must be some truth in the sentence painted on every rock 
 and rail, that Time and Spalding’s glue mend everything. 
 How Dunlap made his peace with the victorious fair one, we 
 never learned. But as he belongs to that class, which learns 
 from experience, we trust that never again will he be caught in 
 such a predicament. 
 
 Freshman year Gove passed through Canada on his way. 
 home. He fell in with a theatrical company, the female part 
 of which determined to have some sport with him. Accord- 
 ingly one giddy young woman went to his seat, and entered 
 into conversation with him. Everything was running as nicely 
 as an eight-day clock, till, suddenly, without a word of warn- 
 ing, the young woman fell on Gove’s manly bosom, apparently 
 in a dead faint, and her arms were thrown around his neck in 
 a caressing way. Picture to yourself the situation. Here was 
 a young man, unsophisticated and guileless, with the flavor of 
 the Western plains barely eradicated from his garments, clasp- 
 ing in his arms a beautiful creature whom he had never seen 
 before. Immortal shades of Prof. Colby! Can such things 
 be? 
 
 The shouts and cruel remarks of the bystanders did not tend 
 to soothe his troubled soul. He tried to get rid of his sweet but 
 uncomfortable burden. He ransacked his memory for the 
 usual remedies applied in such cases. But the only thing that 
 he could think of was that removing the clothing from the 
 throat relieves troubled breathing. With the energy of des- 
 peration he clutched the collar of her dress so stoutly that three 
 buttons rolled to the floor of the car. This immediately re- 
 lieved her, and she quickly came to herself. As soon as she 
 
38 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 had entirely recovered, she thanked him graciously for his kind 
 and efficient aid, and imprinted two kisses on Gove’s cheeks. 
 
 This mark of her gratitude was the last straw. To havea 
 girl throw herself into your arms is bad enough, but words are 
 weak when We try to describe the kisses as a reward for your 
 allowing her to do it. With a fiery red spot on each cheek, 
 Gove hastily gathered up his luggage and fled to the smoker, 
 amid the unholy laughter of the delighted spectators. It 
 might be added that the fainting was a fine bit of acting, and 
 that the scene was taken from a new play, in which Gove took 
 the part of the virtuous young man rewarded by his beloved. 
 
 In teaching young ideas how to shoot, some of the boys have 
 met with small, insignificant incidents, which have enlarged 
 their own ideas, and strengthened their belief in the thorough 
 degeneracy of the next generation. Avery’s experience in this 
 connection is wortlfy of recital. 
 
 Avery taught one term in a school not many miles from 
 here. The boys were not characterized by a too ardent wish 
 to always attend school, and so they devised schemes by which 
 to escape the instilling of knowledge. One bright morning in 
 winter Avery came into the school-room and noticed that the 
 boys were still clad in their overcoats, and were blowing 
 noisily on their hands, as if to quicken the sluggish circulation. 
 Although Avery felt comfortably warm, yet he doubted his 
 senses, and feared incipient fever in his blood. He looked at 
 the thermometer, and as the mercury indicated 30° above zero, 
 his fear was strengthened into a certainty. He then remarked 
 to the school that, owing to the inefficiency of the furnace, he 
 would dismiss them. The scholars accordingly departed their 
 several ways, only tarrying long enough to testify their ap- 
 proval of his action by a vigorous cheer. Then, his suspicion 
 being aroused, he examined the thermometer closely, and found 
 the bulb tightly packed in snow. After that day the school 
 kept, even if you could make ice-cream in the room without 
 the usual freezing mixture. 
 
 Tom Sawyer’s idea of happiness, as expressed in writing by 
 himself, is, ‘A good wife, with a house and lot.” Many other 
 men have, the same weakness. Tom afterwards confessed that 
 he meant a good and beautiful wife, possessed of a large man- 
 
CHRONICLES. 39 
 
 sion, great rolls of ducats, and broad, fertile acres. Tom isa 
 nice fellow, but he entered into a bit of repartee in which he 
 was decidedly worsted. 
 
 Junior year Tom roomed in a house where it was often his 
 pleasant duty to accompany to their residences unprotected 
 female callers of the landlady’s. One baneful evening, one of 
 the above mentioned species called, and Tom, as usual, ‘‘ saw 
 her home.” By some strange misschance, some of the sinful 
 men of the class saw him, and the next day guyed him about 
 his going home with her, intimating that she was no better 
 than she ought to be—although, so far as this last matter is 
 concerned, very few of us are what we should be. In righteous 
 wrath Tom called on his landlady, and in his best prize-speak- 
 ing tone declared that ‘‘ He wouldn’t be entrapped into accom- 
 panying a young woman of such reputation, and that he 
 couldn’t afford to endanger his morals for any one.” .The 
 indignant landlady sententiously replied, ‘* That, judging from 
 the language which issued from his room, it would take con- 
 siderably more than that to endanger his morals.” Tom sud- 
 denly remembered that he had a letter to post, and so, unfort- 
 unately, could not continue the conversation. 
 
 What streams of eloquence have flowed from the lips of 
 members of this worthy class. Rufus Choate was a fair orator, 
 and he had quite a reputation. But, beside the infant Ciceros 
 and O’Connors of the class, he must consider himself of but 
 little importance. Stokes spoke of the Anarchists. He was 
 probably thinking of the foot-ball season when he mentioned 
 ‘¢the dread reign of arnica.” 
 
 But, not content with the quality of their own thunder, many 
 of the class have purloined other people’s. ‘‘ Cully” Keay 
 took as his chapel piece a prize essay which appeared in a 
 Way-Back exchange of the Dartmouth. Other classmen have 
 had better pieces, but, as they selected essays, which took a 
 higher prize than Keay’s, they certainly should have so suc- 
 ceeded. 
 
 But it is especially in literature that we have attained the 
 highest rung of the ladder. Think what a noble effusion was 
 ‘©The Lay of the Bald Poet,” by Father Pattee. He wrote 
 with much feeling and pathos from an intimate knowledge of 
 
40 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 the subject. But for transcendent, ineffable genius, give me 
 Weeks’s essay on Gunpowder. 
 
 Sophomore year we had an opportunity to display our lit- 
 erary ability, and many and varied were the attempts to rival 
 W. Irving, Dickens, Howells, etc. It was Weeks’s turn to elec- 
 trify the class; and the particular medium by which he was to 
 accomplish this was an article on gunpowder. He first gave 
 an historic account of gunpowder, its manufacture, etc. Then 
 he drew on his imagination, and branched out thusly: ‘‘In the 
 far West lie the Rocky Mountains, with their peaks glittering 
 in the sun, inviting you to traverse them. Would you go 
 with a jack-knife in one hand and a David’s sling in the other? 
 No, for you would be torn in pieces by a panther, or hugged 
 to death by a grizzly. Instead, you would take with you a 
 trusty rifle, and an ample supply of bullets and powder. 
 Then in peace and security you could traverse those lofty 
 heights. Without fear you could observe the idiosyncrasies of 
 nature in her wildest aspects. Thus in safety you could wan- 
 der through the pathless forests and over the trackless plains, 
 without having a hair of your head injured, unless it be by the 
 scissors of the native barber.” After this who will say that the 
 literary man does not need a collegiate training? 
 
 ‘Clothes Pin” has a few phrases culled from the masters of 
 fiction, which he repeats with a parrot-like monotony. I really 
 believe, if you asked him what reasonable apology he could 
 have for living, he would unconsciously reply, ‘* Beauty is its 
 own excuse for being.” 
 
 ‘* Fuddie” Chase has such an innocent way of uttering the 
 most outrageous statements, that very few of us comprehend 
 the deep undercurrents of implied thought until it is too late to 
 reply. There is always such real feeling, and such true regard 
 for the proprieties and for the rights of others, that we cannot 
 but admire him and bow down before him. But occasionally, 
 out of the pure spontaneity of his enthusiastic spirit, he says 
 things which may have a different construction than the one he 
 intended. Chase had taken a young lady toa ball. She had 
 been ill, and consequently was somewhat pale. He approached 
 her during the dance, and, perceiving for the first time how 
 ‘* off color” she was, said, ‘*Do you know how pale you are? 
 
CHRONICLES. 41 
 
 I advise you to send to a druggist and procure a box of rouge.” 
 The young lady was so tired when she heard these delicate 
 remarks, that she immediately left for home, and ‘‘ Fuddie” 
 wondered the rest of the evening why she had so suddenly 
 deserted him. 
 
 For such a modest man, Byron Forbush meets with more 
 than his due share of personal perplexity. One Friday evening 
 he had called at the Fem. Sem. He stayed till a late hour, 
 and left in such a state of mental exhilaration and spiritual up- 
 lifting, that he was not as careful as he might have been in his 
 choice of outer garments. As he was buttoning up the over- 
 coat, he perceived that a button was gone since he had last 
 worn the coat. He started for Hanover, and when half way 
 there he put his hand in one of the pockets and found a pair 
 of spectacles. As he had no use for them, it might with rea- 
 son be inferred, that either the spectacles or the coat, or both, 
 belonged to another. Examining the coat closely, he discovered 
 that in his hasty departure he had taken the coat of Barlow, 
 the worthy preceptor of the Fem. Sem. With a meek expres- 
 sion on his face and a few confused words of apology on his 
 lips, he soon rectified the mistake, and Byron returned clothed 
 and in his right garments. 
 
 John Lew Clark has always preserved a certain golden mean 
 of personal privilege, which has kept him apart from the 
 mediocre. He boarded one term at the Chase Club. He was 
 asked why he had left his former place. Any other man 
 would have said that it was too far, or that he didn’t like the 
 board. But with that spirit, which is traditionally reported to 
 have characterized the Father of his Country, John Lew re- 
 plied, ‘‘ I ate so much that they said I had a tape-worm.” 
 
 A strong trace of originality is also to be distinguished in 
 John Lew’s recitations. He was reciting in Biblicals to ‘* Prex.” 
 
 ‘© Prex’”’: ‘When Adam and Eve were driven out of the 
 garden, what curses were there?” 
 
 John Lew: ‘‘Adam and Eve were ashamed, and hid them- 
 selves, and cursed the Lord.” 
 
 John Lew is troubled with obliquity of vision. He possesses 
 two pairs of Scotch-pebble spectacles. One day he had one 
 pair astride his Roman nose. He wished to read, and, in an 
 
42 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 absent-minded way, adjusted the other pair. The result was 
 not all that might have been desired. He removed them, 
 breathed some fiery breath on them, polished them carefully 
 with a silk handkerchief, and put them on once more. But 
 not being able to see even then, he grew frightened, and went 
 into an adjoining room. Then one of the boys took the two 
 pairs of spectacles off John Lew’s nose. John looked dazed for 
 a moment, but gradually it dawned on his paralyzed mind that 
 he must have been at it again. 
 
 When you injure a man’s pride, you cut the rope which con- 
 fines his wrath. He may forgive the offence, but he never for- 
 gets it. ‘*Greg” had a cousin in the Fem. Sem. whom he 
 greatly admired. One summer afternoon he was strolling 
 through the streets of West ‘‘ Leb” with two disreputable 
 acquaintances. A corn-cob pipe projected from his classic 
 lips, and his long moustache looked like a hen’s tail in wet 
 weather. His nose was reddened from long exposure to the 
 hot sun, and his eyes were bloodshot from the same cause. 
 Altogether he did not look like a man you would care to intro- 
 duce to your female acquaintances. His cousin passed along 
 the street with a number of Fem. Sems. She perceived 
 ‘‘Greg,” but no light of recognition beamed in her eye. In- 
 stead, she cast a cold, supercilious glance on his inflamed 
 countenance, which, rankled for days to come. This direct 
 cut caused him to deliver some very emphatic language, to the 
 effect that any blank relative of his, who would not recognize 
 him on the street, should be instantly disowned. 
 
 If all confidential disclosures of four years could be cap- 
 tured and confined in a phonograph, but little detective work 
 would be necessary in this part. Here is one between Walker 
 and White that was accidentally overheard by the stars and a 
 casual passer-by. 
 
 ‘¢ Jupiter”: ‘* Say, ‘ Lute,’ I don’t see why I am so popular. 
 I don’t dress as well as you do, and I am not so bright.” 
 
 ‘* Pluto”: ‘*I know you don’t dress as well as I do, and you 
 are not so smart as I am. But your clothes always fit you. 
 I think it must be your form and complexion.” 
 
 This is no creation of a heated imagination, but an undraped 
 actuality. 
 
CHRONICLES. 43 
 
 Next to possessing no money at all, it is most embarrassing 
 to be placed in a position where money you own, although 
 absolutely necessary, is not forthcoming. A young lady of 
 Malden was very musical, and used frequently to receive tick- 
 ets to recitals in Boston. Once she received two tickets, and 
 invited Dan Lawrence to accompany her. He gladly accepted, 
 and they went into the city on a mileage ticket. As the day 
 was rainy, at the station they took a horse car. 
 
 The young lady at length noticed Dan nervously feeling 
 through each pocket, but seemingly without satisfactory result. 
 Dan grew red and redder in the face, and, although the day 
 was cool, the perspiration stood in great beads on his forehead. 
 Presently, with a piteous tremor in his voice, and in a tone of 
 conscious humiliation, he stammered, ‘‘I—I am very sorry, 
 but I—I—, in short, I left my pocket-book at home, and would 
 you please pay the fare?” Think of our Daniel Luther Law- 
 rence, Fortune’s pet and ‘‘ Roots’ ” darling, requesting the loan 
 ofa dime! ‘‘Ye gods! it doth amaze me!” His divinity gra- 
 ciously paid the fares, as requested, but for some unaccount- 
 able reason Dan did not enjoy the recital so thoroughly as he 
 had anticipated. 
 
 When the proverbial country boy visits the city for the first 
 time, he usually makes some remarks which harmonize well 
 with the clover leaves on his native hillside. Sophomore year 
 Keay visited Boston for the first time. There was a friend 
 with him, that he might not get lost among the tortuous 
 streets There were quite a number of people on the streets, 
 as is usually the case. Seeing so many people at once, 
 ‘¢ Cully” remarked to his friend, ‘‘Gosh! what a lot of people. 
 There must be a picnic somewhere in town.” 
 
 ‘*Fud” Walker is not as the old Puritans in his observance 
 of the first day of the week, and sometimes shocks the elect by 
 his liberal views. One Sunday afternoon he called on Morrill 
 for enlightenment as regards a certain difficult problem in 
 Physics. Morrill is one of those conscientious men who would 
 not save a fellow-creature’s life on Sunday, although any other 
 day he is ready and willing so to do. ‘*Fud” opened his 
 book and studied some little time; then noticing that Morrill 
 did not seem interested in the subject, he went to the book-case 
 
44 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 and took down Morrill’s note-book, that he might pass the time 
 in an improving way. 
 
 Little Morrill, in the meantime, was growing more and more 
 excited, but hardly knew how to fittingly reprove such a re- 
 doubtable man of sin as Walker. Presently, however, he 
 walked over to the astonished ‘‘ Fud,” took the book from his 
 weakly resisting hand, and in a sternly reproving tone said,— 
 ‘Mr. Walker, you may not be aware of the fact, yet to-day is 
 the Sabbath. My duty to my religious convictions restrains 
 me from studying, and I cannot willingly allow another thus to 
 desecrate the day.” 
 
 With a dazed expression Walker felt his way to the door, 
 tottered down the stairs, and staggered up the street. Any one 
 passing at the time might have heard him ejaculate, with bated 
 breath, a something, which if it did not actually express the 
 situation, yet was not wanting in vehemence. This was all he 
 said, but it meant more to him than all Shakespeare and Web- 
 ster’s Unabridged combined. 
 
 Morrill and Blakely attended a Y. M. C. A. convention, 
 and were billeted in a family consisting of a strong-minded old 
 man, a meek wife, and four strong-minded daughters. At the 
 supper-table, Blakely and Morrill tried to astonish the good 
 people by the brilliancy of college men in general and them- 
 selves in particular. Blaine was the special topic of conver- | 
 sation, and if the Plumed Knight could have heard Blakely’s 
 scathing denunciation, he would have gone into throes of disso- 
 lution from excess of mental disturbance. 
 
 After supper, one of the strong-minded daughters cornered 
 Morrill, and ina suspiciously mild voice said,—‘‘ Mr. Morrill, 
 do I understand that you are in favor of Blaine?” Morrill 
 thought at the time that there was no danger in admitting that 
 he was in favor of that much maligned individual. She com- 
 menced with the peroration, ** Why, Mr. Morrill! I gave you 
 credit for more intelligence. Think what a bid he made for 
 the Catholic vote, and how the Catholics would overrun the 
 country and get control of the country. It is a terrible crisis.” 
 Morrill begged the privilege of differing. She then “took the 
 bits in her teeth” and went back to Luther, and taking his age 
 as a starting-point, came down through the centuries to the 
 
CHRONICLES. 45 
 
 present day, making such clear and logical statements that 
 Morrill could only utter a feeble protest, and say that very few 
 knew what a really good man Blaine was. 
 
 At 10 p. M. the daughter left, and Morrill was congratulating 
 himself that he could take refuge in his downy couch, when the 
 old man entered in the rdéle of a missionary carrying light to 
 the heathen seated in darkness. He asked Morrill if he was in 
 favor of Blaine. With no hope of escape, and with utter dis- 
 regard of consequences, Morrill confessed that he was. Then 
 - the old man entered upon a spirited crusade against ‘‘ the man 
 from Maine,” and vanquished him ignominiously. 
 
 It was now 11:45 p. M., and the daughter entered and re- 
 monstrated with her paternal parent: ‘‘ Why, father, you forget 
 that Mr. Morrill is a visitor! You have excited yourself so that 
 you will not sleep at all to-night. Now, if Mr. Morrill will 
 excuse you, you had better retire.” Mr. Morrill said that he 
 was happy, nay, delighted, to excuse him. As the old man 
 passed out, Morrill registered the mental vow, that never again 
 would he discuss politics with strangers. 
 
 ‘For ways that are dark and tricks that are vain” E. J. 
 Powers is peculiar. He started a school agency, which was 
 extensively patronized. His method was to apply for schools 
 in his own name, and then send a substitute. As he had mag- 
 nificent references and highly complimentary recommenda- 
 tions—written by himself—he was quite successful in pro- 
 curing positions. He sent, with his substitutes, letters to the 
 various committees, saying that some cousin, aunt, or grand- 
 father had died, and as he had to administer the estate, he 
 could not fulfil his engagement, but had sent a competent sub- 
 stitute. 
 
 In this way he killed off all his relatives with the exception 
 of a great aunt, whom he especially liked, as she had a snug 
 sum in government bonds. Then he commenced on himself, 
 and with the rest of his letters enclosed notes from physicians 
 certifying that Ernest J. Powers was suffering from a broken 
 leg, typhoid fever, gout, cataract, &c. 
 
 As the substitutes were all good men, no embarrassing ques- 
 tions were asked them with but two exceptions. ‘* Father” 
 Pattee was somewhat disconcerted when he was asked how 
 
46 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 Powers’s broken leg was healing. The good, guileless 
 ‘‘ Father” was at a loss for a reply, but presently said, ‘I be- 
 lieve it is about the same as when I left Hanover.” Ber® 
 Simonds, being asked how the typhoid fever had left Powers, 
 replied, ‘‘ Ernest has entirely recovered.” 
 
 There seems to be a miasmatic cloud hanging over the Rood 
 house, which befogs the moral sense of the inmates to a lam- 
 entable extent. Sophomore year, Spalding roomed in that 
 abode of darkness. One Sunday morning, instead of attending 
 the college church, and sweetly sleeping under the gentle min- 
 istrations of the much reviled ‘‘ Pa” Leeds, Spalding and other 
 sinful men scoured the town and procured two dogs. They 
 gave these dumb beasts some villanous concoction, which turned 
 the peaceful animals into fierce Numidian lions. They sprang 
 towards each other, and engaged in a fight of the choicest 
 variety. With calm satisfaction Spalding watched the fight ; 
 then, the dogs being exhausted and their mutual animosity 
 being satiated, he turned them into the cold, cold world. Thus 
 did Spalding pass a sample Sunday morning, and thus does 
 compulsory religion improve the moral nature of the student. 
 
 Flow many times do we rejoice over things that are, only to 
 find too late that they are not. As ‘‘ Clothes Pin” says, ‘* By 
 this I meanswhat I mean, and not what I do not.” 
 
 ‘‘ Dick” Ely was very much interested in a girl before he 
 came to college, but a description of the beauties of ancient 
 Greece and Rome reduced his _ heart’s fancy to the shadow of a 
 shade. He wearied of her, and it was his custom to declare 
 two or three times a week to bosom friends, that he was afraid 
 he must leave her. He went home one vacation and inciden- 
 tally called on his sometime loved one. There was a regulation 
 lovers’ quarrel, which was soon made up in accordance with 
 the prescribed formula. He returned to Hanover, and pres- 
 ently announced his intention of never again writing to the girl. 
 He kept this promise, for the next day he received a letter from 
 her announcing her engagement to a rival. 
 
 In the spring of Junior year Watkins moved into the Balch 
 house. To celebrate the event, he held a house-warming. 
 There was ‘‘ cold tea” and hot tea, and other beverages suited 
 to the taste of each, all of which were discussed as they un- 
 
CHRONICLES. 447 
 
 doubtedly deserved. Along in the ‘‘ wee sma’ hours” Wattie 
 became unduly exhilarated, and felt like taking some exercise. 
 He exclaimed, “Gad, boys! I feel like fighting some one. I 
 could down a good one, too. Now who canI lick?” ‘*Why 
 not try ‘Primo’ Short?” asked Jack Johnson, who was ready, 
 and indeed anxious, to get another man into trouble. ‘* Good, 
 Jack! that’s a good idea. I never did like Short, either. 
 Now, Jack, asa friend of mine, tell me one thing: Do you 
 think I can ‘do’ Short?” Jack thought he could, and so did 
 all the rest of the assembled throng when they were success- 
 ively appealed to. 
 
 They proceeded to Short’s room, woke that gentleman up, 
 forced him to put on his trousers and a pair of boxing-gloves, 
 and then the fun—for the spectators—commenced. Short was 
 not fully awake, and with difficulty warded off the violent 
 
 onslaughts of the excited Watkins. This continued until Short 
 - bethought himself of all his knowledge of the manly art, and 
 just as ‘‘ Wattie” was gathering himself up for a blow which 
 should annihilate Short, the latter gave ‘* Wattie” a hard blow 
 on the neck, which made him givea grand exhibition of ground 
 and lofty tumbling. In short, he was knocked stiffer than Dan 
 Lawrence’s neck. In affright at a termination they. had not 
 anticipated, his godly companions placed ‘‘ Wattie’’ on a sofa, 
 and bathed his head in cold water. Short, in the meantime, 
 ran about the room crying in piteous tones, ‘‘ I’ve killed him! 
 I’ve killed him!” Finally, to the great relief of the aiders and 
 abettors of the enterprise, ‘‘Juno” came out of his deep sleep, 
 and in a tremulous voice wished to be put to bed. 
 
 Byron Forbush had in some way obtained possession of a 
 counterfeit half-dollar, and had vainly tried to get rid of it. 
 After having made four unsuccessful attempts, he suddenly re- 
 membered that it was wrong to pass counterfeit money, and so 
 he decided to sell it. One man offered him ten cents for it; 
 another raised it to fifteen cents. This last bid was accepted. 
 
 The man who purchased the money was the Shylock of the 
 college, and could pick up gold where the rest of us could only 
 perceive passable earth. He took his money and went to the 
 book-store where Byron Forbush’s ‘‘ Poems of a Boy” were on 
 sale. As the money went into Byron’s box, the proprietor of 
 
48 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 the store didn’t care whether the money was good or bad, for, 
 in popular parlance, ‘it was none of his funeral.” i 
 
 In due time Byron received his bad money back, and amid 
 heartfelt imprecations, he formulated a new proverb for his 
 own private use, viz., Bad money, like a curse, always comes 
 home to roost. With sadness of heart and humility of soul he 
 deposited the money in the hat of a blind beggar, who in sur- 
 prise at the ostensible value of the coin, asked God to bless 
 him for his goodness to the poor. Byron laughed softly to him- 
 self, as he thought how he had imposed on the Almighty. 
 
 ‘« Jakey”” Dascomb aspired to become a typical hotel clerk. 
 He saw the ‘‘ ad.” of a White Mountains hotel in a newspaper, 
 and applied for the position of clerk. A satisfactory answer 
 was received, and ‘ Jakey” packed his Saratoga and started 
 for his new field of labor. Late in the evening he arrived at a 
 lonely farm-house. The hills and valleys were there as per 
 advertisement, but where, oh! where, was the much-puffed 
 hotel? ‘* Jakey” entered, was hospitably received by the pro- 
 prietor, and ate supper in silence. A sense of utter disgust, a 
 total lack of faith in mankind, was slowly but remorselessy 
 permeating his entire being. 
 
 At four o’clock the next morning the good granger awoke ~ 
 ‘¢ Jakey,” remarking that he was so’ far from home he would 
 be treated like a son, and placed a milk-pail in his hand. The 
 clerk of ‘* Hotel Randolph” was expected to milk nine cows 
 before breakfast! This was accomplished late in the forenoon, 
 and then mine host told his clerk that the grass in the meadows 
 was ripe for mowing. Bestowing a paternal smile and a scythe 
 on ‘* Jakey,” he directed him to the field. At night heawas 
 weary, oh! so weary. His back ached, his head ached, his 
 heart ached. Early in the morning, before the proprietor was 
 awake, ‘‘ Jakey”’ stole away towards the depot. He sent for 
 his trunk, and soon left his inferno far behind him. 
 
 Did the ‘* Hotel Randolph” have no existence? Only in the 
 brilliant prospectus, intended to lure the city reader, and in the 
 fertile imagination of the agriculturist. When ‘¢ Jakey” re- 
 turned to Hanover, to make up the deficit of the summer, he 
 applied for and obtained the monitorship at the Unitarian 
 church. Then, like Pope Leo X granting indulgences to the 
 
CHRONICLES. 49 
 
 clergy, ‘¢ Jakey” would sell ‘‘ cuts” at five cents apiece, or to 
 regular customers six for a quarter. 
 
 Freshman year there entered with the class one of the 
 queerest developments of protoplasms ever seen in any age or 
 land: by name Fisher Pearson, but by virtue of his relation 
 to one of America’s favorite sons, he was commonly called 
 ‘¢ Ben Butler.” ‘ Ben,” with his own peculiar ideas of college 
 life, reached Hanover owning but two books—a copy of Cush- 
 ing’s Manual and a Koran. 
 
 He wished above all things to be a lady’s man, that rdle 
 being the one for which he was most eminently unfitted. 
 ‘¢Ben’s” hair, let me add, was of a beautiful vermilion tint. 
 One evening he was walking with a young lady, and inciden- 
 tally called her attention to the brilliant northern lights. She 
 looked significantly at his hair, smiled, but said nothing. 
 
 ‘¢ Ben” was also cursed with a most defective vision. He 
 was walking with the same young lady another evening; the 
 moon was very bright, and fell on an evergreen tree, tinging 
 the boughs a silvery whiteness. “Ben” noticed the effect, and 
 called her attention to the apple-blossoms. In a mischievous 
 mood she wished him to get her some. He obligingly climbed 
 a fence and reached for the blossoms. It was not until he had 
 torn off several of the stiff branches that he realized that he was 
 the victim of a cruel imposition. Many more examples of 
 ‘‘ Ben’s” oddities might be added, but as he left the class and 
 nthil de mortuts nist bonum, I will refrain. 
 
 My painful duty has now been fulfilled. The past has but to 
 shroud itself in the mist of oblivion. A college course is but a 
 sieve, through which the good influences and actions alone drop 
 in our subsequent careers. We leave this beautiful place, per- 
 haps forever. After graduation, we start out in pursuit of 
 wealth, happiness, and children. The truly successful man 
 alone acquires all three. Some of the class can show, 
 as guaranty for their college diploma, a well colored meer- 
 schaum, and a marked proficiency in whist and less innocent 
 games. Others have a hollow chest and a 734 hat. These ac- 
 quisitions are of no practical value in the outside world, which _ 
 we must soon enter. 
 
 We must separate the chaff of classic illusion from the wheat 
 4 
 
50 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 of prosaic common-sense. Laying aside useless regrets for 
 what we might do if we could recall the last four years, let us 
 remember the sound advice so imperceptibly woven into the 
 professors’ instructions. Let us resolve to assimilate a part of 
 that independence so characteristic of ‘Old Dartmouth.” Let 
 us resolve to do what we can for our higher nature, and for the 
 reputation of the college through that higher nature. And 
 wherever you may be, whether in this country or in other 
 lands, ‘‘ May you live long and prosper.” 
 
PROPHECIES. 
 
 HERBERT. S. CARPENTER, 
 St. Fohnsbury, Vt. 
 
 (GLASSMATES : The most dramatic event in our English 
 
 history is the execution of King Charles the First. We 
 see the black draped scaffold before the windows of Whitehall ; 
 the royal victim, whatever his political faults, always gentle, 
 courteous, and forbearing, in manners and appearance our idea 
 of a king; the chaplain overwhelmed with grief and despair ; 
 the masked executioner; the thought that royalty could die at 
 the majesty of the people. It is a scene that lives in history, 
 and never fails to absorb the attention of even the careless 
 reader. 
 
 I do not recall to your attention a scene which you must all 
 well remember, to give you a historical lecture in place of the 
 Prophecy which you have assigned me for this occasion. I 
 recall it for the action of the executioner. As he was about to 
 strike the fatal blow, he asked pardon of the king. I there- 
 fore ask, in a like fatal hour, your pardon; for now, as an 
 executioner, your Prophet stands before his class. At my hands 
 this day you must all die—each of you go forth from this 
 place to your death at my prophecy. Then, Classmates, your 
 pardon. 
 
 The last word of King Charles was, ‘‘ Remember.” Let my 
 word also be the same, for remember that no man is blessed 
 until he is dead. However, before you die, let me open to you 
 a scene sixty-five years hence, and after you all rest in peace. 
 
 It is a northern New England spring day in May, and just 
 after sunset. An old man, bowed with the weight of age and 
 
52 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 a lonely life, crosses a common from the post-office, where he 
 has been for his evening mail, to his own little wooden office. 
 The snow yet lies some feet deep on either side of the scarcely 
 trodden path. The air is full of rain, sleet, and snow, which 
 beats on the form of the old man, well protected, though clad 
 in old style garments. Hidden in the mists, the distant moun- 
 tains. Here and there an early light is seen in the windows of 
 the few scattered houses around what is called—winter as well 
 as summer—The Green. The old man reaches his office, over 
 which is his sign, with letters almost obliterated by the snows 
 of many winters, and takes out his mail. It is not large: few 
 friends survive him, and with business he is nearly done. His 
 mail consists of the weekly paper, ‘‘ The North Star,” and one 
 letter. With trembling fingers the old man opens his letter ; 
 and then quickly crowd on him memories of other days. It is 
 an invitation from the secretary of the Dartmouth Alumni 
 Association to attend the next Commencement, and give a his- 
 tory of his class, of which he is the sole survivor. The old 
 man is flattered by the invitation, yet the journey seems long, 
 and requires changes of habit to which he is unaccustomed. 
 In the trouble of deciding this question, and aroused to new life 
 by the thought of his college days, he goes, as was his custom — 
 ever in his youth, to his pastor for advice. The good man 
 advises against the journey; tells him that the stages have 
 become dilapidated by age, the drivers more feeble than they 
 were at his Commencement, and besides—and this decides the 
 question—the Dartmouth hotel was not yet finished. The result 
 you will hear, for in the next few days the old man turned over 
 the manuscript of his class-day, for the exercises of his class 
 had never been printed, the class having spent its last cent 
 building the tower, whose ruins in 1953 puzzled visitors as 
 much as its rival, the Old Mill of Newport. 
 
 But, before I read the reminiscence, let me speak of the 
 writer and his town. This sole survivor of ’88 was your 
 prophet, who, after ten years of miscellaneous work, had set- 
 tled down to the practice of law in this village of the moun- 
 tains, the oft mentioned Danville, Vt. And it may also interest 
 you to know that the humble, learned, spiritual-looking and 
 spiritual-minded pastor was the only child of our classmate 
 
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@1nB2 Ode. 
 
 WILLIAM BYRON FORBUSH. 
 
 Tune ‘St. Leonard.” 
 
 Blow soft, blow soft, cool evening breeze, 
 From out the sunset doors, 
 
 Blow through the billowy barley seas, 
 And down the orchard floors. 
 
 Through these dark branches, moaning, flit, 
 And through the forest dim, 
 
 While here the last, last time we sit 
 And chant our parting hymn. 
 
 Fade softly o’er the western hill, 
 Fair light of this short day, 
 
 And all ye happy birds be still— 
 Our joy has passed away. 
 
 And, as upon the mountain’s crown, 
 The shadowing dusk appears, 
 
 Upon our souls the night comes down,— 
 Our songs are mists of tears. 
 
 Now peals the solemn Angelus 
 On ocean and on land; 
 
 Do thou, O God, look down on us, 
 We yield us to Thy Hand. 
 
 Farewell, with all your low heart cails, 
 O bygone days so bright, 
 
 Farewell, our dear old college halls, 
 And dear old Pine— Good-night ! 
 
 ARTMOUTH 
 788. + 
 
 Class Datpoconou- 
 
 + Exe PeiseR,— > 
 
 Tuesday, Gune 26, 4888. 
 
 Ke 
 
 MUSIC : 
 
 = Keeoes Aimetican Band. % 
 
 <a 
 
 HENRY JAMES STEVENS, Marshal. 
 ISRAEL HOFFMAN REYNOLDS, Ass’t Marshal, 
 
m~- 
 
 PROPHECIES. pis. 
 
 A. A. Fisher. The son, in features and character, resembled 
 his mother. The reminiscences were read at Commencement 
 by one of the Faculty. 
 
 Following the order of the Prophecies of ’88, the first remi- 
 niscence was of Hoyt, happy ever in affliction, who for his love 
 of church and divine service joined the Trappists, was constant 
 in the chapel until condemned to life imprisonment in a cell 
 beneath the high altar, where he could hear unseen the music 
 of the sanctuary. His offence was that he made a caricature 
 of the Father Superior. 
 
 The next name in my list was—never mind what, for with 
 an old man’s privilege I shall change my plan and mention 
 names in the order they occur to me, assuring you that I 
 shall be as brief on each name as age will permit; for I suppose 
 the Alumni of to-day will be as busy as they were sixty-five 
 years ago in the important business of settling or unsettling the 
 popularity of the president of the college. . But, in the words of 
 the writers of my day, let us return to our muttons. | 
 
 In writing these reminiscences, it is hardly necessary to men- 
 tion the names of such men as the Rev. Truman O. Harlow 
 of Plymouth church, Dr. Atherton S. Burnham, B. S. Si- 
 monds, that eminent writer on geological subjects, and D. L. 
 Lawrence, who at his death-was at the head of the Concord 
 School of Philosophy. Although their names have become 
 household words, it would hardly be just to them, or fair to 
 the class, to pass them by with a casual mention of their 
 names. 
 
 Harlow, on graduating from college, studied theology, as 
 was his purpose, and, like most young ministers, settled ina 
 country town. But Truman was no flower ‘‘born to blush 
 unseen.” He instituted changes for which the coming genera- 
 
 . tions will rise up and call him blessed. In my day the min- 
 
 ister often addressed his congregation from the pulpit while 
 they quietly dozed in the pews, but Harlow revolutionized this. 
 He dozes quietly in the pulpit while his congregation holds 
 animated discussions on current affairs. This was more agree- 
 able to the congregation, and not so wearing on the minister. 
 When I remember the proficiency which Burnham showed 
 while in college for writing prescriptions, I am not surprised 
 
54 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 that he studied medicine, or that he was very successful. After 
 Dr. Burnham finished his studies abroad, he settled in Chicago, 
 where he built up a large practice. 
 
 Ben Simonds devoted the first twenty-five years of his life 
 after graduation to the study of the tracks of animals and birds 
 which are found in the sand-stone rocks of the Connecticut 
 valley. He made some very famous discoveries, which led him 
 to write a book on the antiquity of man, in which he proved 
 conclusively that man existed long before oxygen. After this 
 remarkable book was published, Simonds was so annoyed by 
 the great number of people who wrote to him in regard to his 
 remarkable discoveries, that he was compelled to employ a 
 secretary for this purpose, which place was admirably filled by 
 Charles H. Brock. 
 
 Lawrence wrote many books on psychological and philo- 
 sophical subjects, but his greatest work was ‘‘ A Discussion of 
 the Momentous Question, the Cause of the Uncaused Cause.” 
 As soon as it became known that he was the author of this 
 work, he received a call to the presidency of the Concord 
 School of Philosophy, which place he filled with great credit 
 both to himself and the institution. 
 
 My class was also represented in the political world by the 
 Hon. Lee F. English, who studied and practised law the first 
 few years after graduation, and in the presidential election of 
 1908 stumped the Western states. His party, on coming into 
 power, recognized his ability as a campaign speaker, his great 
 political sagacity, and, above all, the soundness of his views on 
 the tariff question, by giving him an important place in the 
 administration. The rest of his career is known by every 
 school-boy in the land. 
 
 There was another man in my class who attained consider- 
 able notoriety at one time through his connection with the gov- 
 ernment of the city of New York, but it is with feelings of 
 sorrow, rather than joy, that I turn to his career. I refer to 
 Ernest J. Powers, who, after a few years of teaching, settled in 
 New York, where by vigorous chinning and wire-pulling he 
 was elected alderman. While on the board he engineered a 
 bill through for paving certain of the streets, and the contract 
 for doing this work was given to the firm of Blake & Cate. 
 
te 
 
 PROPHECIES. 55 
 
 Powers grew rich so fast that it aroused suspicion, and on in. 
 vestigation serious charges were brought against him, which 
 
 also involved the firm of Blake & Cate. In the trial that fol- 
 
 lowed, the senior member of the firm, Mr. Blake, was exoner- 
 ated from all blame in these transactions, but Powers and Cate, 
 although they employed the best legal talent, failed to prove 
 their innocence. Cate finally got offon the ground that for a 
 long time he had been in poor mental health, and at the time 
 the deal was made he was not in a condition to withstand the 
 persuasive manners of the wily Powers. 
 
 Speaking of trials, reminds me that some twenty-five years 
 ago, while in Boston, I happened to drop in at the court-house, 
 and learning that the closing arguments of the famous breach of 
 promise case, Jones v. Gillette, were to be made that day, I de- 
 cided to remain and hear them. Soon there was a stir in the 
 court-room, and the plaintiff entered accompanied by a gentle- 
 man about sixty years old, who in dress and manners resembled 
 aclergyman. Struck by the appearance of this gentleman, and 
 wondering if he was there as the spiritual adviser of the plain- 
 tiff in the time of her great affliction, I turned to my neighbor 
 for information. My informant, with a look of compassion for 
 my ignorance, said that the gentleman was Mr. Clark, one of 
 the greatest lawyers of Massachusetts, and that he was there as 
 counsel for the plaintiff. On looking again I saw that it was 
 John Lew, concerning whom I had heard much, but never 
 seen since we graduated. When in his argument Mr. Clark 
 stated that the defendant solemnly promised to marry the 
 plaintiff, and on the strength of that promise had lived inti- 
 mately more than a year in her family, and my attention being 
 more closely drawn, I knew that the defendant could be no 
 other than Bennie B. Gillette. I was greatly interested in 
 the argument, and at its completion went up to congratulate 
 John. He seemed greatly surprised to see me, and after a few 
 minutes’ conversation I accepted his invitation to ride out and 
 dine with him. As we stepped into the carriage I thought the 
 coachman appeared familiar, and on inquiry John told me that 
 it was Short. John said that about ten years before Short had 
 come to him with a pitiful tale about a wife and ten half starved 
 children, and out of sympathy for him he had engaged him as 
 
56 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 coachman. After dinner we had a long talk about old times 
 and the boys, and John told me that the Williams boys had 
 become quite famous architects, and had their office in the 
 city ; that Dick Ely was at the head of a dry goods house; and 
 that ‘*‘ Doc” Lougee was a distinguished chemist. While we 
 were talking I happened to pick up a paper from the desk, and 
 noticing that it was devoted to agricultural subjects, I expressed 
 some surprise at its being there, and in answer to my question 
 John turned to the editorial page, and I saw that the ‘paper 
 was owned and edited by E. G. Hovey. John called my at- 
 tention to an article which was headed with the question, 
 ‘‘ Why I Became a Farmer,” and written by A. M. Weeks. 
 After reading the article, I decided that the author’s reasons for 
 becoming a farmer were good, and was glad that he had dis- 
 covered, as he expressed it, his true calling. 
 
 There were other men who, while in college, showed great 
 literary talent, and in after life did not disappoint the expecta- 
 tions of their friends. I allude to Hall, who up to the time of 
 his death was a regular contributor for the Vew York Ledger, 
 and was said to have been the author of one of the most thrill- 
 ing detective stories ever written; and to Pattee, who made a 
 fortune writing advertisements for patent medicines. 
 
 There were some men who were more noted in the class- 
 room for the originality of their statements than for accuracy 
 in regard to the minor details of the subject. Such a man was 
 Nelson, whose originality in ‘‘ Gabe’s” recitations was not sur- 
 passed by Josh Billings in spelling. I was, then, somewhat 
 surprised when I learned that he had been made Professor 
 of Intellectual and Moral Philosophy at Vermont University. 
 I understand, however, that while there he became still as noted 
 in this respect as he was in the class-room when he made the 
 astonishing statement that the present New Englanders are 
 Mongolians. 
 
 I was not much surprised to learn that Charlie Spalding was 
 at the head of a ladies’ seminary, for I remembered that while 
 in college he frequently paid visits to a neighboring institution 
 of that sort, although at the time we supposed those visits were - 
 of a social nature, and not for the sake of practical knowledge 
 in regard to the management of such an institution. 
 
PROPHECIES. 57 
 
 In mentioning the learned Spalding, I am reminded that my ; 
 class was especially prominent in the number of those who 
 became instructors. The trustees of a Western college, learning 
 that Dascomb had, while in college, shown remarkable inge- 
 nuity in inventing plausible excuses, offered him a professor- 
 ship, with which was joined the duty of granting all excuses, 
 thinking that his college experience would enable him to detect 
 a bogus excuse at sight. 
 
 Gleason became Professor in Mathematics, and was in the 
 class-room considered to be something of a wit, until a member 
 of one of his classes, looking over a class-history of my time 
 in college, discoverd that Prof. Gleason had absorbed his jokes, 
 together with his knowledge of mathematics, from Prof. 
 Worthen. 
 
 Dick Rand, having acquired a great fortune during his sum- 
 mer vacations while in college, offered his services free to the 
 New Hampshire Agricultural College, and the trustees, thank- 
 ing him for his offer, made him an instructor in United States 
 History and English Grammar. 
 
 Atwell, like the owl of the ancients, by his profound silence, 
 attained a reputation for great wisdom, and was eagerly sought 
 after by many educational institutions, and finally settled in the 
 West. 
 
 Whittemore, on account of his great love for children, estab- 
 lished a Kindergarten school at Olcott’s Falls ; and this reminds 
 me that Livermore, who the first few years after graduation 
 was frequently mentioned as a rising young lawyer, finally 
 attained to the dignity of justice of the police court at this same 
 place. In his official capacity, he frequently had occasion to 
 show mercy to French and Porter, who worked in the mills, 
 and were in the habit, at times, of imbibing too much of Kib’s 
 ‘‘ four per cent.” 
 
 This same Olcott’s Falls became the abiding-place of Cun- 
 ningham and Reynolds, who were designers of pulp pails and 
 tubs. 
 
 Right here let me speak of Hardy, who, unlike Hoyt, de- 
 voted himself to secular art, and became a designer of chromos, 
 in which he was assisted in mixing the colors by Shapleigh 
 and McCarthy. Charlie, however, sickened of this, and turned 
 
58 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 to the more remunerative business of playing base-ball, in 
 which he won great renown. 
 
 In the practice of my profession, duty frequently called me 
 to the United States courts at Windsor, where Blakely, as cir- 
 cuit judge, so ably presided, and where I also often met Tom 
 Sawyer, who was head warden in the state prison. While 
 there, Judge Blakely, Tom, and myself frequently discussed 
 the untimely and melancholy fate of Luther White, whose 
 record is summed up on his tombstone by the following epi- 
 taph: 
 
 “On earth born; 
 On earth died ; 
 
 In earth interred : 
 The rest may be inferred.” 
 
 On these trips I sometimes met Hazen, who travelled through 
 this section as the agent of a large liquor firm. Whether he 
 secured this position on account of his knowledge of liquors, 
 or his great persuasive powers, I am unable to state. 
 
 Some thirty years ago the country was greatly agitated over 
 the disappearance of Walker and Morrill, who met their fate 
 in solving the problem of the twentieth century, namely, the 
 navigation of air by electricity. After many years spent in the 
 perfection of their invention, the day arrived for the trial trip. 
 Great crowds assembled, and they started mid the cheers of 
 the multitude and the music of brass bands. They intended to 
 make a short trial trip, but, like McClosky, they shouted and 
 yelled in vain: the thing wouldn’t stop, and the last seen of 
 them they were aimed straight for the moon. Soon after this 
 that eminent astronomer, Prof. Denny, discovered two new 
 spots on the moon, which were of unequal size and resembled 
 grease-spots. Whether these spots are their remains, or 
 whether these two martyrs to science are still travelling through 
 space, is a question for scientists to settle. 
 
 The great West absorbed many of my class, among whom 
 was my old chum Watkins’, who became a successful business 
 man in Chicago. Whenever Watty came East he always hon- 
 ored me with a visit, and it was from him I learned that Bod- 
 well, on account of his deeds of great strength and valor, had 
 become the chief of the fire department of Chicago; that Berry 
 
PROPHECIES. 59 
 
 was a horse-car conductor in St. Louis; and that Gregory, 
 having overworked himself by hard study, was compelled to 
 give up his professional work and go on to a ranch in Colorado. 
 Watty said that he was very much surprised one morning to 
 find on the steps of his office a poor, ragged, red-nosed indi- 
 vidual, who proved to be Josh Whitcomb. It seems that Josh, 
 in after life, carried on the business of loaning money to his 
 friends at twenty-five per cent. interest, and for a time had 
 prospered. As old age approached, he became possessed with 
 the idea that he was a town pauper, and, clad in rags, spent 
 most of his time in saloons, hoping that some one would set up 
 the drinks. On one of his business trips through the South- 
 west, Watty stopped at Tombstone, and was most hospitably 
 entertained at the hotel of mine host Stevens. Stevy was not 
 only proprietor of the hotel, but was prominent in that section 
 as a politician. 
 
 There was one man who made himself very conspicuous 
 senior year by going about with a silk hat on the back of his 
 head, his hands in his pockets, and with a general air of im- 
 portance which greatly impressed all Freshmen and children, 
 who, after the manner of street urchins, cried out, ‘‘ There 
 goes Dunlap!” but since then his name has never been heard. 
 
 At our twenty-fifth anniversary, Gove gave us his famous 
 oration on the remarkable discovery made by him ‘‘ that great 
 rivers always flow by great cities,” and Forbush delivered his 
 poem on ‘t The Unutterable.” 
 
 At the head of the procession on Commencement Day, and 
 the most noticeable person in the black line of march, trudg- 
 ing along as though the eyes of all were fixed on him, was 
 Fred H. Chase, acting in the capacity—ever grand and won- 
 derful to small boys and ‘+ paenes”—of drum major of the 
 Commencement band. He chose the position, he told us, from 
 his love of music, and because the uniform became him both 
 summer and winter. 
 
 At this same anniversary was told the melancholy fate of 
 Robert Fairbanks. His eager mind, ever seeking new ob- 
 jects of study and work, was led by his increasing family to 
 conceive the necessity of inventing a spanking machine to go 
 by electricity, and relieve the labors of overtasked parents. 
 
60 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 Nights of study and days of experiment were devoted to the 
 work with all the unwearied zeal which distinguished him in 
 college. The end and object were attained, the machine in- 
 vented, nor, unlike Mr. Macawber, did he have long to wait 
 for something to turn up. The eldest of his eleven boys soon 
 gave the occasion for which the machine was invented, and, 
 like the stern patriot of old, told of in some of our text-books, 
 he resolved that justice should have its way, and that he would 
 administer the punishment on his own child. The lad was 
 placed in due position, prepared in the ancient way known to 
 all children, and the current turned on. But, alas! some prin- 
 ciple had been overlooked ;—instead of the calm, deliberate, and 
 soothing effect given by the traditional slipper or shingle, which 
 were the movements sought in the new machine, there was 
 an explosion, and no more was known on earth of father and 
 child. 
 
 In the years long ago, when I sought to see in visions the 
 career of each of my classmates, dim to the sight some of those 
 whose college life had been nearest to me,—too near, perhaps, 
 for clear sight,—I looked into the mirror of the future, as Scott 
 describes seekers after the unknown in one of his later novels. 
 Over this mirror seemed to pass clouds and mists, and in their 
 openings, now and then, indistinctly, I saw the familiar faces 
 of Avery, Artz, Stokes, Keay, Cobb, Kelly, Richardson, and 
 ‘* Zack” Chandler ; and again have I sought the mirror of inspi- 
 ration for these same companions, looking not now for the un- 
 known future, but into the dead past. Strange it is, and sad, 
 how in passing years we lose knowledge of those with whom 
 we have sat at the same table and eaten, that we might live and 
 labor. From me their lives have gone out, and I know noth- 
 ing of their deeds save what the mysterious mirror tells. As I 
 fix my mind on their names, from the clouds, at the name of 
 Artz, a sword seemed to wave bravely and vigorously. The 
 name of Keay called forth gracefully moving shadows. At the 
 name of Avery there seemed pictured golden clouds, with 
 sonorous sounds like the orator on the seashore. Then before 
 the other names could be even silently spoken, I saw the 
 marriage altar, the homes of happy manhood, children like 
 arrows in a quiver, gentle forms flitting around; and then the 
 
PROPHECIES. 61 
 
 clouds fled away, and, seen alone in the unclouded mirror, the 
 face of the solitary old man, your Prophet. 
 
 Now, my Classmates, you have had given in Chronicles and 
 in Prophecies your past and your future ;—but there is one time 
 none can give nor take away: itis your present. If I have 
 foretold to any one a future unwelcomed, remember that no 
 decrees of fate are absolutely immutable to him who holds his 
 present time honest and brave. In friendship for each and all 
 have I spoken your fates, and no survivor of the class would 
 more rejoice to hear, in the years to come, of the prosperity and 
 happiness of every man of ’88. The past forgotten—in things 
 we ought to forget—I believe, Classmates, closer, nearer, and 
 more intimate will grow our friendship. 
 
 Then, one more prophecy, and my mantle may fall on ’89. 
 In all the annals of our Alma Mater, the future will prove that 
 no class ever stood in after life as high as the Class of 1888. 
 Finally, then, Classmates, be of Good Cheer. 
 
TOWER ORATION. 
 
 WALLACE CLARK SHORT, 
 Malone, N. Y. 
 
 (GLASSMATES AND FRIENDS: Nothing is more com- 
 mon to humanity than the wish to be remembered. There 
 is something dreadful in the thought of passing away, and being 
 forgotten in the great tide of existence. It is this feeling that 
 has erected the monuments of the past. The kings of Egypt 
 built their pyramids, and the humble peasant rears his quickly 
 crumbling slab of slate, actuated by the common desire to stay 
 the hand of Time and perpetuate the memory of their lives. 
 
 We dedicate to-day our portion of this structure, which is to 
 stand a silent witness to our existence as a class, and a memo- 
 rial to those whom God’s hand has taken from our number. It 
 is fitting that we should have some memento of this important 
 epoch of our lives. It has been a period in which we have 
 come to know ourselves, our short-comings, our abilities, our 
 aims, and our hopes. The memory of these years of trial and 
 success, embodied in this structure, shall remain with us through 
 all the anxieties and cares which the future shall bring. 
 
 But note, in this memorial we do not stand alone, but bound 
 together with the cement of loyal ties and common love for 
 Alma Mater; we unite with our sister classes which have pre- 
 ceded us, as we hope to do with many which shall follow, to 
 form a grand, complete whole, which shall be a tower of unity 
 and affection, standing here to grace our mother’s granite 
 heights, a landmark of the future, relieving this noble Pine in 
 its lonely watch through the years. | 
 
 The successful men in history, the memory of whose deeds 
 
TOWER ORATION. 63 
 
 remain to us more enduring than monuments of granite, have 
 been men of character and principle, not turned by every gust 
 of caprice or passion. Their characters have gone deep down, 
 and taken firm hold upon the foundations of truth, and honesty, 
 and uprightness. In many respects their lives and ours, which 
 we would shape after them, are fashioned after this structure. 
 If the foundations of our characters are as firm as these, as well 
 rounded in their proportions, and with the same upward ten- 
 dency toward heaven and the light, we shall gain the highest 
 success possible. 
 
 We have not builded for ourselves alone, but for those who 
 shall fill our places in the time to come. It is pleasant to think 
 of the future of our tower, when vines shall have grown about 
 it and clad it in robes of beauty, when the years have softened, 
 but not marred, its rugged symmetry. Thousands shall climb 
 its winding stairs to view from its battlements the fair land- 
 scape, or watch the fires of sunset. 
 
 To those who, tired and discouraged perhaps, shall pass at 
 its foot, it shall give strength and hope and new inspiration to 
 fight sturdily the battle before them. Perhaps from its lonely 
 and wind-swept summit some student may gain the clear in- 
 sight and lofty vision to write the noblest story of life, or sing 
 the song of the ages. The storms shall sweep about it, it shall 
 stand desolate while the winter snows pile about its base, but 
 it shall not be moved. 
 
 It is with pleasure, then, that we dedicate Highty-Eight’s 
 share of the work, and leave it to the love and attention of 
 those who follow us. 
 
PINE TREE ORATION. 
 
 ARTHUR) Ls LIVERMORE, 
 Keene, N. H. 
 
 (ali men instinctively admire the hero. Heroism is obedi- 
 ence to the sacred call of duty, the secret impulse within, 
 spurring to noble deeds in behalf of humanity, fatherland, and 
 God. It is the embodiment in man of the Spirit of a great 
 cause, the unswerving devotion of a true heart, the persistent yet 
 voluntary surrender of all things to the success of that cause. 
 It is the quiet confidence in self to surmount great obstacles in 
 the face of opposing dangers. Its highest, most perfect form is 
 in the silent, uncomplaining sacrifice or denial of self to benefit 
 a fellow-being. Sings our Quaker poet,— 
 
 “ Dream not of helm and harness, 
 The sign of valor true; 
 feace hath higher tests of manhood 
 Than battle ever knew.” 
 
 Ever the same at heart, it appears in many forms,—in a Soc- 
 rates before his judges, a Galileo before his tribunal, a Luther . 
 before the Diet, and a Bruno at the stake. 
 
 It seems fitting for us to-day, youthful knights in a brother- 
 hood of letters, before setting out on life’s unknown career, to 
 gather around this silent, stern old hero of nature, to contem- 
 plate its character and seek to be filled with its spirit, that we 
 may emulate its achievements. 
 
 Towering high above all surrounding objects, calm and dig- 
 nified, its roots creeping into every crack and crevice of this 
 rocky hilltop, a strong thing in a high place, to-day the Old 
 Pine appears to us in a new light. Rudely jostled here and. 
 
PINE TREE ORATION. 65 
 
 there in our journey after knowledge, filled with undeveloped 
 plans and resources, attracted now by this and now by that 
 precept of the wise, just before entering the arena to cope with 
 life’s stern realities, we turn to nature for her parting word. 
 
 This shaggy hero, engaged for more than a century in a vig- 
 orous warfare with the elements, towers before us to-day, a strik- 
 ing example of the victory won by persistent strife and stead- 
 fast endeavor. From the time when it stretched out the first 
 tender branches, it has received with equal grace and humility 
 the cold blasts from yonder crystal hills and the soft summer 
 breezes laden with perfume and music. It bends under the 
 wind, makes music of it, then stands up again and grows more 
 stalwartly straight up toward the very heart of the heavens, the 
 source of all its sunlight and rain. 
 
 Surely this is that true heroic spirit which rightly belongs to 
 man, as manifested by the old Greek pévw and the Latin »zaneo— 
 that abiding persistency to attain much in order to help much, 
 which, permeating our very being and stamped upon every lin- 
 eament of our character, will enable us to manifest in every 
 sphere of activity the undaunted heroism of the Pilgrims, and 
 the uncompromising, liberty-loving heroism of Sumner and 
 Garrison. 
 
 Right here, too, is that heroic spirit of self-sacrifice. This 
 massive trunk and these strong limbs must all be given, in the 
 end, to warm and shelter ws in the cold and stormy passages of 
 life. This is the spirit in man which lifts him above self, and 
 makes him think and feel for others. This is the spirit which 
 the Old Pine reveals to us here to-day ; and if we will but take 
 it and manifest it in every department of life, we shall surely 
 rise above the dwarfs, a tower of strength valiant for truth upon 
 earth. | . 
 
 Nothing great is produced at once: the vine must blossom 
 and bear fruit, and ripen before we have the purple cluster of 
 the grape. ‘‘ First the blade, then the ear, and after that the 
 full corn in the ear.” 
 
 Classmates, though the battle of life has but just begun and 
 no great victories have yet been won, our term of service here 
 has expired. Others are pressing forward to fill our places. 
 Our course, if erratic, has been in many respects brilliant, and 
 
66 CLASS-DAY, EIGHTY-EIGHT. 
 
 not a few truths have we learned. The world is not waiting 
 for us with open arms, but each one of us may achieve some 
 measure of renown. 
 
 Like the Old Pine, we shall be burnt by the summer heat, and 
 pressed for room, and wetted by the showers when it rains. 
 Just like the Old Pine, too, we have received powers wherewith 
 to bear whatever occurs. When all is black, and the angry 
 storm rages on every side, if the fiery bolt of destruction crash 
 upon us, then let us be firm, and, insensible of the wounds we 
 have received, remain steadfast, bravely exulting in our ability 
 to suffer. All these troubles and difficulties are strong antag- 
 onists pitted against us, and we may conquer them if we will 
 in the Olympic game of life. 
 
 Then, remembering that the stream stagnates when it ceases 
 to flow, that the tree withers and dies when it ceases to grow, 
 let us ever press onward and upward in the path of constant 
 improvement, the only highway that leads to the goal of per- 
 fection. 
 
 Change not to popular opinion as the chameleon his color. 
 Be not the echoes of other voices, the shadows of other charac- 
 ters, but be yourselves. ‘+ Look not mournfully into the past: 
 itcomes not again. Wisely inprove the present: it is thine. 
 Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear, and with a 
 manly heart.” 
 
ODE. 
 
 WILLIAM BYRON FORBUSH. 
 Springfield, Vt. 
 
 Tune, ‘‘ St. Leonard.”’ 
 
 LOW soft, blow soft, cool evening breeze, 
 From out the sunset doors, 
 Blow through the billowy barley seas, 
 And down the orchard floors. 
 Through these dark branches, moaning, flit, 
 And through the forest dim, 
 While here the last, last time we sit 
 And chant our parting hymn. 
 
 Fade softly o’er the western hill, 
 Fair light of this short day, 
 
 And all ye happy birds, be still— 
 Our joy has passed away. 
 
 And as upon the mountain’s crown 
 The shadowing dusk appears, 
 
 Upon our souls the night comes down : 
 Our songs are mists of tears. ~ 
 
 Now peals the solemn Angelus 
 On ocean and on land: 
 
 Do Thou, O God, look down on us; 
 We yield us to Thy hand. 
 
 Farewell, with all your low heart-calls, 
 O bygone days so bright ! 
 
 Farewell, our dear old college halls ! 
 And dear Old Pine,— Good-night ! 
 
LT 
 
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