c 
 
 DAS S 
 
 LASS 2/AY 
 
 76. 
 
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 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://archive.org/details/exercisesofclass1876dart 
 
EXERCISES 
 
 OF 
 
 Class Day, 
 
 AT 
 
 DARTMOUTH COLLEGE, 
 
 Tuesday, June 27, 1876. 
 
 HANOVER, N. H.: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY VOTE OF THE CLASS. 
 1876. • 
 
MARSHAL: 
 
 George H. Bridgman, 
 
 KEENE, N. H. 
 
 GEO. S. MERRILL <V CROCKER, PRINTERS, LAWRENCE, MASS. 
 
Introductory Address. 
 
 BY HERBERT D. RYDER, SOUTH AC WORTH, N. H. 
 
 Once more has time with its restless surges brought a class 
 to the end of its course. For four } f ears we have been together 
 — years which are, or ought to be, the best of our lives — } 7 ears 
 whose influence over our future weal, or woe, is almost omnipo- 
 tent. We stand at the junction of two widely different por- 
 tions of our lives ; in the past we have only been preparing for 
 the future, now we are about to launch upon that future, to try 
 our fortunes on the wide sea of practical life. The degree of 
 success which is to attend us is in a great measure dependant 
 upon the manner in which our advantages have been improved ; 
 but it is not always evident to the casual observer who has 
 made the best use of his opportunities, hence the surprise which 
 is often manifested at the unexpected success of some man not 
 noted for brilliancy in his preparatory course. 
 
 This day is specialty ours, and, as we recall the thronging 
 memories of our }'ears of companionship, let us all forget what- 
 ever there may have been of bitterness in our relations, and 
 like strong, true men, dwell only upon the pleasant aspects of 
 our college course. We meet to-day with a mingling of emo- 
 tions ; J03* that our struggles for an education are about to be 
 crowned with success — that we are so soon to be of the active 
 workers of the world's arena ; sadness because we are about to 
 break the bonds which four years together have strongly woven 
 — because we shall never again as a class look upon these 
 scenes now so familiar ; yet it is useless to try to speak of the 
 sadness which our coming separation throws over us, for words 
 are weak, but "ever}' heart knoweth its own bitterness." 
 
 Youth naturally looks forward with bright expectations to the 
 future. I believe that there is sometimes more honesty, more 
 true wisdom and more dignity in a young man's aspirations for 
 
4 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 the future than in an old man's philosophic retrospect. The 
 one looks forward to what he fondly believes to be a life of 
 high endeavor and final success, and sees all the future glow- 
 ing with the brilliant hues of hope. He sees but a single side 
 of life ; all the rest is theo^, conjecture, imagination. 
 
 The other knows life, knows it from experience, knows the 
 promise of its early years and how far it is probable that that 
 promise will be fulfilled. He is apt to be cautious, suspicious, 
 and to be embittered b} r the experience he has had of men and 
 their selfishness ; he has awakened from the dream of his }'Outh. 
 The future, of which he so fondly dreamed in his early years, 
 which appeared so bright to his youthful imagination, when it 
 came to be the present, has proved to be not what he dreamed, 
 not what he imagined. The golden rewards, honors, posi- 
 tion, riches, that he so eagerly struggled for in his early man- 
 hood, have crumbled to ashes at the touch of his eager hands. 
 The man of man}' years deserves respect, his opinions should 
 have weight and the results of his experience should be care- 
 fully observed by the } T oung man about to enter upon the re- 
 sponsibilities of active life. 
 
 But, shall a young man not dream of the future ? Shall he 
 not have high aims? Shall he not cherish lofty aspirations for 
 future usefulness. You never see a man of ripe experience and 
 culture who would wish to dampen the ardor of the young, to 
 say to them that all their ambitious dreams will end in naught. 
 He realizes the fact that aspirations are natural for youth, and 
 that a dream is often the cause of its own fulfillment. It is 
 eminently right for a young man to aim high, but each one 
 should be careful that his object be noble, pure and just. 
 
 I believe that the aims and intentions of youth are in the 
 main towards the right, and that the impulses of men before 
 they become tarnished by long contact with the world are the 
 impulses which are most natural to humanity. 
 
 Let us, then, as we go out into life, keep fresh and pure these 
 aspirations of our youth. Let us, as the years pass by, and 
 our lives become more and more those of retrospection, remem- 
 ber these noble, unselfish days of our college course, and ever 
 keep green in our memories the thought of our years at old 
 Dartmouth. 
 
Oration. 
 
 BY ALEXANDER B. CRAWFORD, JACKSON, MICH. 
 
 It is an excellent thing to turn our eyes upon the plucky, 
 diligent men who leave their mark upon their time and land, to 
 find, if we can, what their power is, — who are the workers and 
 what is their strength? To answer this question, scrutiny of 
 actions, merely, will not do ; one must go deeper ; it is neces- 
 sary to get at the springs of action. The answer is, likewise, 
 a matter of observation and induction, — physical science not 
 more so. We do not speculate as to what, after our fancy, 
 ought to be, we recite what is. Dost thou appeal to fact? To 
 fact shalt thou go. 
 
 In this way it is found that every orator who speaks to a 
 purpose and not for mere speaking's sake ; even' reformer ; 
 every pioneer in an}' great work — Old Testament prophet, or 
 New Testament teacher ; all genuine, helpful men whose names 
 the people keep in their hearts and pronounce with reverence 
 and admiration, what else they may have, are possessed of 
 these three things : conviction, indignation and sympathy. 
 These constitute their strength ; these are their energy. 
 
 To consider this proposition is our business at this time. 
 
 First, of Conviction. Here we stand in the presence of the 
 Power which brings among men all victories possible to human- 
 ity, and }'et our first emotion is not pleasure, but pain. For 
 there is that in the significance of the word which troubles 
 pride. It implies a high and imperative authority other than 
 self; it speaks of stern vassalage indeed; its virtues are loy- 
 alty, obedience, endurance. It will send a man from home 
 
6 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 and kindred ; na} T , it will bid him depart from himself, to go, 
 not knowing whither, 011I3* that he goes. This has been found 
 a hard saying. The faithless, the willful, the seekers of pleas- 
 ure, the proud, cannot receive it ; they sneer, indeed, but wan- 
 der ever in darkness and in weakness. This strength and 
 this light is not for them. But if one can receive it, this sub- 
 mission is a wonderful thing. It is his knighting, as in Ar- 
 thur's Court the brave men laid their hands in his,, and 
 
 " The king in low, deep tones, 
 
 And simple words of great authority, 
 
 Bound them by so strait vows to his own self, 
 
 That, when they rose knighted from kneeling, some 
 
 Were pale as at the passing of a ghost, 
 
 Some flushed, and others dazed, as one who wakes 
 
 Half-blinded at the coming of a light," 
 
 * and like them he shall be cheered 
 
 " With large, divine and comfortable words." 
 Now, we should know, and we may, if we will look, that 
 the ability to do is largely measured by the ability to suffer ; 
 that suffering is a high heritage, and, without it, is not any- 
 thing of the great things that are done ; that nothing else than 
 the song of sacrifice is the song of conquest. Now, conviction 
 onl} T will enable one to face this fact and squarely set himself 
 to act by it. This will allow him to faint or be slain at his 
 work, but will not let him run away from it, making him sa}' 
 with Porapey, "It is not necessar} r that I live ; it is necessary 
 that I go to Rome." 
 
 B} r this, too, the men eminent and devout in all the learnings 
 nobly estimate the world, not for what the}* can get out of it, 
 but for what they can do in it, being in no sense seekers of self 
 but of the truth they adore. It is the others who are men of 
 Brodwissenschaft, the world around, mere -' bread and butter" 
 men. 
 
 Through conviction, again, the eyes are quickened to behold 
 the invisible things in all their wondrous beauty, in all their 
 very reality. Then indeed, as Taine has well said, "The in- 
 tellect becomes manly, no longer grabbing words mechanically 
 like a catechism, but sounding them anxiously, like a truth." 
 
 I said in the beginning that this was a matter of observation. 
 
ORATION. / 
 
 Therefore, to confirm these assertions, I cite two notable exam- 
 ples. And the first shall be that of decidedly the most magnifi- 
 cent character in the ancient world, the Hebrew Law-Giver. 
 When as a young man he left the Court of Egypt to take his 
 station among the Israelites, from what did he go and to what? 
 He went from a eonrt, elegant, luxurious, possessed of a rich 
 civilization, learned in geometry and mechanics, the first astron- 
 omers, versed in medicine and surgery, perhaps the veiy prim- 
 itive seat of learning, whence all who write histories of sciences 
 and arts, and philosophies, must take their place of beginning. 
 He went from this to a race of degraded, brick-making, ditch- 
 digging slaves, who could neither appreciate him or his mission, 
 but, mutinous and craven, would be read}" every other day to 
 rise up and stone him ; who, at the hardships for liberty's sake, 
 would cry out for the old slavery in Egypt if it brought only a 
 slave's food. Such were the people he was to rule and suffer 
 for in the wilderness fort} T years, till there should spring up in 
 their place another generation of brave, hardy men, who, con- 
 quering the lands east of the Mediterranean, should lay the 
 foundations of a nation, the influence of whose history and 
 divine literature upon the world, who can tell? 
 
 The other example is very much in point and of significance 
 here. In this later time, a resolute, brave-hearted man had a 
 conviction, and, against the protests of beloved friends who de- 
 plored his "foolish, wild and insane venture," he rose to go, 
 northward, with oxen, into the wilderness of the River Valley, 
 to begin an abiding work, in what pain and "labor the records 
 show. The talk of "Tears falling like rain upon the winter 
 snow" is no rhetorical embellishment, but the statement of a 
 literal fact. It was "a voice of one crying in the wilder- 
 ness," indeed ! But now, verily, her " sound is gone out into 
 all lands, and her words into the ends of the world." " There 
 is neither speech nor language, but her voice is heard among 
 them !" 
 
 Surely the generations rise up to call the conviction and he- 
 roic toil of this man blessed. With unfeigned admiration, 
 they bow the head and pronounce with grateful lips the name of 
 Eleazer Wheelock ! 
 
8 (LASS DAY, '76. 
 
 Surely, then, after this, it is not too much to say of Convic- 
 tion that courage, decision, diligence, energy, fortitude, all the 
 manly and prevailing virtues, anchor their roots in it ; the}' 
 are its out-growth and manifestation. 
 
 But indignation, looked askance at by so man}- and con- 
 demned, has it any place in a strong, especially in a righteous, 
 character? See what indignation is: no impotent rage, no 
 indiscriminate and abusive calling of names, not anything else 
 that marks weak and blind passion. Neither is it earnestness 
 merel}', or enthusiasm merety, as some would wrest it. Vinet 
 has grandly defined it: "Indignation, that anger of the con- 
 science ! " It is, therefore, a serene, a resolved thing, majes- 
 tic — by its repose invincible ; a strong thing in a high place, 
 from which by all that is valiant for truth upon earth it ma} T in 
 no wise be cast down ! 
 
 Well, there is a lackadaisical good-i-ness, an " imbecile 
 amiability," which fears anything strong or positive ; which is 
 chiefly concerned to disagree with nobody ; which regards any 
 show of honest wrath as something wicked ; which pets the 
 criminal till crime runs rife, and which, finally, will deliver the 
 great charges of government, instruction, public morality, and 
 whatever else honest folks are supposed to have an interest in, 
 over to the knave, resisting at best with only a childish, com- 
 plaining ciy. And this dawdling, vicious sentimentalism, — 
 for it is not a sentiment — has been preached up by its advocates 
 as the right thing, — squarely in the teeth of fact, or Christian 
 spirit. It is no such thing. It is a superficial, weak thing that 
 cannot see ; the offspring of an indolent, of an indifferent, of 
 an unthinking mind. 
 
 Certainly something more stalwart than this is required for 
 the bitter contests 03' which alone the great things are had and 
 held. Consider that living truth, the truth which shall arm a 
 man for his work and cheer him while in it, is something else 
 than a dry book — an Analytical Geometry, for instance — writ- 
 ten and laid on a shelf to make its way with whomsoever ma} r 
 please to take it up. It is an imperious, impetuous force, and 
 in its battles there is no time to temper blows.* Consider that 
 this nation, now exulting in the achievements of its hundred 
 
 *Blackie. — " Four Phases of Morals." 
 
ORATION. 9 
 
 years, ia exulting in the achievements of the indignant men 
 who spurned compromise with the indignant word, and resisted 
 oppressor and subverter alike bj T the indignant blow; the 
 achievements of the Revolutionary time, not merely, but also 
 of all the ages which were the preparation for that. 
 
 1 said that indignation was not an indiscriminate and abusive 
 calling of names, but it is often a discriminate and righteous 
 calling of very hard names. The gentle and tender-hearted 
 men, far-seeing and, as alread}' hinted, revering truth, are most 
 easily moved at wrong and falsehood, to break out into blazing 
 wrath, and call the dastardly doers of them by the names the} T 
 deserve. Luther, whose speech rang like the battle-ax, Lati- 
 mer reproaching Henry VIII., Bourdalone terrifically and defi- 
 antly denouncing Louis XIV. to his face, are brave examples of 
 this. 
 
 Two lesser incidents carry their own teaching. A person 
 sat by Adam Smith, and talked in his faint and soulless way 
 of some outrage that had been committed, and, when he de- 
 parted, the sturdy scholar exclaimed: "I can breathe freer 
 now that fellow has gone ; he has no indignation in him ! " 
 Some may remember how a knave made a tricky exhibit before 
 a late Chief Justice of New Hampshire, then a lawyer, and 
 asked for an opinion, " I think, sir, you are a great scoundrel !" 
 That was the "opinion" and the whole of it. Now, that 
 "opinion" was very valuable, for the man paid twenty dollars 
 for it ! And, if he made wise use of it, no doubt for him it was 
 the best purchase in law that could be. 
 
 We shall find that indignation stands so many times brave 
 and stalwart at the crises of things that the induction is this : 
 Until its note sounds strong and clear, the " heroic and con- 
 quering days rise not in glory upon the strifes of the world." 
 
 Indignation strikes well but can it heal, and may not a raw 
 indignation be corrupted to a bitterness and an evil zeal? It 
 must, therefore, be tempered with humility and with sympathy. 
 
 Now, of this grand quality a great deal has been said and 
 sung, and, no doubt, in the hearts of all people there is a great 
 deal else thought, better than anj r thing said or sung. We are 
 then meddling in "great matters which are too high " for us, 
 and we proceed not over confidently. Is not sympatlry a com- 
 
10 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 posite, many-sided power, embracing affection, sincerity, judg- 
 ment and helpfulness, these four at least? The ancient, stoical 
 blunder suppressed the affection, making the virtue a thing of 
 reason and the will, but, with the impetus gone, sought in vain 
 to retain the helpfulness. Over against this, a modern error, 
 forgetting that sometimes " Harshness may be a charit}', and 
 gentleness a treacherj'," degrades all to a mere emotion, and 
 leaves the glorious power a paralyzed, driveling mockery of 
 its former self. 
 
 We go again to Vinet for our definition. He says that it is 
 " the gift of identifying one's self with all sentiment, entering 
 into all situations, however opposed to our own the former may 
 be, however foreign the latter ; * * * that intelligence of 
 the soul by which we divine the secret of every individuality, 
 personal or collective." Opposed to suspicion, " it is the first 
 condition of true penetration." 
 
 But the point to be made above all others is that sympathy 
 is the chief spring of eloquence. Shakespeare was the best dram- 
 atist because in the best s} T mpathy with " all sorts and condi- 
 tions of men." The affectionate, helpful man, knowing the 
 truth the people need, stands in "the midst of them," and 
 teaches them in it, and his words are, "Brother Men!" — 
 "AvdpeS dSsXqjoi. 
 
 Seeing the point they ought to reach, although leader, yet as 
 one of themselves, he guides them to it, and his words are 
 again: "Come, let us go." Observe how simple and direct 
 such speaking is. It has no 
 
 " Words of learned length and thundering sound." 
 
 The man is too busy for that, like Latimer, he speaks for the 
 "sake of doing work." He believes what Dr. Loring wisely 
 said here two years ago : "The day for mere rhetoric has gone, 
 if it ever had a da}^, and it now remains for every man to set 
 forth in simple and striking phrase the truth as best he can." 
 He is the illustration of John Milton's definition: " True elo- 
 quence I find to be none other than the serious and hearty love 
 of truth ; » * the fervent desire to know good things, 
 
 .Mini the dearest charity to infuse the knowledge of them into 
 others." By sympathy the eloquent man catches, to utter in 
 fitting phrase, whal the common heart thinks, but what the 
 
ORATION, 11 
 
 common lips strive in vain to articulate. Without it all at- 
 tempts al speaking must end in chagrin and defeat. Without 
 it -lone will be given when bread is required; and, naturally 
 enough, no thankfulness or enthusiasm comes of that. For the 
 sympathetic man to "keep silence from good words is pain 
 and grief" to him ; his " heart is hot within " him; the "fire 
 kindles," and he speaks. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said a clergyman of the Church of England, 
 after the death of Wesley, " What we preach, he lived." More 
 than eloquence of the lips is the eloquent life. Sympathy is 
 the fountain of that, too ; of that diligent strife to become 
 much, in order to help much. For a man to stand in the pres- 
 ence of any distress and know, that on account of his own trans- 
 gression, or indolence merel}*, the manly, encouraging, helpful 
 word must die upon his lips ; that his arm has no longer strength 
 for the helpful deed — that is sorrow. 
 
 Here, then, is our problem : these elements given, to build 
 the man, — a man not facile or plausible ; not a man of expe- 
 diency or of craftiness, but a diligent, dutiful, helpful man ; 
 no time-server, glossing over disagreeable facts, but a man, 
 who, standing fair and square, will acknowledge their existence 
 and go with a good courage to meet them as he ought. 
 
 " Because Right is Right, to follow Right 
 Were wisdom, in the scorn of consequence." 
 
 Verily, he shall be a light, kindled and shining. 
 
Poem 
 
 BY JOHN WALTER STAPLES, WELLS, ME. 
 
 My song, unlike in theme the ancient lays, 
 
 Which won for poets the eternal praise 
 
 Of men, and crowned their foreheads with the bays 
 
 The men of other times and other days 
 
 Are proud to honor, while the songs they sung, 
 
 Translated into every Christian tongue, 
 
 Have power to arouse the heart and soul 
 
 To noble deeds of honor and control ; 
 
 Make wise the head, in purity of mind 
 
 Life happ}', simple, cultured and refined. 
 
 My song, although it ne'er expects the name 
 
 That gives immortal glory, or the fame 
 
 Capricious, which seeks the lucky few — 
 
 Denies to most the justness of their due, 
 
 Yet it would seek, with simple, hopeful trust, 
 
 Some lessons for the future : be they just — 
 
 M} T earnest prayer. With hope expectant 
 
 Awaits my heart, the result triumphant, 
 
 When time in ceaseless rounds shall give to earth 
 
 Each man his due — to worthy man his worth. 
 
 Four years on pinions swift, with speed of wiug, 
 
 Have flown ; the pleasure or the pain they bring — 
 
 We know the measure of our deeds. Well fought 
 
 lias been the battle ; we have only sought 
 
 The right and true. Can this t lie verdict be: 
 
 In heart of hearts with Cod and you and me? 
 
 Then know full well — the cost however great, 
 
POEM, 
 
 13 
 
 Rewards however small — a rich estate, 
 
 More ooble than the treasures of the great, 
 
 Is our possession. Not by rank alone 
 
 Is merit measured. High behold a throne 
 
 To duty, deep planted in the human heart 
 
 Beyond the reach of reason, the grace of art. 
 
 There conscience, born with man, was placed as king 
 
 To judge of all, not by the marks the}' bring 
 
 Forever, soon erased ; but each man's part 
 
 Is judged b} T the markings on his heart. 
 
 The past is gone ; the future is in store. 
 
 From scenes of student life the harsh world's door 
 
 Recoiling bids us forth to bravety fight 
 
 For Justice, Liberty and Freedom's right. 
 
 We pause, we hesitate, to cross the sill 
 
 Of that wide door, for, be there good or ill 
 
 For us beyond, how can we tell? Fierce strife, 
 
 Base slander, malice, everywhere are rife 
 
 With schemes to drag down worth, true honor shame, 
 
 And in the mire pollute the purest name ; 
 
 When scribblers, busy-bodies and the press 
 
 Pursue the few who ne'er the laws transgress, 
 
 Till men believe that virtue is a lie 
 
 Since calumny's foul breath sends forth the cry, 
 
 That gains and grows, and, growing, will not rest 
 
 Till to its fury falls the nation's best. 
 
 Be it the task of one to wield the pen 
 In journal's might, — to guide his fellow-men 
 To worthy deeds should be the highest aim, 
 To lead their feet to tread the path of fame, 
 While, raised a beacon light of life on high, 
 The awful warning, man was born to die, 
 Was born with subtle mind, a priceless soul 
 That ever lives. Eternities may roll, — 
 The revolutions, marked by rolling sun, 
 Will never see its life but just begun. 
 Thy task so deeply fraught with woe or weal 
 To all the race, stamp deeply with the seal 
 
14 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 Of power ; let no chances in the din 
 Of battle fail ; wink not at deeds of sin 
 That cry to Heaven for an avenger's hand 
 To come, to purge, to cleanse the wicked land. 
 Gird on thy r armor at the bugle's call 
 For combat ; let the world behold thee fall 
 With face to foe, with purpose in the e3'es 
 That makes the valiant hero when he dies. 
 . As when the Greek of old met foreign wave 
 That Xerxes realms in surging billows gave, 
 Or in a pass, or on the ocean strand, 
 Fought bravely for his own dear native land, 
 Was sure the Gods on Mount Olympus high 
 Would well reward, if he but nobly die. 
 While shades of Hades, spirits sad and black, 
 Await for cowards, follow in their track, 
 Drive pleasures hence, forbid this life to please, 
 Give torments here, that nevermore will cease — 
 Turned not his back, that falling he might show 
 He fell with honor, foe against the foe. 
 Thus he should toil who stands in foremost place, 
 To guide, to teach, to mold the human race, 
 With pen in hand, with soul aglow with fire, 
 Be thou a laborer, worthy of the hire ; 
 And, with a tongue of flame, of righteous scorn, 
 Rebuke the vice, for sad destruction born. 
 This land, oppressed beneath the servile yoke 
 Of part}^ power, threatened with the stroke 
 Of vengeance dire, that in consuming wrath 
 Will send the shafts of Jove across the path 
 Of hirelings, who, for wealth, high place and gain, 
 Their country's honor sell, do not refrain 
 From deeds, however base, however vile, 
 That they ma}'' win the fleeting, gracious smile 
 Which ornce gives, demands the herald's notes 
 Of warning, borne from north to south b} r throats 
 Of Stentor's might, while echoes east and west 
 The valiant good demand by rich bequest 
 Their fathers gave in holy freedom's fight t 
 
POEM. 15 
 
 To battle manfully for God and right. 
 
 Inventions deep in art, in science formed 
 
 The hills through ages which the clouds have stormed, 
 
 Ravines where might omnipotent was wrought, 
 
 And man the strength divine is grandly taught ; 
 
 The breadth of mighty waters, wide no more, 
 
 Since span and arch unite far shore to shore ; 
 
 The mighty works that grace the nations' soil ; 
 
 The mighty deeds worked out b} T sweat and toil — 
 
 These all attest the the true Shekinah man, 
 
 Whom covenant of God gave rainbow span. 
 
 A rich-set gem in beaut}^ placed on high, 
 
 Encircling wide the mercy of the sky. 
 
 How great, how strong these aids to bear the thought 
 
 Of heart and brain from town to town ; so wrought 
 
 Into the nation's life and flesh and bone, 
 
 That never despot sat on Eastern throne 
 
 With half the royal pomp, the regal sway, 
 
 The pen of Journalism exerts to-da} r , 
 
 When all imbued with wisdom's heavenly light 
 
 Confess its scope, and own all great its might. 
 
 The law, the road of man}- to renown, 
 
 To that high reach of power that will crown 
 
 The silver hair, the hoary temples old, 
 
 With honors, with the praises manifold 
 
 Of thankful hearts, as ages } T et to come 
 
 Their deeds shall read, recorded as the sum 
 
 Of all the greatness, marble shaft, and scroll 
 
 To after generations can unroll. 
 
 The law with holy sanction from on high 
 
 Rolls back the curtain drawn across the sky 
 
 And in the light of bright meridian day 
 
 To youth and purpose points the shining way 
 
 That leads to noble acts far, far above 
 
 The common level, to noble deeds of love. 
 
 High, even-handed Justice sits in state, 
 
 And from her robes drives far away the hate 
 
 That wrongs, that sends the arrow to the heart, 
 
 With venom poisoned, aching with its smart. 
 
16 (LASS DAY, '7G. 
 
 Her throne, supported by the rights of man, 
 
 Is but a t} r pe, an after-coming plan 
 
 Of Justice imperial above the skj-, 
 
 That bids this man to live, that man to die. 
 
 The justice reaching far from God all-wise, 
 
 Is dimly seen ; the blind distorted eyes 
 
 Of men, what seems so hard, so void of love, 
 
 Think not a benediction from above, 
 
 The purpose of a prime controlling will 
 
 That sends no harm, that marks not airy ill, 
 
 When love and kindness do their noble part 
 
 To cleanse, to wash, to lead the wayward heart. 
 
 The goddess Justice with her throne on earth 
 
 Is purity personified, in birth 
 
 Divine, omnipotent as from the seat 
 
 Where all the attributes of Godhead meet. 
 
 Bring forth to light of day the mighty scroll : 
 
 Brush off the dust of ages ; now unroll 
 
 And read the names of warriors strong and true 
 
 Who gave no more, no less, but just the due, 
 
 To Justice ; did not seek by scheme and flaw 
 
 To blind, to kill the righteousness of law. 
 
 Men just and true, a race of giant mold ; 
 
 Interpreters of doubtful manifold 
 
 Decrees : what prince, what peasant of the earth 
 
 Does not } T our power own, confess your worth? 
 
 This life, with all its charms, its grace to please, 
 
 Bids virtue come and wickedness to cease ; 
 
 Gives to the home, the cheerful household heart, 
 
 New r joys to form, new pleasures to impart, 
 
 While Justice, from her seat serene on high, 
 
 Beholds them nobly live, serenely die. 
 
 Who from this peace, this happy, loving home 
 
 Goes forth in youth in foreign lands to roam, 
 
 Too often in his tears and glistening eyes 
 
 Arc pictures of the bright and tranquil skies 
 
 Whose beauty set in crystal orbs looked down 
 
 To grace his birth, his natal day to crown. 
 
 This is the priceless boon that Justice gives, 
 
17 
 
 That in her laws the humbles! yeoman lives, 
 
 That when in sleep he lays his body clown 
 
 He calmly rests, and fears no kingly frown ; 
 
 Dreams of his wealth, his cultivated soil, 
 
 The products of his labor and his toil. 
 
 Arises to his task prepared to dare, 
 
 To struggle np, to mount another's chair ; 
 
 Regards no hindrance set against the road 
 
 That leads his steps to reach the high abode. 
 
 That youth in dreams beheld a castle grand 
 
 For princes built, his own b} r his command ; 
 
 lie wearies not, but urged with strong intent 
 
 His task pursues, on lofty purpose bent, 
 
 Till standing on the skiey, mountain top 
 
 The goal he sought — the place where all must stop. 
 
 He looks around, and, to his great surprise, 
 
 Beholds a nation spread before his eyes. 
 
 And on the landing of the topmost stair 
 
 He sits ensconced in presidential chair. 
 
 "Let Chase's robes on no mean shoulders fall," 
 
 The poet sang : how weak, how r meanly small 
 
 In aspirations pure and matchless grace, 
 
 The sons to don his robes to fill his place. 
 
 Still deep inscribed on every living heart — 
 
 That man's himself to do his given part ; 
 
 Can mould and fashion at his sovereign will 
 
 To work the greatest good or basest ill. 
 
 Let none despair that such has been before ; 
 
 It should support and urge him on the more 
 
 To struggle, reach the place of highest aim, 
 
 Record his deeds and leave a loved name, 
 
 A name re-echoed through all coming time 
 
 In memon T dear for noble acts sublime, 
 
 This is the place that none despair to gain 
 
 Who in their lives let sternest justice reign 
 
 While tender mere} 7 works its healing wa} r 
 
 And every act is bright as cloudless day. 
 
 Ye sons of Dartmouth, hear the earnest call 
 
 The silent, honored dead send forth to all. 
 
18 (LASS DAY, '76. 
 
 To up and man with old Achilles' might, 
 To fight for justice and the laws of right, 
 To nobly stand against insidious foes, 
 Shield off the darts, the arrows, which the}' throw, 
 Till trumpets' blast announce the victory won, 
 The Master's plaudit, " true and faithful son." 
 A nobler yet to grace the Christian age 
 Than son of science, or the Grecian sage 
 Who taught philosophy almost divine 
 Beneath the lofty fane, the pagan shrine, 
 Who wove, as weaves a spider from within 
 A web of beauty finely drawn and thin, 
 A system grand with philosophic might 
 We wish our own, so near it is to right ; 
 Yes, noblest far, the mightiest of all 
 Who ranks with wealth and station low and small, 
 Of grace the herald, minister divine, 
 Let precept upon precept, line on line, 
 The message be that faith in God would give 
 To bid the wayward home, the sinner live ; 
 To turn a human soul in fallen estate, 
 From Heaven estranged, abiding in its hate, 
 To tread the narrow path, the shining way, 
 Forgiveness ask, and to "Our Father" pray. 
 Lives in the Master's work have been so spent, 
 That as the incense of their deeds up went 
 To Him who gave, the angels of the skies 
 Gave thankful adoration for their lives, 
 In music grand and sweet to mortal ears. 
 As we have heard "The music of the spheres," 
 The heavenly choir in anthem song acclaims : 
 "The Lord is God. The Lord Jehovah reigns." 
 Shout : "Welcome, spirit, to a seat above, 
 At God's right hand, through Christ's undying love.' 
 % While heartfelt grief for all their priceless worth, 
 In sorrow bow their brothers still on earth ; 
 And as to dusl arc given these valiant dead, 
 How hearts are lorn, what scalding tears are shed, 
 While praise to God for treasure of their lives 
 
POEM. 19 
 
 Ascends to Heaven, and still the dead survives. 
 
 Such there have been the priest, the prophet, seer 
 
 To point to God, and chock the gushing tear; 
 
 To teach the Lonely of a home above ; 
 
 The sin-sick soul that Heaven is 011I3- love ; 
 
 The seed of truth in human hearts they sow, 
 
 In pagan lands, and midst the haunts of woe, 
 
 Lift men from vice, and out of foul estate, 
 
 To cast otf sin, their former actions hate ; 
 
 Make lives of trust, the noblest of their kin, 
 
 From dens of want and palaces of sin. 
 
 A model preacher in the days of 3'ore, 
 
 As messenger of God to Grecian shore 
 
 The tidings glad of Gospel truth divine 
 
 Declared to Athens, while the worshipped shrine 
 
 Of Gods and Goddesses, revered by law, 
 
 The minds of men securely held in awe, 
 
 And superstition, mighty in its reign, 
 
 Forbade the sacrilegious hand profane 
 
 The holy rites, the mysteries sublime, 
 
 So dear to hearts through song from ancient time. 
 
 Let Paul on Hill of Mars the model stand, 
 
 The type to preachers, unctioned 03^ the hand 
 
 Of God's commissioned one, to tell abroad 
 
 The story of the cross, the risen Lord, 
 
 And Areopagus forever rise 
 
 Majestically grand to vaulted skies. 
 
 A vision grand from out expanse of air 
 That seemed an angel beautiful and fair, 
 Appeared before the poet's dreamy eye ; 
 Unrolled a scroll, methought, from out the sky ; 
 Seraphic light shone round the angel's face, 
 And lighted with a halo all the place. 
 The angel, with a look and pointed hand, 
 A smiling face, and gesture of command, 
 Points to a wreath, surrounding crucifix, 
 On inner side, the magic seventy-six, — 
 Soon vanishes, with still the pointed hand, 
 
20 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 Far out of sight to upper spirit land. 
 
 Behold above, extending far around, 
 
 The names with flowers thickly inwoven I found, 
 
 A star of hope, and not of death, the name 
 
 Of each allotted to the niche of fame. 
 
 Ring long and loud, old bell, 
 
 To sky and air ; 
 Let peal on peal raised high 
 Send forth the joyful cry, 
 Till all the land shall tell 
 
 How bright, how fair ! 
 
 How fair are all thy \va3-s ! 
 
 To heaven and earth 
 Let lyre and voice and strain 
 From shrine and lofty fane 
 Lift high the song of praise, 
 
 To tell thy worth. 
 
 Let "vox clamantis" speak 
 
 From }^onder bell ; 
 Ring forth, both loud and long, 
 The burden of our song. 
 We feel too mean and weak 
 
 The theme to tell. 
 
Address to the Class. 
 
 BY JOHX FOSTER, BEDFORD, X. //. 
 
 Classmates : — The gates are ajar ; and here at the close of 
 our College life we have paused, to receive the benediction of 
 the Institution, and when all else is done, to sa} T to one another 
 farewell. 
 
 Whatever of joy we anticipate in after- times, I feel that this 
 word spoken on this occasion, will fall from no one of } t ou with- 
 out a sincere regret that it indicates departure from these 
 pleasant ways, separation from our instructors and these vener- 
 able halls ; that by it our social ties are severed, with it the 
 life of the Class is dead; that here the "the golden bowl is 
 broken, the pitcher is broken at the fountain." 
 
 Measuring the occasion by these circumstances, we are im- 
 pressed with the conviction, that aside from those emotions at 
 parting, there are other facts which seem to stamp it as an 
 event of serious moment in the career of each individual who 
 closes with these ceremonies his course of academic study. 
 
 The experience which awaits us is a new one, its duties are 
 new to us, and in this life to come we look in vain for a beckon- 
 ing star, or some guiding sign. To the great world of men, and 
 their answers are but questions in riddles ; to the spirit of our 
 age, but like olden oracles its responses are equivocal ; to 
 science, but here the voice of formula is dumb ; to religion, and 
 its answer is too often of the beaut}- of church and the tension 
 of creed. 
 
 We seek, then, an inference from all these, and the verdict 
 is : there is no desthry but the fruit of honest, honorable action ; 
 no true chart but the voice of conscience ; that life's action is 
 not mimetic ; its contests are not visionary ; its aims are not 
 at ideal fancies. It is the stern reality- of being ; it is the 
 
22 (LASS DAY, '76. 
 
 chosen field which God has given to man, wherein to build up 
 manhood, and stamp the glory of his Creator on the record oi 
 his thoughts and deeds. 
 
 This is duty in its highest sense ; this is the scholar's mis- 
 sion ; it is the Maker's thought and design. 
 
 The sphere of }our action will be essentially broad ; your 
 callings will be diverse. Hereafter we ma}- point with pride at 
 names which have adorned theology or medicine, honored the 
 bar, attained greatness in diplomacy, or ennobled themselves 
 in teaching wisdom to their fellow-men. 
 
 All these are different, each from the others ; unlike in men- 
 tal requisite and agenc} T . But they are all the scholar's duties, 
 and I believe that behind learning's standard there are quali- 
 ties exacted in every calling, without which wisdom, talent and 
 genius must wither to a skeleton of empty names. 
 
 It is true that oar mission in these halls was to study the 
 relations of mental power to success, to model the pattern, to 
 learn the scope and acquire the influence of the educated mind. 
 
 To this purpose we have studied the mental man, till our 
 fancy seems to picture in his noblest works the perfection of 
 his Maker's design. Man's mind has conceived and established 
 the existence of a divine power throned over an infinite uni- 
 verse ; it has grappled science till it has conquered, and again 
 the Sphinx is answered ; it has sought and found the golden 
 bough, and art is no longer a mystery. 
 
 These all are sources of pride, and evidences of power, but 
 I believe that in that great field where all alike are teachers and 
 pupils, in those skillful arts by which each shall inscribe his 
 record and character on the monuments of the age, the secret 
 of success, the source of true influence, the vitality of man- 
 hood, the foundation elements of the ideal man, are be} T ond 
 the influence of all of these. 
 
 The quality which I present as demanding especially the cul- 
 tivation of educated men is self-love, not in its ordinary inter- 
 pretation, for that implies not a source but a lack of manliness. 
 Rather, that honor of self which guards the conscience from all 
 wrong, supports and strengthens the purity of the heart, and 
 by so endowing morality, integrity and justice, rears up a bul- 
 wark to manhood which no earthly power can destroy. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE (LASS. 23 
 
 By that influence which prompts men to respond earnestly to 
 conviction, their noble traits have sprung forth in glorious his- 
 toric deeds, and the ages which mark the contests of mind award 
 victory ever to those opinions and deeds which portray an hon- 
 ored and guarded conscience. It is the discipline of true self- 
 love that develops the purely conscientious nature, the source 
 of inflexible virtues whose impress is stamped indelibly on the 
 character of all those whom history and the world revere. 
 
 In these days of gilded domes and doubtful creeds, when 
 men worship in churches, and talk of " star-eyed science," say 
 it "rules the world, forever has ruled it, shall rule it," when 
 from lord to minion the term self-love assumes almost univer- 
 sally a detested meaning, when society is drugged with pedant- 
 ry and egotism, when the highest occupations and efforts seem 
 to bespeak the motive power of avarice, when men talk of vir- 
 tue as a lingering tradition of the past, and the standard of 
 morality, integrity and honest}' has partaken largely of the hol- 
 low artifice of the age, it may seem strange indeed that I ap- 
 peal to the conscience of men. 
 
 But I do it under the delusion it may be, that science does 
 not rule the world, has not, shall not. I do it in the hope that 
 this corrupted, bribe-eating, political age may be reformed. I 
 do it in the hope that you, my Classmates, may go forth com- 
 mitted to no allegiance but to honor ; that your motive thoughts 
 may be pure, and true to honesty ; that your words ma}* be as 
 a battle-axe of truth ; and your deeds a noble part of that his- 
 tory which shall record the decline of an age whose principles 
 were moulded by a scientific morality, and the dawning of 
 another, whose creed shall be the true worship of the heart ; 
 whose pride shall be the triumph of honest}* ; whose code shall 
 be truth ; and whose motto shall be justice to all. 
 
 True self-love regards the individual only as related to his 
 influence for good in the world. To this it dedicates the emo- 
 tions of the heart which it purifies ; it devotes to it the energy 
 which it creates ; it binds the same by stronger ties to sym- 
 pathy with the body ; it renders the man a might}* shield for 
 the defense of the right ; it arms his character with the strongest 
 weapons — virtue, moral courage and integrity.- 
 
24 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 These are the axioms of human excellence, make them pre- 
 dominant and they bespeak the ideal man. Such attributes are 
 not the fruit of education, the} T are God-given graces. By 
 wisdom we are trul} T enlightened only in the light of these. 
 
 Let us nourish them, Classmates, may we place nothing before 
 them ; let us regard these unfading features of character as the 
 masters of our thought and the arbiters of our deeds : let us 
 make them a synonym of our faith, and ever} r where in life's 
 contests battle chivalrously in their cause. Ever on virtue's 
 side wage war and make no compromise with wrong, and when 
 our times shall have drifted away among other ages, and 3*0111* 
 deeds shall have become history, therein shall be written the 
 worth of your manhood, the honor of }*ou and such as }*ou. 
 
 Classmates, the duties of College life are done. Henceforth, 
 save perchance a lingering memor}*, we shall exist here only in 
 the record which by our conduct we have achieved. And as 
 we linger amid these parting scenes, we feel that we would 
 open again the book that now is sealed, again recur to those 
 traditions which endear us to one another. Our hearts beat in 
 sympathy as we recall them. These days of sunshine — how 
 jo3*ousl3* we sung awa3* the golden hours. 
 
 Our studies ! how, under the guidance of skillful masters, we 
 noted in their progress the growing character of our friends. 
 The darker days, when clouds have risen and driven for a time 
 the sunlight from our ways. All these come crowding back, 
 and choke our farewell words. 
 
 Though these emotions at separation are 011I3* for the time, 
 and will cease with the coming of other duties, let us often re- 
 call them with memory of our College cla3*s. Let us not for- 
 get, or lose sight of one another. Let us hold ever fresh in 
 mind the moral precepts which we have garnered here, and as 
 we pass out from the shadow of these halls, ma3* we pledge 
 ourselves again and forever to that platform of life, whose aim 
 is a perfect manhood, whose polic3 r is honest3*, whose creed is 
 morality, virtue and honor, whose watchword is the founder of 
 character, the support of wisdom, the strength of the con- 
 science, self-love. 
 
 "This above all, to thine own self be true, 
 And it must follow, as night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man." 
 
Farewell Address 
 
 TO THE PRESIDENT. 
 
 BY M. EUGENE McCLARV, NEWPORT, VT. 
 
 Most Honored Sir : — It has been well said, that the sad- 
 dest words that man can utter are the simple words "fare- 
 well." On this day it comes to our hearts with a two-fold sig- 
 nificance, as classmates soon to separate, and as, students now 
 to bid our Alma Mater an affectionate " Good bye." 
 
 To you, Mr. President, and to those associated with 3-ou, as 
 our respected instructors, who have, on occasions like the 
 present, bid many a class God-speed, it may seem a trivial 
 moment, yet for us, so soon to pass beyond the shade of these 
 well-to-be-remembered halls, the present calls to memory many 
 recollections, which soon will sink 'neath Lethe's quiet stream ; 
 of boyhood da} T s when college was, perchance, the one enchant- 
 ing word of our vocabular}', or later when the thought of grand 
 old Dartmouth would send a thrill of pride through every vein, 
 and quickened with her fostering touch ambition's germs, till, 
 to receive at her hand the yearned for prize became the object 
 of our hopes. 
 
 Four 3'ears, and yet it seems but yesterday, since from the 
 hand of our respected President we received our Certificates of 
 admission, and the Ity-laws of this venerable institution. Did 
 we neglect to peruse the latter, — the joy of their posession must 
 be our excuse. And if in the the years that followed we have 
 been untrue to } T ou and to ourselves, we crave forgetfulness for 
 the past and onlv good wishes for the future. 
 
26 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 Respected Sir, the Class is grateful to you, for the man}' les- 
 sons we have learned from }-our lips, for your aid in our studies, 
 your words of comfort in trial's hour. You have taught us by 
 word and example, that true success is no gift of the gods, but 
 a hard won prize. Many times have you held out to us the one 
 object of life, the priceless jewel, and our hearts unite in thank- 
 ing 3-011. Not in vain have your kind words been addressed to 
 us. Our course nearly finished, but the race is but begun, and 
 who will be the victors and wear the laurel, the misty future 
 sayeth not. 
 
 Our instructors have armed us for the battle of life, the 
 armor is tried and true, but single-handed must we fight. Diffi- 
 culties which looming high, have been surmounted in the past, 
 can and will be met and conquered. Untried, yet confident 
 you will send us forth, and may the hallowed name of our 
 Alma Mater never be blemished b} T '76. Nay, but may we 
 who now leave her watchful care, as years roll on, lay honors 
 at her shrine. Are we unlike the bo}^s to whom you extended 
 so warm a greeting; let us hope the change is for the better. 
 Characters have been building and moulding into new forms, 
 shaped by your ripe experience, generous counsel, and b}' our 
 ever faithful teachers. 
 
 From our number some are missing — gone before — and while 
 we cherish their memories, may the principles that actuated 
 them guide us through the clouds of doubt and skepticism that 
 darken the horizon of the second century of our republic, to a 
 haven of rest. Our Alma Mater, true to her offspring, has 
 swung wide the gate that leads to the palace of Truth and Wis- 
 dom, and points with ever beckoning to the rich treasure that 
 lies in store for the zealous worker. You have given us the 
 password. It is " diligence," and if we do not reap the offered 
 advantages, ours is the sorrow. 
 
 Dartmouth has sons whose names are known in all lands — 
 Ffho bear honor to her and to our President. That their num- 
 ber may increase is the hope of '76. 
 
 Again, sir, we thank you all for your kind forbearance ; for 
 follies forgiven, when perchance we strayed from the paths 
 of rectitude. And while many of us mourn time misspent, we 
 
FAKBWELL ADDRESS TO THE PRESIDENT. 27 
 
 remember that to do and not to dream is man's mission; that 
 character and not reputation is first to be desired ; that there is 
 a higher power than man's that shapes our destinies. 
 
 The parting moment approaches quickly, and we must bid 
 good by to Hall, endeared by the associations of the past few 
 years : to our loved Campus, the joy and pride of the " wearers 
 of the green;" to these granite hills, which, pointing upward, 
 would seem to urge us on to noble efforts, to loftier aspirations, 
 and to teach mankind that he who formed their rugged sides is 
 infinite and grand. To these all-honored walls, which, had 
 they the speech of man, perchance might drain the fount whence 
 wisdom flows, we bid a sad farewell. 
 
 As time speeds to eternity, bearing us on its tireless wings, 
 the sublime truths of Nature's Master spoken in this, his earthly 
 habitation, will awaken responsive adoration in our hearts. 
 
 In the future ma} T we meet again, when the anniversary day 
 comes round. And while the heroes of 1776 are admired by 
 all, may the prodigals of 1876 meet with a warm welcome at 
 3 T our hands, and that all your efforts made for the good of this 
 institution ma}' be abundantly blessed, is the prayer of '76. 
 
 As our honored President, our esteemed counsellor and faith- 
 ful friend, we bid you farewell. 
 
Chronicles. 
 
 BV SAMUEL MERRILL, HA VERHILL, MASS. 
 
 August 29, 1872, was the beginning of the career of our 
 class, and would make a good exordium for our written chron- 
 icles ; so upon beginning to write I looked around to discover 
 what remarkable events had occurred upon the day of the year 
 upon which our course in Dartmouth began. But, upon inves- 
 tigation, I discovered that we commenced our college life upon 
 the nintieth anniversary of the loss of the Royal George ; which 
 surely would not be an auspicious beginning. The nearly a 
 thousand who met their death upon that fatal day wouldn't 
 form a cheerful subject to digress from, — as some preachers 
 construct their sermons, — so I looked further. Upon August 
 29, 1769, Edmund Hoyle died. The death of this friend of 
 humanity, this gentleman who settles all our disputes at the 
 whist table, or over the cribbage board, would make no better 
 text. Especially would this be malapropos, since our friend, 
 the Digamma, has condemned him as "nothing but a dem'd 
 furriner," and has with characteristic patriotism, recommended 
 all to "Read Matthews 1 Read him ! Read him!" So, with- 
 out the benefit of any historical allusion, I must proceed to my 
 task. 
 
 We marshalled sevent3'-one men in Chapel on that momentous 
 morning. After four years we number sixty-nine. Years of 
 ebriety for some ; of " fighting the tiger" in the case of a few ; 
 
CHRONICLES. 29 
 
 of delinquency in attendance upon college exercises for a 
 Dumber ; of neglect of study for as many as several ; of these 
 and the other crimes and misdemeanors set down in, and "sat 
 down upon" in the "Freshman's Bible." This is a flattering 
 commentary upon our — or rather your — shrewdness and inge- 
 nuity in difficulties. 
 
 I believe it was late that fall that Ah Sin was wandering 
 around one da} T in an alcoholic atmosphere, fearing to go to 
 his room on account of his chum, and he dropped into the room 
 of a trustworthy classmate, and asked his opinion as to the 
 probabilit}' of his being mistaken for a sober man. " O, you 
 look all right," said his friend. "Look in that glass and 
 see." But to Ah Sin, in the condition he was in then, any- 
 thing with a frame around it was a mirror, so he sideled up to a 
 large framed photograph of President Smith. "Hie," here- 
 marked, "be I so dem drunk 's 'at? 'T won't do to g'ome if 
 I look so bad 's all 'at," and he wandered along again, seeking 
 after syiupatlry and the man that gave him the last drink. 
 
 One day in the autumn, about the time that Frost and his 
 constituents, Hardison and Piper, were scaring each other out 
 of Balch's apple orchard, and Patterson and Paul were return- 
 ing from Lyme on Sunday afternoons, laden with pillow-slips 
 filled with forbidden fruit, and were screening themselves from 
 Prof. Proctor by umbrellas (also stolen), Cutchins too hunger- 
 ed after apples which were not his. At least this is the infer- 
 ence naturally drawn from hearing him say one evening in a 
 grieved voice, " I think Mr. Bridgman must have been mis- 
 taken when he told me that I could get some fine pine apples by 
 going to the Lone Pine, without being caught." 
 
 Greeley taught during our first winter, but he wasn't remark - 
 abty successful, nor very popular, as a general thing. You 
 see the "deestrick" got a little prejudiced against him on 
 account of their doubt as to the quality of the instruction which 
 lit- imparted. This was owing, possibly, to his explanation in 
 American history that Washington surrendered to Cornwallis 
 at Lundy's Lane. And this distrust of his ability was aug- 
 mented a little, perhaps, by his statement that the figures at 
 the top of a map indicate latitude, and those at the bottom 
 longitude. He was allowed to finish out the term, however, 
 
30 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 though the committee declined to engage him for another ses- 
 sion. GreeW's independence of facts reminds one of Sher- 
 burne's attempt to palm off on Johnny Lord the idea that the 
 Red Sea was located between Italy and Greece. 
 
 Haskell taught Freshman winter, or more exactly he " ran a 
 school," and he suspected one day that some of his pupils were 
 "concocting a plan" to overthrow his dynasty on the following 
 morning. So he appeared at the school-house early, armed 
 with a ball-bat, and upon the assembling of his subjects, he in- 
 quired if any of them "wanted any difficulty" with him. None 
 of them seemed anxious for anything of the kind, and one lit- 
 tle fellow ventured to intimate as much. But Seppi didn't 
 borrow that bat for nothing, so he remarked that it wasn't in 
 accordance with his "c'a'cter" to let his scholars "answer 
 back," and he called the young offender into the floor. "I te'3 T e 
 what, you don't want an} r difficulty with me, don't you !" he 
 shrieked, and raised the ball-bat as if to strike in a game of 
 base ball. The 3*oung wretch suggested that such was not his 
 desire. The effect of this second reply was striking. The 
 striking was on the part of the winner in the consolation race, 
 and the effect, the being struck and getting knocked through 
 the only window of the school edifice, and across a ten-acre 
 lot without, was entirely on the part of the 3 T oung mutineer. 
 At least, this is the way Seppi tells the story, though he was so 
 lame when he returned to town in the spring, that one could 
 easily believe that he had been trying to ride an earthquake, or 
 else to subdue the ferocit} 7 of the scholars in an average Ver- 
 mont school. 
 
 It was in Freshman fall that Bridgman went to Meriden and 
 gave utterance to that celebrated saying of his, "thousands 
 and thousands and thousands." You see, he was a little un- 
 nerved by the water which he had been drinking, not being ac- 
 customed to it — I mean the Meriden water, and not water in 
 general — and he was a little off his balance. He was lying on 
 the lounge in the parlor of the hotel, and the landlad}" inquired 
 how many students there were in College. His eyes gradually 
 closed as he replied, "Thousands and thousands and thou- 
 s.nids," and lie rolled off on to the floor, where he slept until 
 he \\:is carried to the carriage and brought back into the fold. 
 
CHRONICLES. 31 
 
 Along iii the spring of Freshman year, amongst several 
 other things, the class studied trigonometry, and this involved 
 navigation. Now, Peabody was devoting all his time and 
 talents to the subject of telegraphy ; but hearing the words 
 " navigation" and "plane sailing," he mounted a new hobby 
 for a short ride, and attacked the subject with all energy. If 
 it was plain sailing he surely ought to be able to comprehend 
 it. Peab. got as far as sailing on a rhumb-line before he 
 met any difficulty which he and Loomis and that "little skiff" 
 of his couldn't overcome. The rock on which Peabody's boat 
 split was the subject of the rhumb-line — or more exactly it was 
 the pier of Led}'ard bridge, through the means of that subject. 
 The book said that to sail on a rhumb-line he must cross every 
 meridian at the same angle ; and if that pier wanted to sail on 
 a rhumb-line too, and so got in the way, why it wasn't his 
 fault. With his trigonometry in one hand and the tiller in the 
 other, Peab. kept his craft on the line and naturally struck the 
 pier. He wasn't going to betray Loomis and all his rules for 
 the sake of an} r bridge, so he struggled on until a squall took 
 his boat in one direction and the current carried Peab. in 
 another, and the victory of might over right was complete. 
 When he w r as fished out Peabody returned to his wires and zinc 
 plates and "coal-hod batteries," and remained faithful to them 
 until he discovered the art of photography. Here it is best to 
 leave him. 
 
 Until the last of Freshman 3 r ear was put off our study of the 
 subject of examination-passing. Our first written examinations 
 occurred then, and the opportunity was improved for learning 
 the art of cribbing. Amongst other episodes which might be 
 related is the one about Morey struggling with a passage in the 
 Odyssey, not having in his first lesson in the art ventured so far 
 as the use of leaves from a translation. Andrews was sitting 
 across the aisle, and "Chum," seeing a "horse-leaf" in his 
 hand, beckoned to him for it. Andrews handed it over, and 
 \ r ou ma}' imagine the disgust of the member from Thetford up- 
 on discovering that it was only a tract headed, " Honesty 
 the best Polic}~." 
 
 The opening of Sophomore year found a number of members 
 missing, and a nearly equal number of new comers in our 
 
32 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 ranks. We exchanged Kimball for Hibbard, Laird for Hunt, 
 Chamberlin and Ernst changed places, and we received a Bar- 
 nard for an Oliver. A few other transpositions took place, but 
 I don't think we lost much by the transaction for the loss on 
 Kimball was balanced by the profit on Chamberlin, and the 
 others would about pair off. 
 
 We acquired our knowledge of the French language and lit- 
 erature during the first term of the year. Our instructor for a 
 time was Mons. Brandau. (This Flint derives from "brandy" 
 and " eait") " Brandy-and-water" afforded an infinite source 
 of amusement for the class. One da}^ in recitation, coming to 
 the title of Victor Hugo's book, " Les Miserables" Bridgman 
 and Jones become engaged in a violent discussion as to whether 
 the title should be translated. Bridgman maintained that it 
 should not, and Herr that it should. Fearing bloodshed, the 
 question was put to a vote of the class by another member. 
 It was declared that the vote was in favor of translation, 
 although the voting sounded as if all the class and the rest of 
 the College had voted on each side. Brand} r governed himself 
 according to the announcement of the vote, and called the book 
 (i The Miserables," ever after. 
 
 At another time some members of the last division con- 
 structed a dummy out of various overcoats and a hat, before 
 the recitation commenced, and then awaited the result. When 
 the Frenchman was informed that he might begin if he wanted 
 to, he looked uneasily at the dummy and remarked that "the 
 gentlemen should remove their 'ats." Somebody had gone up 
 stairs and prejudiced the gas against burning, but the French- 
 man could see that the figure did not uncover its head. 
 " Thees recitassion cannot go on until the gentlemen takes off 
 their 'ats!" exclaimed Brandy excitedly. If possible, the 
 dummy stiffened its back even more, and looked as impurturba- 
 ble as a wooden Indian before a tobacconist's, but did not com- 
 ply with the Frenchman's suggestion. " Sair, you ma}' leave 
 the room !" he thundered. " I mean you w'at has the 'at on," 
 he added, observing the object still quiescent. By this time 
 the dummy and the Frenchman were the only "men" in the 
 room who didn't sec the joke. The latter was fast strangling 
 
CHRONICLES. 33 
 
 by his rage when Borne one out of pity knocked the former 
 over, and Borne new plot to torture Frenchy was begun upon. 
 
 Early in the term it was discovered that Hibbard, amongst 
 all his excesses, his gambling, lying, slandering and stealing, 
 had never been heard to swear. Perry thought this wouldn't 
 do ; his character would lack symmetry unless he acquired this 
 other accomplishment. So Perry, hearing the Poet one day 
 abusing some member of the Faculty in his violent way, thought 
 he would inveigle him into profanity. Says he: "Don't }-ou 
 think, Fit, that old So-and-so [the Professor whom the Poet 
 had been denouncing] is the * * * most ignorant old sim- 
 pleton you ever saw?" and he made the adjective just bristle 
 with blasphemy. " Well," said the Poet, " he isn't very intel- 
 ligent, as I was remarking, but I did once see a man in Wash- 
 ington, who, I think, had received a less elaborate education." 
 Perry was disappointed, discouraged and disgusted, and ever 
 since has with eminent success endeavored to swear enough to 
 make. up for the Poet's deficiency. 
 
 Hodsdon had a school that winter where he was expected to 
 teach five days in the week, and make himself generally useful 
 in addition. This latter duty involved the charge of a class in 
 Sabbath school. He was equal to the emergency, his class con- 
 sisting of only one small boy, and he managed the class accord- 
 ing to the most approved method, calling it up by card, and 
 sending monthly accounts of its progress to its parents. Get- 
 ting tired of the Sabbath school business after a few weeks, 
 however, he separated the entire class from the institution for 
 "•cutting" a week's duties, explaining to its parents by letter, 
 the distinction between separation and expulsion. 
 
 Sophomore year dragged its slow length along about as other 
 years have done, with, perhaps, the cremation of mathematics 
 the most conspicuous event. This went off in grand style, with 
 torches, procession, music, military, funeral pyre, oration b}^ 
 Foster, poem b} r Sayres, address by Ernst, the ' ' plorator prce- 
 dpuus" and all the "pomp and circumstance" befitting an 
 event so important. 
 
 It was early in Junior year that we studied " Demosthenes 
 on the Crown." J haven't time for the experience of all the 
 class who had an experience in disposing of the subject: but 
 
34 CLASS DAY, 76. 
 
 experience of a dozen, only a little more so. We will begin 
 with his first examination. An} r one watching him at work 
 would hardly have said that he was " passing fair ;" for there 
 were translation leaves in his pockets, notes on his cuffs, cribs 
 in his boots, hieroglyphics on his finger nails, papers in his 
 watch and a look of terrified despair in his face ; but all these 
 availed not, and he received the summons to signify the time 
 when he would try it agarn. At the tenth attempt an idea 
 struck him. He asked the Professor to read him the context, 
 especiall}' what had preceded the selection, trusting to his 
 knowledge of oratory to suggest the most appropriate thing to 
 say next, and which he expected would be the identical idea 
 which struck Demosthenes in the same connection. The Pro- 
 fessor complied with his request, and the next day informed 
 him that he was plucked again. After Scut had been plucked 
 fifteen times he got another idea. He would from that time 
 forth mark every passage which was given him at his daily ex- 
 aminations, and when only one was left which he had not had, 
 he would commit the translation of that one to memory and so 
 corner the Professor. His plan was successful, and Scut is not 
 compelled to graduate on partial course. 
 
 Earlv in the spring — to be more exact it was the first day of 
 April — Twombly was seen walking down the street from recita- 
 tion with one of those three-monthly Post Office rent bills pro- 
 truding from his hat-band, with the word "vacant" in promi- 
 nent view. This was told me for a First of April joke, but 
 some might not see that it is a joke exactl}', or that the First 
 of April has anything in particular to do with it, not consider- 
 ing Twombly's head particularly vacant on that day. 
 
 In the middle of April an examination in Greek finished our 
 education in that language and its literature. The closing- 
 scene was more Gorgias in one sense, but less gorgeous in 
 another, than that when we bade a tearful farewell to the 
 "science of figgering" — (as Holt, No. 2, defined mathematics.) 
 A couple of months Inter Latin followed, and we were out of the 
 ancient classics for good and all. 
 
 The class had a Junior Ex., as most classes have, but as we 
 ever had but one it is worthy of more than passing notice. 
 
CHRONICLES. 35 
 
 The exhibition began <>n April 28 and lasted several days. The 
 most eventful time was the evening of the 28th. 'Phis was a 
 very -oleum occurrence for a time, but the sober aspect of the 
 ease only Lasted from the time the effects of the whiskey passed 
 away until the effects of the Faculty's visit disappeared, in the 
 following fall. It Is well now to recur to the night in question 
 to Learn the lesson it teaches. To be brief, I will give only the 
 state oi' affairs at the time when the Faculty took part in the 
 celebration. " Chum" was in Lieber's room in the embrace of 
 a huge punch-bowl ; Lieber himself politely showed the Faculty 
 around, undertaking to unlock his door with a knife at the 
 hinge, and in a ''tick thongued" voice he explained the pro- 
 cess of becoming inebriated ; Swiller was in his room with the 
 Digamma, mildly maudlin from the fumes from the latter's 
 breath, and both were found by the Faculty, ostrich-like, hiding 
 their heads in the bed clothing to escape capture, the Dig. all 
 the while glorying in its being " the most magnificent drunk 
 ever known in Dartmouth College " ; Brimmy was in his room 
 in a Saratoga trunk repeating his Latin oration of the day, of 
 which the following was coherent and intelligible: "Thomas 
 Moore et permultis viris illustrissimis quorum res gestae estab- 
 lishi sunt in the hearts of all creation." He had quoted, "Look 
 not upon the wine when it is red, for at last it stingeth like a 
 serpent and biteth like a snake " ; he had been through the 
 " chuckling stage," and had reached the point when he " felt 
 numb all over," and was spending his strength in oratory. All 
 Brimm} T, s actions, however, were so natural that no one ever 
 suspected him of being other than sober. A number of others 
 were in equal prominence that night, but, having reputations 
 for sobriety to lose, I will not betra}' them. With the class 
 somewhat diminished in number, we closed Junior year. 
 
 Last fall we studied the exciting subject of psychology. The 
 Professor called Whitcomb up one clay, and told him that he 
 might give a brief resume of the advance lesson, and he would 
 let him have five minutes in which to do it. Whit, told him 
 all he knew of the whole subject of psychology and of physics, 
 astronomy, Latin and Greek, and was sitting down again 
 inside of three minutes — and still he wonders why the Faculty 
 
36 CLASS DAY, '7G. 
 
 are so down on him that they won't give him a decent mark 
 for a single term ! 
 
 Hodsdon has been rooming in Thornton this year, and they 
 say that he has a way of heating his premises without buying 
 an}' coal. At all events, some one in the Hall, with a view to 
 making his winter's fuel last longer, offered to the Digamma to 
 give him a barrel and a half of coal, if he would engage not to 
 steal an}' more. The Dig. replied that he would accept it out 
 of friendship for the individual, but he would lose coal by the 
 operation. 
 
 Earl}' in the last term of our course little Bobby got down 
 on The Dartmouth. The editors warmly discussed the calam- 
 ity, but were divided about evenly between a war and a peace 
 policy. The Poet favored the latter ; that is, he would secure 
 peace b}' putting Bobby out of the way. Accordingl}' he en- 
 ticed him into the sanctum, locked the door and put the key 
 into his pocket, and then opened fire upon him with a revolver. 
 He blazed away all the afternoon, but failed to hit the indig- 
 nant subscriber. Finally, as he was on the point of loading 
 him into the pistol to fire him against the brick wall of Ton- 
 tine, Bobby crawled through the keyhole and escaped. Billy 
 Pat. set out on the war path to stab the enemy with a candle, 
 but Bobby disguised himself in a clean shirt and washed face, 
 and still lives. 
 
 I must return to the Poet. Whenever anything wicked is 
 wanted to vary a work of this kind, the dissolute Poet is always 
 the hero, or in some other prominent connection with it. He 
 was walking one day on the hill above West Lebanon, flirting 
 with the girls in the Seminary, when the party he was with came 
 upon a small plantation of young trees, and one of them called 
 attention to it. "Well," said the Poet, "I suppose that in all 
 probability they have this nursery here to give the Fern. Sem. 
 giils practice." Brimmy at once resolved not to associate with 
 turn any more, if he persisted in talking like that. 
 
 I would it were in my power to adequately describe one of 
 those recitations in geology; one of those occasions when in all 
 parts of the room would be shouts of " Thayer ! " "Thayer!" 
 and the Professor would remark that " Thayer is called for," 
 .Mud then proceed to question him. "Type" might ask him if he 
 
CHRONICLES. 37 
 
 knew the difference between an escar and an osar, and truthfully 
 enough, Bobby mighl echo back, " no, sar ! " Perhaps the next 
 man up would be Whitcomb, and his friends would tell him, in 
 answer to a question from the chair, that certain rocks were 
 raminated. " 1 think, sir, that the rocks are raminated" Whit. 
 would say. Then some one, in the midst of tumult would call 
 for the meeting to dissolve, because there was not a quorum 
 present. In this way a short hour would be filled up, and we 
 would get one hour nearer a liberal education. 
 
 It was gradually growing evident that the end was approach- 
 ing with us, when one day at a recitation the Professor asked 
 for an extra chair for the rostrum. This looked ominous, and 
 the hopes of some, and the fears of others, were realized when 
 the President opened the door and entered, and read the fates 
 of the anxious. He said ''without fulsome flattery," that 
 there was material enough left after the appointments were 
 made for another Commencement, which made a number of the 
 disappointed look happy. At twelve o'clock the appointments 
 were delivered to us, and within an hour a number got their 
 disappointments in the form of letters drawing them off. Has- 
 kell was in this number. He only got on in the first place 
 because there was a little place left at the end, and he was the 
 only one that was small enough to fit it, and then (O, ingrati- 
 tude !) he attacked the Faculty for excusing him from speak- 
 ing. Paul, too, among the rest, w^as inclined to be out of tem- 
 per, and (as Carrigan had done three or four years before) he 
 threatened to "go to Harvard" unless the Faculty would 
 ••ante up" to his wishes. Equally unfortunately, however, 
 he did not cany out his threat, and he graduates with the class. 
 After the announcement most of those especially interested let 
 up on work, and it was comical to see men like Towle and the 
 Spade and Sanborn cut and flunk, and be "hard" generally. 
 Greeley, McElroy and Ryder kept at it though after the ap- 
 pointments were announced, hoping to get on as spare men or 
 something of the sort, but they failed. Foster was speaking to 
 his paternal one day about the Commencement men, and pater- 
 nal asks John where he comes on in the exercises. Foster 
 told him that "you see, I don't come on at all, because, 3-011 
 see, T uas elected to a part on Class Day before the Com- 
 
38 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 mencement programme was made out, and a Class Da}' man 
 isn't eligible to Commencement, 3-011 see." His father saw. 
 
 As I was in the upper floor of Reed one time a month or so 
 ago, the fact that we were " on our last legs" was impressed 
 upon my mind more strongly than before. It happened thus : 
 I was opposite Woods' door and heard strange sounds within — 
 the dulcet tones of a " bull fiddle." It articulated the words, 
 "andante bass solo bass /., the arrow is flown, the moment is 
 gone, the 'centennial' } T ear, rushes on," and here it all ran to- 
 gether. Soon it had another coherent interval, — " Quartette 
 double-p, I have fought m}- way through, ritard, I have finished 
 the work thou gav'st me to do, a men double-p, a men E. A. 
 Jones, May 14, 1876," and here it let up. Surprised at the 
 idea of a vox humana attachment to a bass viol, I opened the 
 door, and there was only Sjdvae rehearsing his part for the 
 " sing-out," from Jones' music, as he explained to my anxious 
 questioning. I explained to him the way to sing his part in the 
 piece, so he did very creditably when the concert came off. 
 
 Last spring, circulars and catalogues from various profes- 
 sional scholars began to come through the mail for members of 
 the class. Gardiner, upon receiving a circular from the Port- 
 land Medical School, at once determined to study the healing 
 art ; soon the Columbia Law School presented its claims, and 
 he would be a lawyer ; later, upon receipt of a catalogue of the 
 Yale Divinity School, the ministry was to be his profession ; 
 still later the Harvard Medical School solicited his patronage, 
 and he would be a doctor again ; and so on. But the Prophet, 
 if his prophecies are true, will doubtless tell } t ou that he will 
 leave Hanover within a few weeks for a situation in the middle 
 of somebody's corn field, where he will honor the class and the 
 College by scaring crows for a living. After the corn which 
 he will watch shall have been harvested, I expect he will strive 
 on his own hook to make two spires of grass grow where one 
 grew before ; but upon absent-mindedly pulling up the one 
 spire for a tooth-pick, his occupation will be gone. But I am 
 qoI the prophet, neither am I delivering a lecture on the choice 
 of a profession. I was only hinting how the " great expecta- 
 tions" of some, as formed during this last year, may turn out 
 
( HRONICLES. 
 
 39 
 
 the little realizations of the same individuals before we have 
 been very long Alumni. 
 
 I have thought that a catalogue of the nicknames of mem- 
 I" the class, with definitions and explanations, might be of 
 interest, but time will not allow of more than a part of them 
 being given. At the athletics last month, when Brooks and 
 Vanderpoel came out from the tent to start in the hurdle race, 
 "Chum" spoke of them to some ladies as "Swiller" and 
 "Lieber," and was asked why the}' were so called. With more 
 ingenuity than truth he explained that " S wilier" was so called 
 because he ate so much ! But he refrained from telling the stoiy 
 wherein Vandy established his claim to "Lieber" as a title. 
 "Thirsty" obtains the name, I suppose, from the fact that he 
 never drinks, and consequently thirsts. The one most nick- 
 named is the one called variously, u Druid," " Lay Reader," 
 "Lay Hypocrite," "Jesuit," and a few other names in the 
 same strain. Perry is responsible for more than a half of the 
 nicknames in the class, and consequently a majority have no 
 particular significance. 
 
 A comparison of our statistics at entering College and at 
 graduation, shows a loss of two in number; but, naturally, an 
 increase is found in nearly all other points. The average man 
 is two years and eleven months older, one inch taller and 
 twelve pounds heavier than he was four years ago. About 
 twenty-five of the class have added beard in some form to their 
 facial furniture during their course, and about twenty have 
 learned amongst a number of other accomplishments acquired, 
 to enjoy the fragrant Havana or to endure the vile cheroot. 
 
 Only once has our number been diminished by death, and 
 then Puffer's place was made vacant. He closed the last letter 
 which he wrote, with " The oil in 1113- lamp is almost out, and 
 I must close." The lamp of his life was even then flickering, 
 and soon was extinguished. In a couple of weeks he died, and 
 although the first to be lost, he will be the last to be forgotten 
 of all the class. 
 
 The task of chronicler for this class has been made more 
 difficult, (or else easier, and I can hardly tell which,) by the 
 four pamphlets which, by " the art preservative," have enbalm- 
 ed for posterity the records of "Seventy-Six." These annual 
 
40 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 histories make the work of the chronicler more difficult, in that 
 he must in a dozen pages cover the ground for which they have 
 had more than a hundred ; and yet he must not touch upon 
 anything alread^y printed in them. Viewing it in another light, 
 the task seems easier than is usual, for, out of such a mass of 
 matter which was at hand, so much had been taken, by having 
 been already written, that by so much the duty would be the 
 more easily performed. 
 
 But, such as they are, the Chronicles are written. Some of 
 you may not fancy the prominence given certain little events 
 here recited, but remember that the record is your own. Some 
 others have not been mentioned, but in very few cases has this 
 been because the}' never did anything worthy either praise, cen- 
 sure or ridicule, and in even fewer has anything which has been 
 read, been written with aught but the kindliest motives. But 
 I will close, that we may learn the future of the class as prog- 
 nosticated by the prophet. 
 
Prophecies 
 
 BY JV. S. SAYRES, JAMAICA, AT. Y. 
 
 Last evening, when thoughts of the last bitter hour, which I 
 feared would come and find me unable to prophesy aught of the 
 future, came over me, I obe} T ed the injunction of Mr. Br3 T ant 
 and determined to go forth into the open sky and list to Na- 
 ture's teachings. Putting into execution this resolution, I set 
 out from the buildings, proceeded across the ample fields be- 
 longing to the New Hampshire College of Agriculture and the 
 Mechanic Arts, in the direction of Balch's hill, plunged into the 
 forest and disappeared from sight. How long or widely I wan- 
 dered I do not know, but I was awakened from my reveries by 
 the sound of a voice, as unearthly and shrill as Tripp's, and as 
 breathless as Haskell's. I glanced anxiously around : nothing 
 but deep forest. I was about to pass on when the same sound 
 was repeated. I was told to look down at my feet; I did so, 
 and to my surprise discovered a bottle with the inscription, 
 "St. Julien. 50 cts. K.B." Of course my instincts led me 
 to extract the cork, but scarcely had I begun to do this, when, 
 with a loud pop it burst, and I was instantly enveloped in a 
 vapor as dense and blue as the smoke which fills Lieber's room 
 on Saturday nights. The volume rose to a great hight, slowly 
 condensed and assumed the shape of a man. Gradually the 
 body shrank to the natural size. The features, though indis- 
 tinct and without expression, grew familiar. The shape smiled 
 a grisly, meaningless smile, and whispered in a cautious, con- 
 fidential tone, "You couldn't lend me a dollar, could you?" 
 
42 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 and then I recognized Darling. "Hush!" said he; "I am 
 Virgil ! I don't live in Hanover any more, but in a place very 
 near. In short, I live in Hades ! I know everybod}' down 
 there and have been in every village in the whole region. It's 
 perfect!}- splendid. I felt at home the very minute I went 
 there. My uncle knew the Devil veiy well and so he got me a 
 first class position. I show people about during commence- 
 ment week, and then loaf about the rest of the time and tell 
 stories. Now you must come right along with me. It won't 
 cost you a cent, and there's lots of the fellows there, too : 
 Briminy and Crawf. and Sherburne, and there isn't a single 
 professor, so you won't be found out, either." I yielded to the 
 persuasive Scott, and, like a paene in June, followed. 
 
 It will be needless for me to detail the journey towards the 
 Inferno, nor do I wish to take awaj' whatever charm of novelt}' 
 that road ma}' yet have in store for an}' of }^ou. It was 
 all down hill, very easy going, and, I am told, required much 
 less exertion from the travellers than that which leads upward 
 into Dartmouth College via Prex's stud}'. Soon we were 
 stopped by a huge mass of rnasonn', over which was pinned a 
 piece of sermon paper on which was scrawled with red ink and 
 quill pen, and in a wretched and familiar hand, the words: 
 "This is the Porch of Hades. A. B. C. No. 36. Virtute et 
 Industria prcesto. Books are like babies. St. Augustine says, 
 etc. Psi U's this way." At one side Abbott and McCutchins 
 were selling entrance tickets. At a nod from Scott the door 
 swung open and we entered. A deathly and eternal silence 
 brooded over the place ; inanimate forms were stretched out 
 here and there. This, nry guide informed me, was the first 
 circle, in which were confined those who on earth had not been 
 good enough to go to a better place, nor wicked enough to go 
 clear through to the worse place. Here these unfortunates 
 reclined, enveloped in perpetual oblivion, forgetful now even 
 of their own names through Lieber's mesmeric influence. Look- 
 ing more closely I discerned in the tangled, almost homogene- 
 ous mass, the faces of Sanborn, Hardison, Stone, Ourran 
 Clark and the Holt Brethren. Passing sadly through this 
 waste, Greek-named dcrpvyerov, we arrived at the banks of the 
 liver Styx. This I found to be a wide stream, with angry 
 
PROPHECIES. 43 
 
 waves, and waters smelling of tobacco and whiskey, jnst like 
 Alex's breath. On the bank, in terror and helpless misery, 
 were collected those who awaited a ferriage over. Trooping 
 aboul were disembodied spirits, who, through lack of funds, 
 had been unable to pay their way. Prominent among these I 
 recognized Morey and Brooks, bewailing in bitter tones that 
 their ancles had gone back on them, and that Charon would 
 DOl trust, even when they offered the customaiy five per cent, 
 in addition. Here, also, was the ghost of a washer-woman en- 
 quiring for Mr. Barr. Digamma had long been one of these 
 unfortunates, but it seems he had been able, through long ex- 
 perience, to outwit the ticket man, and " skinned" in. These I 
 left waiting for the return of specie payments. Soon I per- 
 ceived a boat approach steered by Charon ; the boat was named 
 • k The Peabody." But this was not the only way across. 
 Further down stream was a contrivance which had carried a 
 student safely through his college course, and landed him on 
 the commencement stage; it was called a "crib," and Good- 
 hue was making good progress across the stream in it. Near 
 this was some one making frantic endeavors to ride over on 
 Sherburne's back ; it proved to be Towle. Sherb. was a good 
 swimmer; Towle was not. Sam Fairfield went "clown home" 
 in a private conveyance, and Ben. Roberts ordered Charon to 
 carr}' him over free, and threatened to knock him down if he 
 didn't. But all these contrivances were made use of by few, 
 and did not compare in efficienc}' with a new passage way, 
 which carried thousands and thousands safely across, and which 
 bid fair to throw Charon himself out of employment. This 
 new way, 1113' guide informed me, was over Crawford's dam. 
 Arrived on the other shore we were in Limbo which, I was told, 
 contained those who had been virtuous in general, but had 
 been drunk at least once in College. Here was Thompson, 
 expiating that one glass of liquor he took Freshman year, and 
 that cigar which had caused hard feelings between him and 
 Abbott. Here was Marshall, whose Junior Ex. whiskey had 
 gained him admission, otherwise an aimiable youth ; Justice, 
 also, here from cider guzzling ; while, out on the border land, 
 a loud snoring showed me that Barr was somewhere near, sleep- 
 ing off hasheesh fumes, but I failed to discover him. Before 
 
44 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 I left the region of the river I perceived a vile odor of chemi- 
 cals, and soon I found a tripod, surmounted 03' a soap box, 
 which pointed towards some object invisible ; the head of the 
 photographer was 'enveloped in a black cloth, but I soon found 
 it was that of Peabody taking the picture of Charon. The 
 boatman was clad in costume which had a bare resemblance to 
 that formerly worn b} T members of the Chandler Department, 
 and he held in his right hand an oar ; Twenty-five cents per 
 copy. 
 
 Leaving this region, we came to the place where the poets 
 and philosophers sat in solemn conclave and wise converse. In 
 one spot was Tom. Flint, chanting some lines of his own to the 
 author of Paradise Lost. Woods was discoursing learnedly 
 with Dr. Johnson. Ernst was patronizing Cicero. Haskell 
 was playing loo with Empedocles, and Stiinpson split hairs 
 with Cratinus. Here was Whitcomb, sentenced to make puns 
 for the company forever, and Britnmy was forced to execute 
 whatever commands any one put on him, and in the intervals to 
 roll up hill a great weight, symbolic of his sins, which continu- 
 ally rolled back on him. Jones was rehearsing a high-toned 
 glee club. Thayer was chained to a rock, while an eagle even- 
 day tore his liver, which was every night restored by that po- 
 tent liver invigorator which* did so much for him in College. 
 After this I came to where each person was compelled to bow 
 down and worship before that which had been his idol while on 
 earth. Here was McElroy worshiping a bull ; Williams was 
 before a brazen imitation of himself; Doc. bowed low before 
 a great blue necktie ; Towle worshiped Sherburne as before ; 
 Ryder was bent double to a creation labeled "my own opin- 
 ion ;" Ernst contemplated sadly a toothpick and a dirty collar ; 
 Merrill lay before an image of Whitcomb, the printer, and an 
 egg boiler ; Curran Clark adored his side whiskers ; Sanborn 
 was prostrate before the pictures of the Faculty ; Tripp bit the 
 dust before a commencement mark ; and Peny lay helpless be- 
 fore the door of a house in Manchester. 
 
 Near these were some who had worshiped no particular idol 
 of any character, and among them were Kinerson and Sargent, 
 and, bad not Wertheimer and Ryder been secured elsewhere, 
 they would have been among them. 
 
PROPHECIES. 45 
 
 Leaving these interesting scenes, we passed through a nar- 
 row passage, full of smoke, smells and noises, into the inte- 
 rior court whore the infernal judges sat. At first the sound of 
 brawling confused me, yet, hearing the words, "Who's run- 
 ning this concern, anyhow? This is my Hades and I'll run it 
 just :is 1 please!" among the three who sat on the bench I 
 descried Ben Wertheimer as Minos, Barr as JEacus, and 
 Finney McElroy as Rhadamanthus : here were the three best 
 1 uawlers in all Hades, and they had won their present honors 
 through proficiency in that art. The}' were the only three who 
 could put down any disturbance, and they did this by uniting 
 their voices and drowning out all other speakers; the} r could 
 brawl like thunder. Unobserved, I took a position where I 
 could watch the proceedings. Court was about to open. I 
 perceived that I was about to witness the scene so often de- 
 scribed b}' the ancient poets, viz. : the trial of the wicked. The 
 judges sat solemn, dignified, side by side. Behind them were 
 ranged rows of bottles ; before them, a counter ; under them, 
 beer kegs ; beside them, demons of hideous aspect, smiling hor- 
 ribly. Minos rapped the assembly to order with a sledge hammer, 
 and taking a little white card from a sliding box, he called out 
 "Bug!" "Yes," wildly excaimed Barr; "hence, minion, to 
 the lowest deeps, and bring with utmost speed the Bug ! Away, 
 minion, away ! " and Barr sunk back in a fitful slumber. The 
 aforesaid minion vanished ; other minions placed funnels in the 
 mouths of Minos and Rhadamanthus and poured down Uyo bar- 
 rels of melted sulphur. This done, No. 1 returned and placed 
 before the court Billy Gardiner. It will be needless for me 
 to detail eveniMng that happened during the trial of Gardiner 
 or those who came after him. It will be sufficient if I indicate 
 in brief recital the outline of events which formed the life story 
 of each. Billy Gardiner spent the first part of his life in vis- 
 iting his classmates and gathering autographs. He shook 
 hands with President Grant, kissed Queen Victoria, embraced 
 the Czar of Russia, and got drunk with Foo Chung. Returning 
 home, seventy-six occupied his mind like a mania. He wrote 
 class histories every year. Whenever an}~ seventy-six man 
 gained an honor, he felt proud of him and visited him forth- 
 with. The mystic figures, '76, filled his very soul and floated 
 
46 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 before his eyes. He thought of manning a wife seventy-six 
 years old ; of having seventy-six children ; of weighing seventy- 
 six pounds, but being unable to reduce his weight to this trifle, 
 he raised it to the tenth multiple of that figure. He had the 
 figures '76, cut from white muslin, five feet long, sewed on his 
 clothes behind and before, that he might serve as a perpetual 
 and peripatetic exhibitor of that symbol. But his fate was 
 somewhat sad ; there were those who laughed at it. Wander- 
 ing over a fair ground one summer da} T , and waiting for a bal- 
 loon ascension, he noticed an iron pipe which seemed to con- 
 tain water. Being somewhat thirst}', he opened his mouth 
 very wide so that it fitted exactly and securely to the end of the. 
 ten inch pipe and endeavored to drink. But, to his horror, he 
 drank hydrogen, and knew that he was using the gas meant for 
 the balloon. To his consternation he found his lips could not 
 be removed from the pipe : immediately he began to swell ; his 
 body expanded ; it grew to fearful dimensions ; now it was 
 twenty, now forty, now a hundred feet across. Like a huge 
 balloon it swayed and bobbed from side to side in endeavors to 
 rise, and when it was fulry three hundred feet in diameter, the 
 strain broke the pipe and all that was left of the embodiment 
 of '76 shot upward with a bang, in a moment became a speck 
 and disappeared from sight in the clouds. But astronomers 
 told us that far out on the confines of the earth's attraction 
 there revolved a lurid asteroid, on the sides of which they could 
 descry in white figures, "'76 !" 
 
 Woods came next, and his tale was a little different from 
 that of his predecessor. He began his career by studying 
 theolog} T . But not being able to find a congregation large 
 enough at once to pay a high salary, and to appreciate his 
 style of preaching, and in despair of finding an opportunit}* of 
 using his affluence of lexicographical erudition, which affluence 
 of lexicographical erudition would have been of service only in 
 one position, viz. : in baccalaureates, he came down from the 
 pulpit and went into secular business. He began by peddling 
 feather dusters — blue, red and yellow. Then he sold tin ware, 
 saved a lit lie money, bought a wagon, set up a grocery store 
 on Cape Cod, and ended his life in that position. He was very 
 fond of children, grave and sedate in manner, talked learnedly 
 
TKOIMIKCIKS. 
 
 47 
 
 around the stoic with all the loungers, and possessed a good 
 character to the last. 
 
 Abbott, being well grounded in the Mahratta dialect, was 
 judged to be qualified as missionary, so he was sent to the 
 Mahratta district by the American Board, after marrying his 
 Long-loved McCutchins. He preached faithfully, labored effi- 
 cientty, and, after ten long years of earnest work and constant 
 entreaty, actually succeeded in converting a whole Mahratt, 
 who, dying soon after, was stuffed and sent to New York to 
 the American Board, as a specimen of the noble work that was 
 being done in India, and an indication that their constant and 
 zealous efforts in sending funds had not been in vain. It is 
 very probable that Abbott would have converted another man, 
 but, unfortunately, he listened too long to a native preacher, 
 and was converted over to the Hindoo faith. He changed his 
 name to Sharashi Hendecasyllabi Nagrilah Abbott, married 
 nine wives, became a nabob, owned a hundred slaves, lived in 
 all the luxury and voluptuousness that wealth could buy, and 
 passed away his days in ease and pleasure, reclining on couches 
 of down, fanned bj T beautiful captives, breathing incense, drink- 
 ing fragrant sherbet, and smoking narghilahs. And now the 
 name of Abbott is widely reverenced and disseminated over the 
 Mahratta district. 
 
 Thayer had an eventful history. He left College with the 
 firm resolution to enjoy life. He became a man of the world, 
 and soon proprietor of a refreshment saloon and sailor board- 
 ing house in New York. Here he was converted by the earnest 
 preaching of Greele}', who was a second Beecher in eloquence 
 and piety, and began life again as a reformer. He made 
 splendid plans for reforming every body. His plan for reform- 
 ing the Mormons was worthy of consideration. He proposed 
 to send men out to Utah in vast numbers, until they out-num- 
 bered the women ; then each man was to become a Mormon. 
 Each man, being a Mormon, would endeavor to secure all the 
 wives he could, "but," said Bobby, "inasmuch as the num- 
 ber of women is limited, and the number of men is unlimited, 
 hence, each Mormon could have only as many wives as the num- 
 ber of Mormon men is contained times in the number of Mor- 
 mon women, which would be less than one wife apiece. But 
 
48 
 
 some men would not want some women, consequently each man 
 would many one woman, and, as a matter of course, you have 
 wiped out polygamy." The reasoning was good, but the plan 
 didn't work, notwithstanding Bob 03- offered to be one of a 
 thousand who should sacrifice themselves for the good of the 
 country and go. Yet he did much good in various wa} T s ; 
 erected a new building at Dartmouth. His last words were : 
 "Am I a Phi Beta?" and he died, greatly regretted by all who 
 knew him. 
 
 Haskell began life as clerk in the Grand Central Depot, 
 N. Y. Then by industry and efficiency (and by "catty" 
 points) he rose to the head of the establishment. He grew 
 immensely wealthy, married one of his first loves, but finding 
 that though he could manage ten railroads and fourteen savings 
 banks, he couldn't and didn't manage her, he became a wid- 
 ower. He grew portly, fatherly ; wore a heavy gold fob, a 
 gold headed cane, gold rimmed spectacles ; loved to pat little 
 children on their heads and give them pennies, and occupied a 
 prominent seat in Greeley's church. His body rests in Green- 
 wood, under a large marble monument surmounted by an angel 
 weeping alabaster tears. There is a brazen cast of him on the 
 steple of the depot. 
 
 Kivel became " Holy Father Kivel," a Romish priest, and 
 settled in Nashua. He was a model priest, and a great com- 
 fort indeed to all the McGinnesses, Donnegans and Raffertys 
 in the parish. Zealous in every good work, the people almost 
 worshiped "his Riverence." It used to trouble him exceed- 
 ingl}' when Ryder and Towle — vagabonds as they were — 
 chanced to call in on him and get boozy over his claret, and 
 carouse as they used to do in the mansion corner of Lebanon 
 and College Streets. They did say that Father John's nose 
 became rather shiny and his form rounded, but then he was a 
 good man for all that. 
 
 Marshall graduated with two professions in his eye, the law 
 and astronomy. For a long time he wavered, unable to choose. 
 On the one hand the singularly successful career of Mr. Daniel 
 Webster Lured him toward the musty law books, but the sun 
 and moon exerted more than a tidal influence over him in an- 
 other direction. He ended, not as Bobby ended when in doubt 
 
PROPHE< [£S. 4i) 
 
 as to which o( two ladies he should write to, by choosing 
 neither. He spent his long and singularly unfortunate career 
 in selling blacking in the streets of Boston during the summer ; 
 in the winter he exhibited Mercury through a telescope, at 
 twenty cents a peep, and when Mercury didn't shine he made 
 waffles and sold the boys. Truly, a versatile genius! When 
 Librarian Scott heard the sad end of his pupil, then burst his 
 [Lib. Scott's] mighty heart. 
 
 Damon Morey and Pythias Brooks, who lived so lovingly to- 
 gether throughout their college course, could not bear the 
 thought of separation afterwards. They planned how to live 
 together. Damon thought he ought to teach. He couldn't 
 find a school, although he put his price very low. In fact, he, 
 who the first week in June, 1876, would not look at a salary of 
 less than two thousand dollars, kept dropping down one hun- 
 dred dollars at a time until he was anxious to teach for ten dol- 
 lars a year and find himself. Then he determined to live with- 
 out money at all. Really, when he came to think it over he 
 hadn't been accustomed to mone} T . He remembered how he 
 used to wake up in the morning and thank fortune that he was 
 born handsome and not rich. He made a bold resolution : lie 
 would live on his uncles ! He w r ould spend his life in visiting 
 them as they had in visiting him. He wrote to Pythias ; Brooks 
 was under avuncular authority, }^et he started for Thetford. 
 But he started in vain. He left the train at the fifth Thetford sta- 
 tion and stopped at one of the uncles' ; Morey had been gone 
 just two hours. He started in pursuit ; the next uncle told the 
 same story. In vain Pythias searched ; he went in succession 
 to Thetford, to North Thetford, South Thetford, East Thetford, 
 West Thetford, Thetford Centre, North-by-a-half-east Thet- 
 ford, North-north-west-by-a-half-north Thetford, North-north- 
 north-west-b3 T -a-half-point-west-on-the-lee-bow r -top-gallant- 
 main-royal-jibboom Thetford, but all in vain. Damon kept 
 two hours ahead of him, and they never caught up with each 
 other. It is a sad story. Long the search; Evangeline-like, 
 Brooks kept up the search ; still, like the wandering Jew, Mo- 
 rey kept ahead. The years sped away, yet they never emerged 
 from the irresistible maelstrom of Damon's uncles and the 
 Thetford stations. Death brought them to each others arms, 
 
50 . CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 and now the}' expiate their sins together. Brooks is sentenced 
 to borrow money forever, which Morey pours ceaselessly into 
 a pocket without a bottom. 
 
 Thompson became a preacher, — of course he did. A Meth- 
 odist preacher, of course. His friends thought it would be 
 better for him to move on, every two years. He preached able 
 sermons, for Thompson had ability. He was very powerful ; 
 he could move an immense audience, in ten minutes, — com- 
 pletely out of doors. He preached Thanksgiving sermons. 
 He was called the Thanksgiving preacher, — because, as one of 
 his children explained, whenever he gets to the end of his ser- 
 mon, if it has been a very long one, the people are very thank- 
 ful, and if it has been a very short one the} T are even more 
 thankful. When Thompson had finished his tale, arose a dis- 
 cussion as to his fate. Minos Wertheimer wrathfull} 7 swore 
 that he wouldn't have him loafing around his Hades- Rhada- 
 manthus advised that he be suspended ; iEacus, that he be 
 dropped. It was finally agreed that he go to the Elysian 
 Fields. 
 
 Flint, in due course, was tutor and professor in College. He 
 was dismissed because he couldn't talk in prose or in Pmglish. 
 His Greek grammar was entirely in rhyme, and read like 
 Mother Goose, which he turned into polyglot for the edification 
 of children. He developed a love for music ; kept a hurdy 
 gurdy in his room, whither it was his wont to retire ; there he 
 would smoke a vile cigar, eat a hashheesh pill, chant from a 
 volume of Swinburne, turn the hurdy gurdy, and become wrapt 
 in ecstasy. He was absent minded and fond of trying exper- 
 iments. He had nine lives and soon used them all up. Once 
 he had a hole bored in his ear because he looked down the bar- 
 rel of a pistol to see whether he could see the bullet come out 
 when he pulled the trigger. Then he stuck a pin in the hind 
 fog of a horse to see if the animal would jump ; this nearly 
 killed the experimenter. Then he swallowed a bent pin to see 
 how it would seem. Then he jumped from a roof just to find 
 how it went. He stuck his head in a fly-wheel to look at the 
 motion and barely escaped. Finally, one day, in a state of 
 absent-mindedness, he walked to the middle of a brook, lay 
 himself down on the hot tout to sleep and was drowned. Yet 
 
PROPHECIES. 51 
 
 Tom. was a good follow and an erudite scholar, and every body 
 liked him. 
 
 .John Foster never amounted to much. He became governor 
 the year after graduation and then senator, from which he fell 
 gradually until he became a mere cabinet officer, and he died 
 abroad at the court of St. James. Poor John ! if Seppi had 
 been with him things would have happened diiferently. They 
 wanted to make him President, but John's nobler nature re- 
 volted. Perry said John was prett} r big in little New Hamp- 
 shire, but if they should spread him out over the whole country 
 he would be extremefv thin in any given place. There is now 
 a bust of John in the State House in Concord, and another in 
 the Dartmouth College Library. 
 
 Andrews, I regret to say, eloped, only two months after 
 graduation, with a rich and riotous widow. He had been 
 warned against drinking, stealing, chewing tobacco, dancing 
 and card playing. But he had never been warned against fair 
 and fort}- widows, and did not know it was wrong to do so. 
 The money was soon spent in fast living, and then they kept a 
 little candy shop in Boston. This failed to support the family. 
 Death mercifull}' put an end to the tragedy. 
 
 Curran Clark studied law with Mr. Duncan, joined the 
 Faculty, gave lectures on Constitutional and International 
 Law, was made president of the Dartmouth Bank, deacon in the 
 College Church, perpetual referee in the sports on the Campus, 
 gave, in all, to the College one hundred dollars, and died. 
 Yet the Connecticut still rolled on to the sea, and the seasons 
 came and went just as they did a hundred years before. 
 
 Jones became a perfect Crichton in acquirements. He dis- 
 covered a new law in Astronomy, a new element in Chemistiy, 
 a new theory in Harmon}', and a new system in Metaphysics. 
 In fine he seemed to be the focus wherein all the brilliancy of 
 the Joneses converged. Yet such was his versatility that he 
 would disappear from the world for a month at a time, assume 
 an incog., and, as leader of a band of negro minstrels, amuse 
 and bewitch large audiences with fiddle and clogs. Nor was 
 this all ; sensible of the great perplexity which came from the 
 large number of Smiths, Browns and Joneses, he resolved on a 
 plan for their unification. By some means or other he caused 
 
52 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 all the males of the houses of Smith, Brown and Jones to die, 
 then he collected all the females of the same families in a new 
 colony, and by a bold stroke cut the gordian knot by marrying 
 the whole establishment, widows, spinsters and all, and thus 
 reduced the tangled mass of names to simplicit}" and unit}'. 
 
 Fairfield, died, aged seventy years ! 
 
 Ernst removed to the deepest wilds of Colorado, hired a cave, 
 bought a skull, and set up in the hermit business. In solitude 
 and silence he cogitated long and deep on the great facts of 
 Nature and of Mind. Enwraptin profound metaphysical spec- 
 ulation, his body wasted in mere shadow. Yet he heeded not, 
 nor seemed changed, and there he remained intoxicated with 
 his own musings until. Death, in the shape of an autumnal gale, 
 bore his frail and wasted remains to — nobody knows where. 
 
 Cate studied theology and became a second Theodore Parker. 
 
 Barton studied several professions, but left them in disgust 
 one after another, and, in perfect weariness of having to meet 
 with common people, he built a tower and lived on the top of 
 it like St. Simon. There he spent his life, looking down on all 
 the world below, making faces and casting pebbles at whoever 
 looked up at him. 
 
 Gamble lived on the interest of his fortune. Married, lived 
 in comfort and ease, grew more and more happ3 T and satisfied 
 every day. He never did any hard work ; kept his grounds in 
 perfect neatness. He was a credit to his family, his college, 
 the world. He held the offices of alderman, justice of the 
 peace, general of the militia. Finally, after a long and even 
 life, he died in bed, decently, quietly and respectably, and with 
 that air of propriety with which he had always done eveiything. 
 He was properly buried in the family lot; a plain black iron 
 fence surrounds the spot ; no weeds arc permitted to grow 
 there, and his widow wore deep mourning for him, after the 
 custom of the family. 
 
 Paul taught school at first and many youth did the staid ped- 
 agogue send to college, well grounded in Latin and Greek. 
 After this he opened a barber's shop in Boston, where he shaved 
 
 itli due decorum, becoming gravity and a sharp razor. 
 Billy Patterson became a perfect marvel of accuracy. He 
 could keep the time of day in his head and tell it to you with- 
 
PROPHECIES. 53 
 
 out a watch at any moment to the fifth decimal of a second. 
 He oever married, for he heard thai wives interrupted a per- 
 son's time, but he did learn to smoke, and every evening after 
 supper he built castles in smoke until the exact moment came 
 which he had set upon Cor another occupation, and then he 
 stopped short and laid his pipe aside. He discovered an error 
 in the seventeenth decimal place in one of the logarithms of a 
 royal astronomical volume, and another of five inches in the 
 computed height of one of the lunar mountains. He received 
 an immense salary as car starter on the great horse car centre of 
 Brooklyn, where thirty-seven lines converged, each line having 
 a different interval of minutes between its cars. Formerly, it 
 took fifteen men to do it, but Bill}- took it all in hand with ease. 
 He could tell where car 891 on line 27 ought to be at any sec- 
 ond of the day, how much fare the conductor had, and what 
 the people's names were who rode. He was killed by Father 
 Time, who struck him with his scythe, out of jealous} T . 
 
 Hall and Hay vowed eternal fidelity to each other. Hall 
 grew shorter and Hay longer. They^ tried farming, but Ha} T 
 30 tall he couldn't see the potato hills, and Hall so short 
 he couldn't get over them. Then they taught school, but the 
 horrid girls teased little Hally, kissed him and tweaked his 
 nose, so they gave that up. Ha}' wore a rope ladder reaching 
 from his shoulder to the ground, as a means of retreat for Hall. 
 Then they started a show. It consisted of an immense number 
 of animals, which were shown one at a time. Hay, in various 
 costume, exhibited himself as a giant, an anaconda, an alliga- 
 tor, an elephant, a fat man ; and, in suitable disguise, Hall 
 was a dwarf, a mosquito, a South American turtle, a bat, an 
 angel. The combination was a success, and they made money. 
 
 The Holt Brethren exhibited another instance of double stars. 
 They both eat off the same plate, read the same book, slept on 
 the same pillow. They clung closer together than the Floren- 
 tine hemispheres, which four horses alone could separate. In- 
 deed it was this attractive force that brought about their final 
 fate. An elevation grew on the back of each brother ; one 
 night these two united like the two ends of a water spout, then 
 the\ grew closer together ; the distinctive features of each were 
 lost, and there resulted after one month of melting down a new 
 
54 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 Holt, who combined the excellencies of each brother, and was 
 a perfect man. The names were also melted down, and became 
 one, viz. : Fred Judah Leslie Mach Queechee Holt. 
 
 Sam. Merrill killed Whitcomb, made love to his widow, and 
 tried Hanover printing, but, being detected in running off a 
 mock programme, left town. He tried journalism, and with 
 brilliant success, but his unhappy penclmnt for contriving col- 
 umns of figures could be satisfied only in one line, viz. : alma- 
 nac making. So Sam., oblivious of friends, college honors and 
 reputation, fitted up a room in Worcester and began the busi- 
 ness. His room contained maps, globes, cribbage boards, 
 rulers, a Bologna sausage, a dictionary, a little snarling dog, a 
 thermometer, a microscope, and an egg boiler. His sofa could 
 be turned into a bed, a chest of drawers, a wash stand or a 
 trunk. When he turned his swivel chair around three times 
 one way and five the other, a whirring sound ensued, a bell 
 rang, an eas} T chair would spring out of the wall and unfold it- 
 self, an inkstand would jump out from somewhere and open its 
 top, and all the locks in the desk slide back. He had splendid 
 success, and never made a mistake. Once the printer put in an 
 additional eclipse of the sun, but that luminary gracefully came 
 to time and threw in the extra eclipse just out of compliment 
 to Sam., for if there was to be a mistake at all it was better 
 that the sun should make it than that Sam's almanac should be 
 wrong. Indeed, the people in the sun grew careless and laz}-, 
 and ran the whole machine by the almanac altogether. The 
 publication was neatly printed on tinted paper; classic and pol- 
 ished witticisms adorned the small space at the bottom of the 
 pages, and every other leaf contained unobjectionable adver- 
 tisements. Sam. never married. He was engaged to that 
 Windsor girl, but she happened to leave out a comma where 
 one was needed in one of her most impassioned love-letters, 
 and he was never able to have it satisfactorily explained, al- 
 though he made two special trips, post haste, to see her about it. 
 He refused, peremptorily and finalty, to have anything whatever 
 to do with the girl or the sex that could make such terrible 
 blunders. 
 
 Gale became U. S. .Minister to France, and wrote several 
 valuable historical works. 
 
PROPHECIES. 55 
 
 Bridgman studied medicine, law, theology, philosophy, 
 painting and engineering — all in the space of two years. He 
 wont into business and out again in one more year. He never 
 los1 his enthusiasm, which, with his love of the marvellous, 
 and his ignorance of moral distinctions, carried him all over 
 the world. He crossed the Atlantic in a soap box, and hung 
 by his eyelashes from a balloon two miles high. He could tell 
 the most remarkable stories, and achieved an immense reputa- 
 tion by writing books of travel. One day he went off in a 
 basket attached to twelve large eagles, and never came back 
 again. 
 
 Brown abandoned his childhood home, and that river which 
 flowed by it, and took charge of the Profile House; eat six 
 meals a da}', and was the jolliest man alive. When he died 
 one child and five small wives followed him to the grave. 
 
 Sargent engaged as brakeman on the Passumpsic River R. R., 
 and spent his life in flirting with the girls on the route. One 
 day, as he was passing southward through Norwich station, he 
 kept his head turned too long to wink at a girl in Kibling's 
 upper window, was struck by the bridge and killed. Twenty- 
 five girls were disconsolate. 
 
 Short}' entered the ministry, but was detected in stealing 
 from the contribution box and expelled. He rapidly sunk 
 until he was sentenced to twent}' years in Concord prison. 
 His career was a sad one, and indicative of the bad effects of 
 ouce beginning a course of vice. Shorty began his by cribbing 
 in College, and this was the first link in the chain. 
 
 Frost was a poet. One of his best productions was entitled 
 " To the Plains of Hanover." It went somehow thus: "-And 
 wild as hUls that mountain-born wolves roar fiercely on, Oh! 
 come through gateways steeling over the plains of Hanover, and 
 ('/"iron proclaim them wolves of ours" It will be perceived 
 that Frost invented a new theory of poetry, the logical result 
 of Wordsworth's, which it aimed to overthrow. According to 
 him. poetry does not consist in the rhrvme, so he thrust out the 
 rhyme : nor in the meter, so he dispensed with the meter ; nor 
 altogether in the ideas, so he discarded the ideas. Now, if 
 when you have thus treated a bit of poetry, j r our sensitive 
 nature can discern what is left, you have exactly hit upon 
 
56 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 Frost's theory, and can then appreciate his poetry ; otherwise 
 you will be unable to see any beaut\ T in it. He also wrote sev- 
 eral novels, of which " Monaldo Monaldini, or the Mystery of 
 the Spanish Main" was the best. But somehow it was his 
 misfortune to have them printed in yellow covers, and sold for 
 ten cents a copy. These novels, also, were written in accordance 
 with a new theory. Perceiving that the imagination is the 
 faculty to be addressed in the reader, and perceiving that the 
 present style did not exercise the imagination of the reader at 
 all, but that of the author, hence resolved on a remedy. After 
 writing his books he went through it with a pen, and struck out 
 every other line ; then every other word in the remaining lines ; 
 then he transposed all the leaves ; then tore out every tenth 
 page, and in that form he gave them to the world. If the 
 reader had a brilliant imagination he could fill up the blanks, 
 and enjoy the story ; if he could not, then the books were not 
 for him, and he must be contented with the common style, 
 where eveiwthing is written out fully, and nothing left to the 
 imagination. 
 
 Hardison joined the Faculty, took charge of the chair of 
 English literature and belles lettres, and, his life being spent in 
 the active duties incident to the position, the waters of the 
 great world closed over him, and he never appeared again on 
 the surface. 
 
 Here the judges called for Hodsdon, and, amidst loud calls 
 for " Digamma," the emissaries went forth in quest ; but they 
 reported that he could not be found in all Hades, and some one 
 just then reporting that a small black figure with a dirt}' cap, 
 black siclers and a clay pipe, had just escaped, and several 
 others reporting that they heard the words, " Read him ! Head 
 Mathews I" it was conjectured that the Digamma, moved by his 
 ruling passion, had "skinned" his way out of the other end 
 of Hades, and had doubtless effected a safe entrance into parts 
 unknown. 
 
 Hunt, became missionary to the Chinook Indians, assumed 
 their habits and customs, and became chieftain of a tribe. He 
 wns noted for his eloquence and fierceness. He forgot the Eng- 
 lish language except the two mystic words " more whiskey." 
 
PROPHECIES. 
 
 57 
 
 Piper became a Universalis! preacher, edited a magazine, 
 was a shining light even in Boston, and taught many people to 
 have do fear of the hereafter, or any dread of retributive jus- 
 tin'. But he was forced to recant by emphatic order of Minos, 
 wlui wratlit'ully told him he wouldn't have any such talk as that 
 down below in his Hades, at any rate, no matter what the\ r 
 could stand in Boston. 
 
 Ryder had begun to read law when his mind became inflamed 
 by reading one of Frost's stories about pirates. He went to 
 sea, got up a mutiny, seized the ship, and lived a life of blood 
 and steel, the terror of the Mexican seas. He wore a red silk 
 sash, a blue silk shirt, a crimson doublet ; two navy pistols, 
 a cutlass and a poinard adorned his belt. His bronzed and 
 bearded face was marked with scars. Every other word was 
 an oath. He accumulated vast treasures, which he buried in 
 the rough sands of the sea shore, several cables' length from 
 the water ; was captured, and executed in Boston after making 
 full confession. 
 
 Stone fixed his e}*e on the Presidency, but adverse fortune 
 threw him off the track, and he bought a blue hand cart and 
 mended umbrellas. 
 
 Staples studied anatonrv, and gave lectures on the human 
 frame for man} T , man}' years. Young and old loved to listen 
 to the lectures of the dear, white-haired, old gentleman, as he 
 explained the mechanism of the movable patella and the habits 
 of the Berwick Pokes. 
 
 McClary grew 7 " fast," drove stylish horses, wore blue neck- 
 ties and gold seal rings ; used scented hair oil. He dabbled 
 in literature and wrote two novels, — one entitled u Jane the 
 Mulatto, or Life in a Gutter " ; the other, " The Poisoned Gum- 
 drop, or The Candy Woman's Revenge." He wrote for the 
 New York Weekly, and every newsbo} r devoured his produc- 
 tions with avidity. He died b}' being choked to death by a 
 patent standing collar while asleep in the Passumpsic cars. 
 
 Whitcomb became president of a Boston bank, director of 
 the Public Library, trustee of the Athenaeum, and Mayor of the 
 city. He was just the man for Mayor ; had a boundless stom- 
 ach, plenty of wit, could address an}" kind of an assembly from 
 a woman's rights convention to a firemens' dinner. He married 
 
58 (LASS DAY, '76. 
 
 a stately and beautiful woman of wealth and fashion, and had 
 one son who was just like his father. He was a member of 
 Piper's church, and never happened to be caught in any dis- 
 honest transaction. When he died, there was a gorgeous funer- 
 al. The city was decorated with badges of mourning ; all the 
 flags were flying at half mast; the police turned out with the 
 militia, the newsboys, the firemen, the widows and orphans, and 
 the public school children. It was a successful affair and re- 
 flected credit on the committee in charge. There were dis- 
 charges at the grave, and a civic and military memorial ban- 
 quet in the evening at the Parker House. 
 
 Stimson entered the navy, and was one of the most gallant 
 and daring young officers in the service. He led an expedition 
 into Africa and was captured. But he soon won the hearts of 
 the tribe and was about to leave, when the king invited him to 
 choose a wife out of three thousand young women whom he 
 drew up in line before him. Stimurv in sore perplexity replied 
 that if he chose one, the two thousand nine hundred and nine- 
 ty-nine would kill him out of jealousy. The king retired and 
 was invisible for three days ; then he ordered Stimmy before 
 him and in presence of the whole tribe, commanded him to 
 many all of them. But Stimmy escaped, and fell, years after, 
 bravely fighting in battle. 
 
 Tripp wrote prize essa}'s for ten years, then went to Wash- 
 ington and wrote for "smooth bores;" became librarian of 
 Congress, and, finally, reached the goal of his ambition — was 
 made clerk of a faculty down south, and dispensed marks with 
 fairness and liberality. 
 
 Vanderpoel planned with Wertheimer to go to German)', 
 with Whitcomb to go to Japan, with Morey to Thetford, and 
 with Brooks to India, Then he began all over again, and 
 planned to marry his Brooklyn daily correspondent ; then he 
 resolved never to marry ; then he made up his mind to study 
 law T ; then he determined not to study law at all. The sum- 
 mer passed. Still Lieber sat in his chair and plauned. His 
 room was full of catalogues, guide books, almanacs, maps, 
 charts, copies of the N. Y. Sun. Tims passed his life, grasp- 
 ing at the tails of opportunities, until Death told him of a little 
 
•ROriii:cn>. 
 
 59 
 
 travelling plan of his own, and Lieber fell in with this, the 
 only plan which he ever carried ont. 
 
 Kinerson went to Persia, and became juggler and tumbler to 
 the ruler, Mahmoud Hans Effendi CXVIII. 
 
 Justice kept books for a firm in Nashua. 
 
 Peabody, man of multitudinous plans and infinite accom- 
 plishments, bought out Bly, married one of the club girls, and 
 took pictures in Hanover all his life. 
 
 The fair and frail Brimmy was next called up, and a buzz of 
 expectation ran all over the crowded court room as tie began. 
 He kept glancing nervously about him, " afraid," as he apol- 
 ogetically remarked, "that his wife was near." After gradua- 
 tion he tried to study law, but kept falling in love with every 
 girl he saw ; to end his misery, and regardless of his compact 
 with Sam. Merrill not to marry within six j^ears, he resolved 
 to marry immediately. But alas ! he couldn't decide which 
 girl to take. While in this condition he was met b}^ a woman 
 who ordered him to marry her if he didn't want to be killed. 
 Of course the gentle Brimmy instantly complied, and led his 
 bride home. She proved to be about forty years old ; never 
 had been prett}^ ; w r as tall, bon} T , rough, muscular and a regu- 
 lar wolf. She had ten children — all sons — and some of them 
 older than Brimmy, and the} T used to order him around when 
 the old woman w r as not about. But tbe} T didn't dare injure 
 "dear little poppy" when she was near. She was literary, a 
 blue stocking, and wrote novels all night while Brimmy tended 
 baby. She also dressed in bloomer costume when she appeared 
 in public with her dear husband. Long he plotted flight, but 
 what if she should catch him. Once, indeed, he did venture out 
 without leave, but the she-tiger caught him and locked him in 
 the cellar for three days. But this did not last forever. One 
 morning when Brimmy awoke she was dead ; scarcely believing 
 his eyes he seized the boot-jack, and dealt her two blows over 
 the eyes to make sure of it. Then he started for parts unknown. 
 But where should he go. Sam. was in Germany, and Brimnry 
 was heart broken. But he did not long remain unemployed. 
 Officers of the law were in search of him ; wisely they set a 
 watch on the premises of all the ladies' seminaries in the 
 country, and in just one week he was captured on the grounds 
 
60 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 at Vassar. He was charged with murdering his wife ; she had 
 been found dead with two black marks over her eyes ; he had 
 fled. The trial was short ; the facts were conclusive. His 
 lawyer set up a plea of insanit} T , and brought up fifty witnesses 
 to prove it. But judgment descended, and one Friday morn- 
 ing saw the condemned man led forth out of the prison doors, 
 and the next day his remains were sold to the Medical College 
 at Hanover, and his cranium to deck a phrenologist's window in 
 Boston. Alas ! poor Brimnry ; his sad tale made e'en the very 
 devils weep. 
 
 Sanborn lived a quiet life on his peaceful farm with his sen- 
 sible wife. He never made any undue noise in the house or 
 abroad. He always plowed with oxen, and his quiet jogging 
 old horse, that slowly and steadily trotted him to town in his 
 old fashioned, slow-moving, easy-going, orthodox, rattling 
 " shay," never ran away or kicked. Sanborn wore a black stock 
 neck-tie on Sundays, and his boots squeaked just a little when 
 he handed around, with a placid smile, the contribution box. 
 In all his life he never swore, shot off a gun, or tasted ardent 
 spirits, and cured all his ailments with herb tea. 
 . Williams lived in a tub, and was for a long time amazed be- 
 cause the world did not worship him. He then became a pes- 
 simist and a misanthrope, until one clay happening to look up- 
 wards, he discovered that there was a dazzling light in the sky. 
 He asked some one what that was, and they informed him that 
 it was the sun, and had been shining for six thousand 3-ears. 
 Henceforth, he withdrew his criticism from men, and sought to 
 find some flaw in the sun, for it was contrary to his doctrine 
 that anything was perfect. At once he made a grand discoveiy. 
 The sun, which, to other people was dazzling, when seen through 
 the green tinge which colored everything to his eyes, was so dim 
 that he saw it was covered with black specks. This was the 
 first men knew of sun spots, and Williams forever afterward 
 spent his days in gloating over and counting them. 
 
 Banct 1 became a jolly little country doctor, and rode about 
 in a little bobbing gig, drawn by a short-stepping little bob- 
 tailed rat of a horse. He could cure fits, and if any one had 
 any other disease, he changed it to fits and cured them. If he 
 couldn't do this the patient died. He was called the little wood- 
 
PR0PHE4 tES. 61 
 
 chuck, because he made so many holes in the ground. But he 
 didn't kill so many patients as other doctors, because, perhaps, 
 lu' didn't have so many patients as other doctors. But he must 
 have improved the health of his district, for his practise contin- 
 ually decreased, and, after his own death, no one in the district 
 vlied from sickness for twenty } T ears. 
 
 Towle became a Yankee peddler, and swapped horses, and 
 talked politics, and " rather guessed he knew a thing or two." 
 lie never did very much in the world, because Sherburne had 
 married somebod}' else, and nobod}* seemed to think he knew 
 much about anything in particular. He was fond of la} r ing 
 deep plans for very indifferent ends, and had a curious habit of 
 winking slyly and smiling very knowingly when nothing par- 
 ticular was up. Somehow people got impressed with the idea 
 that he knew some might}' mysterious secret that would appall 
 and astound the world, were he to reveal it. But he always 
 smiled and hinted darkly when any one questioned him about 
 it. and never told the mighty mystery. Finally, he died, un- 
 noticed by the historians of the world, as he had been by the 
 historians of the class, and for the same reason. 
 
 Perry's talents fitted him for but one position, viz. : the ed- 
 itorship of The New York Sun. This he graciously took out 
 of Dana's hands, thanking him for his trouble in starting it for 
 him. 
 
 Doc. French took all his good clothes to Manchester, and, 
 after several } T ears of perplexit} T as to which was the prettiest 
 girl in New England, married a widow, homel} T , fifty } T ears old, 
 with twelve children and no mone}\ Doc. tried to support the 
 family manfully, and acted as waiter in a restaurant for a time ; 
 but he broke down, poor fellow, and one night, kissing his wife 
 farewell, he took from his trunk his graduation clothes, left the 
 house, and next morning was found petrified before the show 
 window of a necktie store. His widow carried out his last 
 wishes, and sold him to the proprietor as a dummy to display 
 new styles upon, for $11.50. 
 
 Twombly was a phrenologist and traveling mesmerist. He 
 was a man of thought. He thought out all the problems in At- 
 u ater's Logic and Mother Goose. He grew sober, sedate, quiet. 
 Soon that great question which had perplexed all the ancient 
 
62 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 philosophers came to him for solution, viz : whether the owl or 
 the owl's egg was created first. He couldn't solve it. He be- 
 came buried in thought. People called him " the mysterious 
 one." He spoke to none, and gave up eating. Then they 
 placed him in the Boston Museum, where for a hundred years 
 he gazed, with glass}' eye, on a stuffed owl and a china egg. 
 
 Ben Roberts' literary talents at once secured him a position 
 on the "New York Tribune" and he soon supplanted AVhite- 
 law Reid as editor. His great work in life was the foundation 
 of the "New York Emersonio-Plautonic-Wordsworthio-Tenny- 
 sonnian Circle." It was composed of literary ladies. They 
 were to live together in a state of perpetual platonic friendship, 
 and devote all their energies to the cultivation and' improve- 
 ment of the mind. Of course he was president, Phebe Cozzens 
 vice-president, the sisters Smith of Glastenbury, treasurer, 
 Ann S. Stephens, secretary ; and Anna Dickenson, Mrs. Liver- 
 more, Ann Eliza Young and others, prominent members. The 
 buildings were erected in the midst of a grove. A large chapel 
 in the centre was filled with worshippers every morning ; 
 the shrine held a bust of Emerson, whom all worshipped. Every 
 member was to wear kid gloves, and talk transcendentalism. 
 Any one guilty of a pun, or of sneezing aloud, was to be shot. 
 The mornings were given to essay writing, and the evenings to 
 reading of the same, with conversation. Monday evenings 
 Ben read Tennyson to them ; Tuesday evenings he told them about 
 his lad} T friends at Oberlin ; Wednesday evening they discuss- 
 ed on culture and refinement, and admired each other. Finally 
 Ben was expelled ; one evening while listening to a discourse 
 on Thoreau, he so far forgot himself as to smoke a cigarette 
 in the presence of the ladies. Immediately and forthwith, 
 every Platonic and Tennysonian female arose, drove him with 
 loathing from the Eden which he had created, and purged their 
 insulted society by the expulsion of the vile man Roberts. 
 After this Ben vowed he would never marry, but, unwise man, 
 tie was caught in this wise;: a lady poet sent week after week, 
 and month after month, poetry to the "Tribune ;" it was in- 
 variably returned. Soon the matter was brought to the notice 
 <.(' the editor; then he wrote in mighty haste a most violent 
 <-U<t to the lad}', bidding her send no more such stuff In the 
 
PR0PHB4 [ES. 63 
 
 paper. The lady couldn'1 read the letter; her friends said it 
 was an offer of marriage from the editor of the " Tribune f the 
 lady sent a gracious acceptance. Ben went before the courts. 
 The judge, jury, and entire court sustained the lady's transla- 
 tion of the letter, and so Ben fell. His subsequent career was 
 honorable and useful, and he became known as the best writer 
 and philosopher of the day. 
 
 Hibbard entered the bar without examination or study. He 
 needed neither, 'cause why : lie could argue. It didn't matter 
 what the revised statutes said, or the facts showed. Whatever 
 side he was on won. He could argue a man into anything. 
 He could prove that the moon was green cheese, and therefore 
 inhabited ; that the world was square, round, flat, upside clown, 
 or that there was no world at all. He proved once to a man 
 that he couldn't and wouldn't feel hungry for a week, and the 
 man starved to death. This brought him up for murder ; but 
 Hibbard was prepared and, when it came his turn to speak, he 
 took the position that the man was not dead, and proceeded so 
 logically and irresistably that the facts themselves had to give 
 Way, and to the horror of all present the dead man, finding his 
 position utterl}' untenable, receded at once from it, opened 
 his eyes, and rose to his feet alive and well ; and Hibbard was 
 as bland and pleasant about it as could be, as he laughed one 
 of his merry chuckles, twisted his hands and stood on the other 
 leg. But he had a rival in Stimpson who, in some respects, 
 was even more logical. Stimpson was the first to accomplish 
 that difficult task of arguing down an angry Irish woman. But 
 this took him fifteen minutes, whereas Hibbard could take the 
 same woman, have her drunk in the bargain, and do the job 
 completely and nicely in fourteen minutes. Both sophists met 
 a common fate ; happening one da}', while travelling together 
 on an unfrequented road, to come to a fork in the road, Hib- 
 bard ventured to suggest that very probably the one on the 
 right hand led more directly to their destination than the one 
 on the left, at least so it seemed to him. Stimpson, of course, 
 opposed this view decidedly ; knew the other was the right one, 
 and what was more could prove it. Thus began that dire argu- 
 ment which caused their fate to fall. The}- stopped the horse 
 and began to argue : morning wore away, dinner time passed, 
 
64 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 evening came ; one day fled away, two da}'s, a week, a month, 
 three months, a 3 r ear, ten, twenty, thirty years passed without 
 any decision ; and one day as a stranger, for the first time 
 passed by, after the lapse of a hundred years, he discovered at 
 the fork of the road, the skeleton of a horse, the rusty remains 
 of a wagon, while in the ruins were the bon}* remnants of two 
 pairs of fingers rapidly and hurriedly crossing and uncrossing 
 themselves in heated argumentation. 
 
 Sherburne wrote books for bo}*s in the Oliver Optic stj'le, and 
 soon gained the title of "The Children's Friend," although he 
 assumed the nom of " 3 7 oung feller." Then he wrote poetr} 7 ; 
 several of his pieces were widely read, — one in particular, "To 
 the Morn," and another, "To Summer." It was the kind in 
 which "trees" was invariably followed by "breeze," "skies" 
 by " e} T es," etc. He became a regular correspondent of the 
 " Lady's Magazine." Then he entered into active service in 
 the woman's rights campaign, ran for Governor on that ticket 
 and was defeated. In fine, he became a second Col. Higginson. 
 All through life he loved to smoke cigarettes and wear very at- 
 tenuated canes. While Sherburne was yet speaking the pro- 
 ceedings were interrupted by a violent commotion without. 
 Something had happened. 
 
 Shrieks were heard, and trampling of feet ; the door burst in 
 with a loud noise, and a fugitive fell fainting to the floor ; the 
 whole assembly rose with pale and affrighted faces. A second 
 fugitive rushed in and gasped out "Crawfl" and expired. 
 Even* man looked in his neighbor's face \ a whisper ran around 
 the room. The horrible truth flashed like lightning through 
 
 OCT CT 
 
 every soul ; Crawford was loose \ was coining ; was near ; was 
 cleaning out Hades, drainage, sewers, pig pens, health board, 
 school committee, and all. A cry arose, " Crawford is loose ! 
 Fly I Fly! Fly I" Then arose confusion and terror ; judge, 
 jury and devil, in promiscuous and intermingled flight, rushed 
 headlong from the spot. Flames darted forth, thunder pealed, 
 and sulphur smells filled the air;, crash upon crash and peal 
 ipou peal followed;, black, forms began to appear. In the 
 nidst, — Oh ! horrors! — I saw a grisly, bearded face, grinning 
 fearfully, breathing forth smoke from the extended nostrils, and 
 glaring red lightning from the eyes, his shoulders working up 
 
PROPHECIES. DO 
 
 and down like the walking beam of a North River steamboat! 
 He was upon me. He smote — I awoke. I found myself in 
 Balch's woods again. I saw the Lights of Hanover sparkle and 
 glimmer through the trees, while the rural sound of lowing cat- 
 tle which were grazing quietly on the fields of the aforemen- 
 tioned N*. II. C. A. & M. A., and the distant blare of a Fresh- 
 man's horn soothed and re-assured me. The College bell tolled 
 out the hour of nine. I had slept, as you have just now done, 
 one hour. 
 
Class Tree Oration. 
 
 BY BENSON H. ROBERTS, ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
 
 The pith of all history is revealed by symbols. Every nation 
 since the pastoral days of the Patriarchs has possessed its own 
 S3 7 stem and type of symbolization ; through which the watch- 
 words and principles which have been found true, have been 
 compressed into most terse, succinct and graphic expression. 
 Both religious and secular life have resorted to this as a fit me- 
 dium through which to transmit to future ages, principles and 
 the inenior}' of events. The children of Israel followed the pil- 
 lar of cloud by day, and the pillar of fire by night, guarding with 
 religious care the Ark of the Covenant ; each of these symbolic 
 of the relationship of the great Jehovah to the Israelites. The 
 TTCgis of Zeus, and the owl of Pallas Athenae spoke to the 
 Greek of the power of the Cloud Collector, at whose nod 
 Olympus shook, and of the wisdom of the Virgin Goddess who 
 bestowed upon her devotees 
 
 "Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, 
 Which three alone lead to sovereign power." 
 
 The soldier of the Roman cohorts with proud courage pressed 
 
 through the hottest fight, eager to gain a place near the eagle 
 
 of his legion, for there, near the standard, he chose to die, if 
 
 eed be, for the standard. 
 Symbolism is the language whereby one nation speaks to 
 ••not her, whereby the deeds of valor of ancient warriors and the 
 
 ise statesmanship of ancient senators are perpetuated, and 
 handed, fresh and glowing with patriotism, to modern nations. 
 
I I \>s TREE ORATION. 67 
 
 It is tlic Language whereby the infant makes, known its wants, 
 nn»l that inspires the peaceful husbandman to seize the cruel 
 weapons of war in the day of dire need, and gives to his heart 
 courage to smite with heavy blows, his oppressor. 
 
 The prosperity of Eg3 T pt was dependant upon the overflowing 
 of the Nile, which thus brought fertility to the soil and food to 
 the people, hence we find in Egyptian architecture the prevail- 
 ing form of ornamentation is the lotus flower — the water lily of 
 the Nile. Upon this subject of symbolism a modern writer 
 says: "No better illustration of both the aesthetic and sym- 
 bolic is found than the legend of that beautiful little blue flower 
 that is found b}' every stream and in every meadow of Old 
 England, and is welcomed by many who frequent the glades 
 and brooks of our New England. The legend handed down 
 through many generations is this : a j'oung knight and his true 
 love were wandering on the margin of a river, discoursing upon 
 the theme which, invented by Adam and Eve in Paradise, main- 
 tains its interest to this da}', albeit no other subject, perhaps, 
 has been so generally discussed, or has resulted in such 
 unanimity of opinion. A subject now called from its great an- 
 tiquity the old, old stoiy, ever fresh and new, and interesting 
 to those who tell it, as to those who hear it, for time cannot 
 >tale nor custom wither its variet} T . In an interval of wooing, 
 the "fayre ladaye" caught sight of a cluster of blue coronals, 
 rivalling the beauty of her own eyes and the tint of the 
 heaven above, growing in rich wantoness on the bank oppo- 
 site. An expression of admiration and of a wish to possess 
 them, sent the gallant knight of that chivalrous age plunging 
 into the stream ; battling bravely with the flood he gained the 
 flowers. The swimmer was strong, but the waves ran high, 
 and though near enough to cast the coveted flowers at his lady's 
 feet, he was swept down the turbulent stream, sending back 
 his farewell, "forget-me-not." Since which time that flower 
 has been consecrated to lovers, and to-day is the symbol of 
 faithfulness and true love. 
 
 The same bravery in family life may be illustrated b} T an an- 
 ecdote. U A gentleman inquired the meaning of the motto on 
 the crest of a family named Cross. The motto read : " Credo 
 Cruce" — " Believe in the Cross." The answer came very 
 
68 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 sirnpl}*, that no Cross of that famity was ever known to tell a 
 lie. Such symbolism as that is as noble as it is simple, and, 
 moreover, teaches a whole system of morality. The Round 
 Table of Arthur, with no chief seat, no prominent place, was 
 symbolic of the equality which existed between those who were 
 knights in truth ; who had received not merely upon their necks, 
 but even upon their heart, the accolade of truest knighthood 
 from the guileless prince, the good King Arthur. We have 
 only to call to mind the rapid beating of our hearts, when we 
 first heard, with quickened senses, the stirring notes of our na- 
 tional music, or when for the first time we grasped the mystery 
 of the stars and stripes, of the waving banners, to realize the 
 force of this language of sjanbolism. To appreciate the com- 
 prehensive, catholic and varied use of this language, which no 
 period, nation, caste or guild can call its own, though used b}' 
 all, we have only to recall the Roman fasces, the hammer of 
 Thor, the oak of the Druid, the ash of the Norseman, the lau- 
 rel, olive, myrtle, and holly, the plant-a-genet or broom corn of 
 the Plantagenets, who ruled England for three centuries ; the 
 Jleur-de-lis of France ; the red rose and the white rose, which 
 cost England so much honest blood ; and last, that most potent 
 symbol, the Cross, which, graven on heart and shield, has 
 nerved man} r a weary knight to meet with keen joy the crescent 
 of the hated Prophet on the sandy wastes of Syria ; the thought 
 of which has cheered martyrs at the stake, and strengthened 
 the fainting souls of zealous missioners in American forest 
 and African jungle. 
 
 This same use we see to-day. We build costly monuments 
 and stately towers ; sonnets are written, and songs are sung to 
 commemorate the deeds of our contemporaries. Our action 
 here to-day is of the same nature. We plant an elm tree, that 
 it may bear testimony to our presence and sojourn in these clas- 
 sic walks. We do well thus to signalize our presence here, 
 even as our fathers did in their day. But the elm which we 
 low dedicate is not a mere monument, testifying that we once 
 ibode here, — with more fitness such monument would be a 
 oarble effigy or brazen tablet, — it is more than that; it even 
 symbolizes our future. The sapling must receive the grateful 
 ■:«in and heal <>(* many summers ere it becomes a tall tree, with 
 
(1 ASS TREK ORATION. 69 
 
 graceful; pendulous branches, far reaching. It needs the winds 
 pf winter, that its roots may strike deeply and firmly into the 
 nourishing earth. We plant a sapling. 
 
 Its ftiture is growth. 
 
 Fitly indicating the character of our future, for without 
 growth there is death. The youth must grow to perfect man- 
 hood, else he is even less a man. 
 
 This perfect manhood, what is it? A man may have traversed 
 the fields of ancient and modern history, grasping with firm 
 hand the historic knowledge of Curtius, Moramsen and Froude ; 
 by patient research he may become as learned as Herschel or 
 Newton in astronomy ; the subtle and infinite processes of 
 mathematics may be familiar to his mind ; the languages of an- 
 cient and modern nations ma}' flow with facility from his tongue ; 
 in plrysics, chemistry and natural history he may stand on 
 sure footing ; by close thought the problems which engaged the 
 powers of Plato, and vexed the midnight hours of Confucius, 
 and in later time challenged the intellectual strength of Bacon, 
 Hobbes, Descartes, Kant, Mill and Spencer, may be well under- 
 stood and partially solved. This is much ! To such an one 
 high homage would be paid. He would wear with becoming 
 grace the wreath, which the princes in intellect would place on 
 his brow, for worth would crown the wreath. This is much ! 
 Such acquisition would bring into play powers which could do 
 all, save create new worlds ; but much more remains to be done, 
 ere perfect manhood is reached. The heart must receive cul- 
 ture, else this store of learning may be perverted to false and 
 unworthy ends, becoming a source of misery to him, rather 
 than a fount of blessing. Instead of a man of large mould, 
 to whom his fellow-men are dear, we ma}^ have a splendid vil- 
 lain, a Caesar Borgia. The heart, the mind, and the bod}- are 
 united by subtle chords ; each S3'mpathizes with the other. In 
 the primal man these three elements were in equilibrium. 
 The whole suffers when part is diseased. An over develop- 
 ment of one element argues a dwarfed growth of the others, 
 and thus renders impossible the sj^mmetrical whole. The 
 ascetics, and recluses of all ages owe their failure to attain the 
 end desired, in great measure, to their practical denial of the 
 wisdom of the Creator, in striving, as they did, to attain per- 
 
70 CLASS DAY, '76. 
 
 feet manhood, by lopping off the truly human desires and 
 needs, which were divinely implanted, instead of training the 
 will, and cultivating those faculties of the heart, which in the 
 scheme of human organism were designed to act as balance 
 wheels, as checks on the plrysical nature. 
 
 The skillful and wise surgeon resorts to cauteiy and ampu- 
 tation onlv in cases of aggravated disease. The health}' plant 
 needs pruning to be sure, but much more it needs training and 
 freedom. 
 
 The whole of culture is expressed in few words — merely to 
 regain the harmony and restore the equipoise of physical, men- 
 tal and moral powers which has been so sadly distracted. 
 The means to attain this end are, not knowledge alone, though 
 she is possessed of great beauty, the younger child of wisdom, 
 
 " Let her know her place, 
 She is the second, not the first, — " 
 yet 
 
 "A higher hand must make her mild 
 If all be not in vain," 
 
 and this hand is stretched forth by " wisdom heavenly of the 
 soul." 
 
 With the Greek poet, Simonides, we must remember how 
 worthy the end, and that 
 
 " To manhood's heights who would aspire, 
 Must spurn each sensual low desire, 
 Must never falter, never tire, 
 But on ! with sweat drops of the soul." 
 
 This it is that this tree symbolizes to us to-day. The Scotch 
 laird, on his death bed, said to his son, "Jock, when tha ha 
 na else to do, plant a tree; 'twill grow when tha art asleep," 
 which is high philosophy. Just so the youth "crescit occulto 
 velut arbor" — grows like a tree in the night, — to that manhood 
 which is polished and refined. "The " ho mine m art unguem." 
 The manhood, which, 
 
 " Gaining in sweetness and moral height 
 
 Retain the wrestling thews that throw the world." 
 
Class Ode. 
 
 Air — "Auld Lang Syne- 
 
 BY CHAS. IV. WHITCOMB, BOSTON, MASS 
 
 I. 
 
 Dear Alma Mater round thy shrine, 
 
 Girt with the moss of years, 
 Fond memory twines the vine of love, 
 
 As the hour of parting nears. 
 Tis here we've wrought the golden chain 
 
 That binds each heart with thine, 
 And lengthened in each link we'll see 
 
 A tie of Auld Lang Syne. 
 
 II. 
 
 Adown the stream of college days 
 
 We've glided side by side, 
 'Till now life's stormy sea we face, 
 
 And each his bark must guide. 
 But as we venture on the deep, 
 
 And with the world's throng mix, 
 Be unto each a beacon-light, 
 
 Our dear old Seventy-Six. 
 
 III. 
 
 And may God grant unto us all, 
 
 When the sands of life are -run, 
 To hear proclaimed the welcome words, 
 
 "I say to thee — well done." 
 But lo, the parting moments fly, 
 
 And closing shades foretell, 
 We now with faltering tongues must bid 
 
 Farewell, farewell, farewell 
 
Address at the Old Pine. 
 
 BY EDWARD C. STIMSON, PORTSMOUTH, N. H. 
 
 Our class-day exercises are now nearly finished, and the time 
 has come for our last farewell. Together we have recounted 
 the scenes of our college life ; our prophet has disclosed the 
 future of our lives, and by his divining art has shown what 
 good or ill, what sunshine or shadow lies before us. 
 
 Here at the foot of this old tree, whose life has witnessed so 
 many gatherings similar to this, we have met to bid farewell to 
 the scenes endeared to us by our four years' association w r ith 
 them ; to extend to each other the hand of friendship ; to sep- 
 arate. 
 
 The classes preceding us, as they left these halls, have met 
 as we now meet, and it is fitting that we should come as they 
 have come, and receive from this noble Pine — this patriarch of 
 the hill — its benediction as we separate. 
 
 Classmates : through the college life that now lies just behind 
 we have toiled together as members of one class — as a band of 
 brothers ; we have been accustomed to assist one another, to 
 encourage one another, and in times of trouble have stood well 
 together ; we have, also, shared the pleasures connected with 
 our course, and, so far as has been possible, have enjoyed them 
 in common. 
 
 Now opens before us the life that is real, and the work we 
 arc fco accomplish is awaiting our coming ; henceforth our paths 
 diverge, and in a few short hours we shall leave all this, for the 
 Life thai is beyond ; for the Life that holds for us such grand 
 
ADDRESS AT THE OLD PINE. (6 
 
 possibilities and expected successes. We look to the future, 
 and Hope, beckoning, urges us forward to strive with those al- 
 ready in the field ; we dream of struggles with adversit} r , of 
 trials and danger to be encountered ere our journey is done, 
 hut with more or less certainty, all of us are looking for final 
 success. 
 
 From what we have seen of the outside world, we are brought 
 to the realization of the fact, unpleasant though it may be, that 
 to many will come only failure and bitter disappointment; we 
 know that a very small portion of our number will come to the 
 fulness of their ambitions, but Hope again inspires us, and 
 each of us looks for his place in the ranks of the successful 
 few. The broad field of practical life now spreads before us ; 
 from the boundary where we are now standing, we can see 
 many laborers, each striving for the first place in his particular 
 branch of the general industry, anxiously seeking for the great- 
 est possible good to himself and his. Among this busy throng 
 we are soon to undertake our work, each for himself, and each 
 to struggle with the masses already in the field ; we must sum- 
 mon what persistence and earnestness of purpose is at our 
 command, and without faltering, push onwaid to the goal that 
 lies beyond. 
 
 We recall the obstacles we have alreacly overcome, consider 
 the work we have already accomplished, and by these reflec- 
 tions and the knowledge of the hopes of fond friends centered 
 in us we are incited to work hard, to make the most of our op- 
 portunities, to accomplish the greatest possible good for our- 
 selves, our country and our God. 
 
 Another chapter in our lives has been written ; it stands as 
 it is, and not a line can be altered ; if mistakes have been made, 
 let them warn us in our writing of the coming pages ; and if 
 the writing has been well done, let that success be our encour- 
 agement in the future. We certainly shall look for guidance 
 and assistance from those who have gone before us, but not in 
 the extent we have experienced during that portion of our lives 
 just passed. Not only from our teachers have we received in- 
 struction and aid, but from our classmates have come friendly 
 counsel and advice which can only be offered by those to whom 
 close connection and intimacy have given the right to speak. 
 
74 (LASS DAY, '76. 
 
 Here we have forged links in the chain of friendship, which 
 time instead of corroding shall serve only to strengthen ; asso- 
 ciations, upon which we shall from the future look back with 
 the fondest recollections and most pleasant feelings, and we 
 carry with us as we leave "memories which shall cheer." 
 May our hearts ever grow warm, and the blood move more 
 quickly through our veins, when we recall our days in old 
 Dartmouth as members of the class of '76. 
 
 Old Tree ! look down in kindness on us as we part, and as 
 thou hast done as the classes have gone before us, bestow on 
 each thy blessing as we separate. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 110180947