A History of the Class of ’90

One evening, early in the Fall of ’89, voices were heard in the school-room as though many persons were talking at once. Suddenly the bell rang and the talking ceased. “What does this mean?” you would have asked, and then, your curiosity getting the better of you, you would have peeped in. Such a sight! At the front of the room were four or five rows of young girls, books and pencils in hand, and on the platform stood a gentleman who was evidently their teacher. What were they going to do? Why, take their first lesson in stenography, and you can see from the number of bright and happy faces here to-night, what that first and each succeeding lesson has done for them. Like little children just beginning to spell they began with the alphabet, and step by step, gaining strength and courage, learning everything thoroughly, till at the end of three months, they had laid a foundation upon which whatever followed could securely rest; and, when the mid-winter examination came on (which had all along seemed like a great wall that was insurmountable), they were able to scale it without much difficulty.

But you must not think this goal was reached without many mistakes which were sometimes very disheartening, and sometimes very funny; as you will think when I tell you for the letter H a tick is sometimes used; and one girl slanting this tick the wrong way wrote, “Pale, thou poly king”; and another, who misplaced a vowel, wrote, “I like my live eel boy.” However, these errors only tended to make them more careful, and when they started the speeding course, it served them a good purpose.

At the beginning of this course, they were addressed as “My dear reader,” and told to observe what they were told; then followed some maxims to be laid to heart, and a little dwarf was introduced whose name was “Try.” This little fellow had a way of making every one try to do her best, and those who were unable to do very much at first he encouraged by giving them a helping hand. After a while he left us and in his place stood a very impudent fellow known by those with whom he had had dealings as “I Forgot,” or “I Didn’t Think;” but as soon as we learned his mission, which you probably have guessed, or perhaps know from experience, we discharged him and to secure ourselves from his return, sent the “Careful Dog” after him. Tom’s uncle then gave his opinion on Phonography, but although it had over four hundred words in it, it did not amount to much as some of the girls got it down in less than three minutes.

Soon afterward John Smith received a letter from his brother Timothy Jenkins (this name was given the latter by mistake by one of the girls), about some place in New York State where they could spend a very nice vacation. This place had advantages in the way of fishing and boating, lawn tennis and all the rest; but one of our number, who evidently thought more of good solid comfort, wrote that there were “good furniture and bedding.”

While thinking still of this delightful resort with all its acquisitions, the strong arm of the law suddenly came down upon us and holding out a document to our wondering gaze demanded the name of same. Then was heard a confusion of voices, every one guessing the wrong thing, until one, who thought of course she knew, cried out “Oh, it’s a divorce case!” It was no such thing, however; it was a simple complaint, in which the husband and wife were plaintiffs. We went through the entire pleadings of this case and when finished, took up another and another until now we are not lawyers, but some are able to be stenographers for lawyers, and others amanuenses.

Valedictory

So with the birth of everything we attempt; its beginning is attended with a sort of pleasurable excitement and diligence in the pursuit of the study we have entered upon, which lasts until the novelty begins to wear off. Then comes the time when we find ourselves falling into a rut from which, if we do not try hard to keep up our standard, it will be difficult to extricate ourselves; but, if we summon all our energy and strive to overcome all impediments and will work hard and adopt perseverance as our motto, we shall not fail of success in the end.

Our small army enlisted last October determined to fight against all the obstacles which might present themselves in our journey toward success; and after passing through the hardest and most tedious part of our work,—the mastering of the principles,—we found ourselves confronted by an examination, which loomed up before us like a lofty and rugged mountain, which we knew we must ascend if we would get that broad outlook which we must obtain for the work of the remainder of the term.

Having safely passed that, after a week’s recreation, we again assembled freshly armed to conquer the difficulties of the speeding course. This proved to be the pleasanter part of our work, and, after having spent five months with our teacher in this way, and having passed the final examination, you see here to-night all who have been victorious in the battle.

We came before our leader total strangers to him and to each other, and many happy days have we spent since first we saw his face, and every day has deepened our regard for him for having been so patient with us. When we have been on the brink of despair, he has consoled us with the assurance that better times were coming, and that, if we did not give up but would push ahead and persevere, we would surely succeed.

The “unwearied sun” has performed his daily circuit, sometimes visible, and sometimes hidden by the vapor laden clouds, but right onward, whether seen or unseen, has he gone, and time, that never lingers, has rolled on rapidly and in its flight has brought us to this hour, ere we were aware, and lo! it has already begun to snap the threads which have held us together for the last eight months. Our lives have been speeding with the moments into the never-to-be-forgotten past; but the tie which binds our hearts in Christian love and fellowship death itself cannot sever.

The seeds of stenography, which were cast into our minds at the beginning of our lessons, made their appearance as young and tender shoots when we arrived at the speeding course, and have not only begun to blossom, but also to bear fruit, inasmuch as eight of our number are already holding positions as stenographers and typewriters, and we hope they will soon arrive at full maturity when we have all become experienced shorthand writers. These little plants need the tenderest care and most watchful guidance, for, if neglected ere they are larger grown, and the weeds of careless habits are not rooted out, they will be a source of great trouble and annoyance in the acquiring of speed. How important then that they should be wisely directed!

We have now arrived at the completion of our course here in the capacity of learners; but only to enter an enlarged sphere of action and there employ what we have here been enabled to acquire. Not only have we been learning stenography but have been benefited in a number of other ways; each lesson in its turn had some moral to convey and some new thought to suggest, which, while teaching us some new form of work, and suggesting new ideas, all tended to elevate our minds.

To you, dear members of the G. S. M. & T., are we indebted for enabling us to acquire an honest, well-paying profession, which is aiding so many young women to improve their condition in life, and give substantial assistance to those dependent upon them. To our Instructor are we especially grateful for his thoughtfulness and zeal in imparting instruction, and the affectionate solicitude which he has shown for our welfare; nor would we forget the care bestowed upon us by the Assistant Instructors, who have in many ways supplemented the instruction which we have received from the Superintendent.

To you, dear classmates, I give my parting word of farewell. Often have we met together to study our beloved shorthand, often have the difficulties seemed great enough to overwhelm us; often have our sympathies been aroused by the need of help in one way or another, and now, for the last time, we again assemble at this familiar spot. There can but arise in our breast thoughts of sadness as we take leave of each other, for never again can we meet as the Class of ’90, but while we regret that this is our last evening together, we must bear in mind, that

Introductory Address

Ladies and gentlemen, I come to welcome you in the name of the young ladies of the graduating class. The entertainment this evening, owing to your presence here which is a source of encouragement to them, will show you what they have learned and what they have been doing during the past Winter and Spring, and what we have been doing to help them in the good cause and vocation which they have chosen. Thomas Carlyle once asked this question: “What can a woman do?” Well, I think if Thomas Carlyle was alive to-day and could go through the offices of the merchants and business men and architects and lawyers of this city, he would be willing to confess that at least one profession had been taken possession of by woman. If he could go through the lower part of this city into any of our offices he would look with wonder to see a young lady employed as a typewriter and stenographer, as they almost universally are. In political economy the weakest go to the wall. Well, it is said that they do, but in this case I think they have gone to the front. To illustrate that I will tell you a little experience of my own. Some two or three years ago I went into a gentleman’s office on some business, and made a statement to him. He said, “Stop! I want that taken down.” He called a young man sitting at the desk and said, “Take this statement down.” The stenographer was about six feet tall, built strong proportionately, and he sat down to take my statement. One of the first things that struck me was that it was a pretty light business for a man of his size. The next time I went into that office, the stenographer was again called to take my statement, but it was a young lady this time, instead of that great hulking man. I spoke to my friend about it and he said, “I have a young lady now and I find she does a great deal better than a man. Her work is more perfect; more satisfactory.” In this case the weakest had gone to the wall! The stronger intellect had forced the weaker to the wall.

Now, young ladies, I congratulate you on the success you have attained in the school in your work, and would like to say a few words to you with regard to your future career. When you go into the employment of some merchant, banker or lawyer, recollect one thing, that you are his confidential clerk,—taken into his confidence,—and what you hear there and write there must not be carried out of his door. When you go out, leave it behind you, and you will always be successful. And now, I congratulate you again upon your success here, and hope for a bright future for you and hope you will be successful in the vocation which you have chosen.

Salutatory Address

We welcome you, gentlemen, representatives of the Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen, for, not only desirous of granting us every opportunity to acquire a knowledge of stenography, without expense, you go still further and lend us your presence, which dignifies and adds grace to this happy occasion. We, in return, express our cordial obligations for your favors and philanthropy.

We welcome Mr. Mason, our faithful teacher, and give him heartfelt thanks for his kindness to us as pupils, and the earnest attention he has shown in conducting the school work. We can truthfully say that the success of the class in their studies is due solely to the skill of his instruction.

When we entered upon the inception of our task about eight months ago, contemplation of such a tedious study as stenography had made us somewhat apprehensive of successful consequences, and when, subsequently, we beheld so many curious marks, hooks, loops, spirals and disjointed straights, then, indeed, did alarm seize upon and almost terrorize us. How could we accomplish such an arduous undertaking? We pondered the subject long and well, and, as in all such matters, a solution was arrived at. You will doubtless not be surprised when I say it was application—yes, application, with hard, earnest study as a relative concomitant, which solved the problem. This was the beginning, an auspicious one, you must admit, because, having unraveled the chief skein of difficulty, it seemed to imbue us with increased confidence, and study we did, with intense fervor and earnestness. Thus it continued. Not a careless and desultory endeavor, but one of energetic determination and indefatigable zeal. “Festina Lente,” as the old Romans were wont to say,—“Make haste slowly,”—was our motto, as little by little we gained in acquisition. The curious little dots and dashes which at first seemed so strange and mysterious, soon lost their mystery and ere long a simple acquaintance with them had ripened into a desirable familiarity. The same success attended our efforts at the typewriter. The irregular and heavy sounds which first greeted the ear of the learner, have lost their harshness, and in their turn, as nimble fingers lightly touch the enameled keys, the regularity of the merry ticks, broken only by the gentle ring of the silvery bell, as the cross-bar passes from side to side, partakes almost of melody.

Such has been the past, and to-night the conferring of many diplomas will convince you that our labor has not been in vain. Stenography as a study is not really difficult. The cardinal requisite is practice. Leave the rest to time and the result will not be disappointing. Since those who have studied here this Winter expect to use the knowledge acquired as a means of subsistence, it is a comforting reflection that we can thus earn a livelihood in such a satisfactory and congenial manner, especially when bearing in mind that the majority of young women, who toil in this great metropolis, are constrained to pass long and dreary hours at work which is far less lucrative and much more debilitating and unhealthy. Again, the study of stenography requires constant and critical attention, thereby strengthening the mind and doing away with idle day-dreaming. Mental perception is rendered more acute, as rapid yet steady thinking is continually demanded.

So, after all, now that the labors of the term are over, we may indeed feel satisfied and happy, assured that you are willing to endorse the satisfaction we feel at this happy outcome.

And now, thanking you for the considerate attention you have accorded these words of salutation, we trust that our programme will greatly please you; that at its conclusion you will be happy to offer heartiest congratulations to the Class of ’91.

Address of Rev Chas. S. Harrower, D. D.

So I think that after all the only claim I have to representing this institution is the fact that I have been honored by being associated with the officers, and the teachers, and the graduates of this school a number of seasons in succession, and age is my only claim to honor, for I cannot write stenographically, although I can make some crooked marks, but I do not believe that anybody else could read them after they get cold, because I know I cannot myself. I can some of them, but I mean I cannot read them all. I feel particularly honored to-night upon being given a place upon the platform. I believe this is the very first occasion when the Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen have pushed out from their own ancient hall into the world to give a larger welcome to their constantly growing and most admirable and enviable constituents. I was wondering to-night how many of the young men and of the young women before me here had enjoyed the facilities of this institution in the times past. I am sure they would have to take a hall that would hold six or seven hundred people, who would fill it full just as this place is filled full, and to-night this is just as full as our old hall over home has been during the past five or six years. We should fill anything because if our friends know they can come and get away alive, they will come, but if they think they are going to sweat nearly to death, and be crushed to death, possibly there will a great many of them stay away.

I want to congratulate these young ladies. There is one matter that was referred to in the salutatory this evening,—there is one aspect of your work and of your success to-night that strikes me. Happy is the institution that puts a class of fifty young ladies year after year into the position which those young ladies occupy who have finished their course, and to-night are to receive their diplomas. Oh, I do not wonder, after what I know about life in New York City, and life among women and girls, that your doors are crowded every fall and that you have two, and three, and four times the applicants for the facilities and opportunities of the school that you can possibly accommodate. I do not wonder at it. Why I know a woman 36 years of age with four children whom she is trying to support, and who works eleven hours a day for six days of the week, and barely makes an average of sixty cents a day, and on Saturday night gets six times six or thirty-six,—$3.60 for her week’s toil, and she has been at it till eleven at night, starting soon after six in the morning. Just think of a story like that. Oh, girls, I will call you girls; young ladies, if you had rather be called young ladies, I pray you never forget the sisters and the mothers who are toiling like this. They were just as bright girls, and just as brave girls when they were girls as you are now, and yet life has crowded them down, and I do not know how we are to lift them up, but, by a tremendous concentration of all of our consciences and all our powers, which shall make a public sentiment, that shall look into the sweaters’ hells as much as it looks into the factories, and into the stores, and establishments of men who do not mean to be cruel or more cruel than you are, and I should be, but who, in the tussle and competition of life, are led to take part in a system which is sweating and destroying life which is as brave and worthy as any of theirs. I wish to create a public opinion which shall make these exigencies of toil impossible in our modern life. You and I must do something not only to lift ourselves up, but to help some one else to climb the ladder to better conditions than otherwise they will be led to, and I congratulate you that you have climbed the ladder and have climbed to a better height than that. This institution just helps you all where your future is secure. Do I say too much? Oh! no, daughters and sisters, mind, this institution has helped you to the place where your future is secure. Nothing can take the place of toil. Nothing can take the place of work. The Emperor Severus, when he lay dying at the foot of the Grampian Hills in the old town of York, a stranger who had taken him from the field turned to the men about him, and making a little address emphasized his last words over and over again, saying, “Laboramus, laboramus, laboramus!” We must work, we must work, we must work, he said, and what was true of the Emperor of Rome cannot be untrue of us; is just as true of all. There is nothing done without work, work, work. But you will work. You mean to work. You came here because you were determined to work. You have been working over hours and overtime. You have been overworked some of you, just to get the facilities which this institution and this blessed year of grace can give to you, and you will do it. I know you will be true. It is not for me to repeat what Mr. Barratt said. I know that he told the truth when he said that one of the essential things is fidelity to the confidences which come into your position, through the relation you sustain to your superiors, your employers and your principals.

I know that that is true. I know, too, another thing, and that is, that there will be times when you will feel tired-headed and wish you could rest. Did you ever read about Charles Lamb? You know what beautiful things Charles Lamb wrote. Some of you have read the jolly story of how roast pig was discovered by the young Chinaman. You have read that, and if you ever want a good laugh some time get the essays of Elia and turn to the paper on roast pig, and read it, and you will enjoy it immensely. At last Charles Lamb was released from his duties in the India office, he went home and wrote a letter and said to his friend,—he was so excited with the fact that now he was free,—he said, “For £10,000 I would not labor ten years longer in that old India office. The best thing anybody can do is nothing, and next to nothing, perhaps, go to work.” And he went out to do nothing. He had nothing more to do. Two years after that he says, “Any work is a hundred times better than no work at all. The sun looks down on no forlorner creature than me with nothing to do.”

Toil is necessary, labor is necessary for our happiness, as well as our prosperity. But I do not want you to overwork, and I believe you do wrong when you do. Just for a little while, while you are getting this knowledge, you must be willing perhaps to overwork; do not overwork, do not overstrain yourself. You can break your brains as easily as you can your back, and every now and then you hear of some young fellow who breaks his back. Don’t break your back, and your neck, and your brain, and don’t forget, just for the sake of getting ahead a little faster and making a little more money. Remember that your life and happiness are worth more than a few dollars. I say that because I know that some of you would be tempted to overwork, but I want to say alongside of it, another thing that I believe you cannot forget, and that is this, that there is an element in true life and in true service which dollars do not pay for. There is an element that is higher and finer which we usually think of when we think of the faithful performance of our work, the work allotted to us and the faithful keeping of business secrets that are intrusted to us. There is something finer than that. It would be supposed that the men of the learned profession were the men who work for something beside money. The doctor must respond to a call no matter whether it comes from the poorest home, or the richest home. There is something in the professional relation to society that lifts a man up to a point where he dare not work simply for money. The minister must go, and it makes no difference where the call comes from or what time of the night or day a call comes, and he goes without asking anything about what is to return to him. The lawyer will stand up in court and take a case and plead for it, when there is not a single shilling to come into his hands, because the task is assigned to him. He is a servant of civilized society. So is the medicine man. And it used to be supposed that only professional men were the servants of society, in this high sense that takes them out from a mere consideration of gain. That used to be supposed. But they will not be able to monopolize this high idea. The doctors, and lawyers, and ministers in that respect are just like the rest of you. There is a point for which money cannot be paid you, nor the lack of money release you, it is the putting of your heart into your work, the putting of your interest into your work, the putting of your words into your work, and doing your work not simply as long as men’s eyes are on you, but doing your work faithfully, to the best of your ability, as long as you receive a man’s money and as long as you hold relations of obligation to him. There is that which money does not pay for. There is that element of the highest profession in all services, whether it be a woman with the needle or a typewriter, or whether it be the stenographer, or whether it be the mechanic in the house,—if he does his work as he ought to do it he will put something into it that he does not expect to be paid for. He will put something into it for which he is to be paid in the improved condition of life and the benefit that he has done to humanity. Humanity is to pay him, and not his employer, not in gold but in goodness, in virtue, in worthy services, he is to get his pay. Put your heart into your work. Join the learned professions, if you please, by being not only true and faithful but by being hearty and conscientious and faithful at every point in your business life.

And now I have said all that I ought to say but I cannot avoid saying that one word more. You remember when Sir Walter Scott lay dying, he called his son-in-law to his bedside and said, “I may not have a minute or two in which to speak to you my dear, be virtuous, be religious, be a good man. Nothing else will be any comfort to you when you are lying where I am lying now.”

Be virtuous, be religious. Be good women always and bless your associates. Be faithful in your accomplishments. Be useful in your services. Be proud of every achievement that you can make, but above all fear God and in this way live close to the Christ himself who lived not for what should come to Him, but for the blessing which should come to the worthy.

A Class History

From the time of the creation to the present day, everything that has ever existed has had a history. Every leaf and tree and blooming flower, each have theirs; that sky-lark soaring high in the sunny blue sky has a history, and, as it pours forth a sweet melody, how the air vibrates with the gladsome song! Even that tiny spray of hare-bells clinging tenaciously to a cleft in the rugged rocks, over which the foaming mountain torrent leaps and dashes, has its own little history. So has the torrent itself. It began away back among the snow-capped hills, and at first was only a tiny stream, but, joined by other courses, and swollen with the melting snows and spring rains, it has become a foaming, dashing mountain stream, plunging headlong over rocks and forming many a pretty cascade and sparkling waterfall. Now it runs deeply and swiftly through some dark cañon, and now, emerging into broad sunlight, and flowing peacefully through green meadows, it gives refreshment to the ferns and rushes along its banks, and to many a little songster. So it flows on and on until it reaches the friendly arms of the sea, outstretched to receive it.

The Class of ’91 is no exception to the general rule which governs all Nature. The history of this class began last October; it is thus just eight months old. Its diet up to the present time has consisted chiefly of Phonographic outlines, well seasoned and flavored with vowels and grammalogues, and served á la Pitman. And, in the words of Abraham Lincoln, we say, “For those who like that kind of diet, why it’s just the kind of diet they like.”

From the time of the commencement of the class, we have been climbing, climbing, up the steep and rugged paths of Phonography. We began our ascent from the base, and while traveling up the foot-hills, our guide explained to us something of the nature of the ascent, and brought us into contact with some very amusing incidents.

The road for the most part was straight, but as we progressed we found ourselves following our guide around curves, and sometimes even around and around in circles. At first we looked about us a good deal, thought it would not be so very hard climbing after all, and so gradually accustomed ourselves to it. We found that we could accomplish more and more each day, and the higher we climbed the more invigorating grew the air.

One day we had been toiling up a long steep hill which some one suggested was like the Hill Difficulty. We struggled up its steep sides, weary and travel-stained, discouraged, but not ready to give up, and at each step plunging in our mountain canes, which were black, sharpened at both ends, and labeled “Faber No. 2.” Soon we heard a cheery halloa, and looking up saw a tiny little man standing at the top of a hill. “That’s Mr. Try,” said our guide, “he is one of the best people in this mountain. If any one is in trouble, wearied, discouraged, and just about to give up, then is the time you may depend on Try. He comes with words of consolation, and with his bright cheery talk so convinces his poor broken down fellow-beings of future success, that they get up and begin to depend on ‘Try again.’”

Soon we began to notice signs on the trees along our road. One was, “Wash tubs and window-sash, vinegar, putty, pails and glass.” Another, “Two boys to let for the Summer.” This was interesting, and we hurried along in hopes of seeing the author of these strange signs, for our guide told us he was the queerest man in that section of the country. Soon we came to his house and found it fairly bristling with signs. Curiosity overcame us and we stopped in and asked for a drink of water. The object of our curiosity was leaning his elbow on the mantel. He had long hair and was greatly stooped. We found his wife very talkative, and when she found out who we were, began to tell us about the Deed of their Property. “When we were married,” she began in a high nasal voice, “Chauncy’s father gave him a clear title to this place; and after Chauncy’s death it is to go back to the old homestead again.” Then she took us through his work-shop where he manufactured the articles displayed on his signs.

Next we came across another dwarf, just the opposite of Try, our guide said. He was always up to some sort of mischief, and his greatest delight was to get other people into trouble. The country people had long wished to be rid of him but he had a long lease of his house and he meant to stay there. He was a homely little elf, with bright red hair, a slight squint in one eye and a wart on his nose. If a lesson had not been prepared, this fellow, who was called “I Forgot,” was sure to be on hand in time to whisper into the ear of the culprit, “Say ‘I Didn’t Think’ or ‘I Forgot,’” and the minute she opened her mouth, out it would come and then the wicked elf would “fold his tent like the Arabs and silently steal away” to parts unknown, with a fiendish grin on his ugly little face leaving his dejected victim to receive a well-merited rebuke for carelessness. This dwarf followed us for many days, but heeding the repeated warnings of our guide, most of us at length learned to distrust him and turn a deaf ear to his excuses. Thus we struggled on and on up the steep sides of the mountain, and at the close of each day, we realized that, “Something attempted, something done, had gained a night’s repose,” for us, although we didn’t always get it.

And now we were nearing the end of our journey, our hopes ran high and we kept our eyes upward toward the summit. The obstacles which had continually beset our path had been overcome, and we could say like the Irishman, who, on capturing three prisoners in the late war, was asked how he secured them: “Indade, sir,” replied he with a knowing wink, “it’s meself that surrounded them, sir.”

At last we reach our destination in time to just view the sunrise. The grass is green, the flowers are all in bloom, Spring is here. The faint gray streaks of the dawn are in the sky and soon the whole East is suffused with a roseate flush. There is a hush of expectancy in the air, the breeze is soft, the birds are twittering drowsily in the tree-tops, and then in a flood of golden splendor “the morning sun comes peeping over the hills.” Instantly all nature is alive, the birds pour forth their sweet melodies, the drowsy hum of the bees floats lazily on the air; there is a pleasant rustling among the tall swaying pines. Dew-drops glisten on the grass, the flowers nod gayly in the morning breeze, and we feel like singing:

The new day has begun, and we have witnessed one of the finest views in Nature’s kaleidoscope; for what could be more beautiful than the dawn! So are our lives just at this time. The air is full of hope and promise; so are we. We are just in the Springtime of our lives; our hopes, our aims, our aspirations are all as fresh and unsullied as the morn itself.

Now, in the dewy freshness of the early morning, we see that we are on a broad table-land, and not on the summit of the mountain as we had fondly hoped. We notice paths running in all directions,—some go straight to the top of the mountain, others stop at different places along the route. Only the future can decide which path each shall take. We have a grand field of labor before us, in this hill of knowledge which we have been traversing for the past eight months. There are still rich and undiscovered resources of knowledge, which, brought to the light, would make the art a perfect one and us perfect in it. Now it is time for us to separate. Some of the more ambitious of us will, by dint of hard and unremitting labor, reach the pinnacle of our hopes.

Others, less ambitious, will be content to spend their days in the peaceful valleys of quiet usefulness. But, before we separate, let us each resolve that we will never, by act or word, do anything which might reflect discredit on this Association, to the members of which we owe a debt of gratitude which we can never hope to repay except by doing our very best, and so bring honor upon those who have done so much for us and upon the Institution which they uphold.

The Class of ’91 is now like the waves of the sea:

Here endeth the simple annals of the Class of ’91.

Class Poem

Address of Mr. Henry Moore

Of course, it is not expected that the representatives of the School Committee will have very much to say. You have listened very attentively to all that has been already said, and I think that the ground has been still further covered in what has already been said. It may not be known to all present that this Society, merging community of interest at the time when the camp fires of the Revolution had just burned out, associated themselves together for mutual protection and for one another’s general good. It was to relieve the unfortunate, the widow and the orphan that brought together the great mechanic minds of the past, and all a-down the past century we can find that they have always been ready, always been anxious, always been willing to lend the hand of kindness and attention to those whom they found in need, to assist, to protect and to care for. Robinson, in one of his poems, has said, “Who will break the bread of sorrow? Who will give the cup of sympathy? Who breathe of sympathy to those who are suffering, and relieve with the cup of sympathy the sorrowing ones of earth?” I do not think I have quoted that exactly, but it has been the motto of this Society ever to protect those who needed their protection; to care for those who needed their care and their bounty, and to-night we find the result of this care and protection, in the graduates of the Class of ’90-’91. I leave this matter with you for reflection. We all know and realize what it is to be a member of the General Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen, and I, for one, am thankful to be able to say to you in hearty welcome and in hearty greeting that the evidences are now before you of the well-being, and the comfort, and the joy, and the happiness of the graduates of the Class of ’90-’91.

Valedictory