[A]Das ist im Leben haslich eingerichtet,
Das Bei den Rosen gleich die Dornen stehn;
Und was das arme Herz auch sehnt und dichtet,
Zum Schlusse kommt das Voneinandergehen.
The words of the poet are but too true. What rose does not hold up its pretty, fragrant head, feigning unconsciousness of the thorns hidden beneath its bright, green leaves? And just so life’s joys are with its sorrows associated. There never was a perfectly happy day, unclouded as the skies of June, for every pleasure, inasmuch as it must end, carries with it some sadness—every meeting, the pain of parting.
So to-night the joyous echo of “welcome” is still to be heard, the fragrance of its roses is yet perceptible, when the solemn “Farewell” rings upon our ears and its thorns pierce our hearts.
Ruskin says, “It is a type of eternal truth that the soul’s armor is never well set to the heart, unless a woman’s hand has braced it, and it is only when she braces it loosely that the honor of manhood fails.” If then, the honor of the world is dependent upon woman, if she is to be responsible for all war and all peace, happiness or discontent, it behooves us to consider the greatness, amounting to almost awe, of the duty imposed upon us. Our task may, perhaps, be a difficult one, but not if we seize it with an unyielding grasp, and fight it to the bitter end—“to the last syllable of recorded time”—if need be.
Our circle of usefulness is constantly widening. The doors of colleges, and thus those of every profession, have opened to admit us within their sacred precincts. In all parts of the world our sisters are successful as musicians, painters, sculptors—Harriet Hosmer, for example—physicians, professors, stenographers. Many of them are now on the highest rounds of the ladders from which their lack of superior education formerly excluded them. This is especially true of stenography. Yet some one has recently written, that, owing to their superior tact in arrangement, their neatness, their unobtrusiveness, their faithfulness, and numerous other excellent qualities, the demand for women in this capacity is steadily increasing. We find them filling lucrative positions in banking, commercial and publishing houses; in brokers’ and insurance offices, in law firms, in fact, in every place where the haste of this nineteenth century requires a stenographer’s speed. Indeed, they have made for themselves, in the use of the “wingéd words,” a name which it is our duty to assist in more firmly establishing.
In behalf of my classmates, as well as for myself, I wish to thank our Instructor most cordially for his thorough teaching; for the interest he awakened in us toward this intricate art, without which we would have long since been compelled to cry “Vanquished;” for his timely assistance over the sharp pointed stones and by the brier bushes in the darkened forest, and for his patience which our forgetfulness so sorely tried. And, though our words of gratitude may be weak, the feeling is deep-rooted in our hearts, and through the years to come we shall carry with us many pleasant memories of the hours spent with him, and never fail to appreciate his more than kindness.
The neat typewritten exercises, letters and legal documents, which the members of the typewriting class have at different times shown us, are an earnest of the work done in that department, and we can have no doubt that his pupils feel grateful to their teacher.
The School Committee, indeed all the members of the G. S. M. & T., have our heartiest thanks for their kindness in enabling so many to gain a profession, and for the interest they have always manifested in our welfare.
One word of “Farewell” to my classmates: During the past Winter, while studying together, many of us have formed strong friendships, which we hope shall never decay, or have bound more closely those who were friends before. Several of the more fortunate have already obtained positions, making profitable use of the treasures received from our Instructor. But the others need not despair, for if we are faithful and determined we shall in due time receive our call, and “In quiet and in confidence shall be our strength,” perfection shall be our aim, and when we have reached the goal, may it be said of us, as Antony said of Brutus:
“Nature might stand up and say to all the world,
‘This was a man.’”
In our journey through life, when doubts fall thick and fast around us, and the lowering sky seems just above our heads, surely these beautiful words of Goethe will fill us with encouragement:
“Wouldst thou win desires unbounded?
Yonder see the glory burn,
Lightly is our life surrounded,
Sleep’s a shell to scorn and spurn,
When the crowd sways unbelieving,
Slow the daring will that warns,
He is crowned with all achieving
Who perceives and then performs.”
Know All Men By These Presents, that I, having departed this life, have received permission from Pluto, King of the Shades, to return to this world and make known to you, less fortunate mortals, your destiny. While lounging idly on the banks of the “River of Oblivion,” the sovereign of that sunless region permitted me to read in his “Book of Life.” Listlessly turning over the pages I saw a name in bold characters: “W. L. Mason, City, County and State of New York.” Then the pages began to turn of their own accord and the names of my former friends and acquaintances, inter alia, presented themselves in rapid succession.
Mary A. Moore and her husband; John Williamson; our well-known pugilistic friend, John L. Sullivan; a “hen-pecked” Bostonian, and others.
As I read a dim mist seemed to come from the river, causing the words to fade; bona fide pictures arose in their stead.
First. In the famous city of Kroy Wen, stood a large pagoda, on which was emblazoned the startling legend: “College of Stenography, W. L. Mason, President.” At this hour the college doors were open and within could be seen the bulletin of the staff; it was, the President, the right honorable W. L. Mason, D. D., assisted by his able corps of instructors, the professors Massie and Shaughnessy, the latter by their punctuality and the sweet temper of the former, being of the utmost assistance to him. Et signiture was the course.
First Term. Lecture on the Principles of Shorthand, together with practical lessons in disorder, untidiness, negligence, forgetfulness and carelessness, all thoroughly taught in three months more or less.
Second Term. Practice in misapplying all that you have learned, with a view to writing as illegibly and slowly as possible.
Third Term. Literature, the reading of Mother Goose Rhymes in shorthand, and the writing of dime novels for the literature of the 20th century.
The Right Honorable President, as hereinbefore mentioned, is old and decrepit, unable to keep order in his classes, and therefore always carries with him a jumping rope, the handles of which he uses on the knuckles of his unruly pupils, while the rope itself brings to him recollections of his youthful days when it was used for the legitimate purpose for which it was manufactured.
Second. Now the panorama changes and shows a lady of medium height, fair, slight and happy. She walks through one of the crowded streets of Kroy Wen, handing to the passers by circulars which read as follows:
“To the People of the City of Kroy Wen,
“Greeting:
“I beg to notify the public that the first issue of my new paper,—Wit,—will be ready in two weeks and I hereby guarantee to the said public that it will afford amusement, entertainment and instruction, with a special column devoted to Phonography.
“In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal, the day and year last above written.
Signed, “C. Cellpur.”
Third. A revolution had evidently taken place in England; the people were clamoring for Constitutional Government. Discussions were loud and prolonged in the “House of Lords.” In the latter, on one of the front benches, sat the stenographer who had been admonished on her life to write the turbulent speeches verbatim. She was our dear friend, Miss Rhythm.
Fourth. An imposing publishing house in the city of Not Sob, which city is noted for its cultured inhabitants. Small boys were placing on the doors and windows of said publishing house, the same to remain thereon without hindrance or molestation, large notices which bore this inscription: “Our most recent publication is a book written by Miss N. Murphie. It is important as a work of art and is an authority on all topics of etiquette, especially as regards language. The cultured inhabitants of Not Sob cannot afford to lose this opportunity of making themselves more familiar with those refinements of speech which have long marked them as the most cultured people in the land.”
Then I saw what seemed to be an illegal document purporting to be a marriage settlement, in which Mrs. Ocean is wisely having her property settled upon herself, mindful of the time when she learned that “What’s hers is his, and what’s his isn’t hers.”
Fifth. A convention of the Woman’s Rights Association. The hall is crowded. Several determined looking women who have already addressed the meeting are on the platform. The audience is breathlessly awaiting the appearance of what Edward Everett Hale calls “A Hen’s Right Hen.” She is at length presented, her remarks are interspersed with legal terms; evidently some part of the training has been at the F. S. & T. C. of the G. S. M. & T. Her talk is upon the uselessness of the male sex and the applause is loud and enthusiastic. Her face and manner are very familiar, and looking at the programme I see that the initials of her name spell H. E. M. P.
Sixth. A copy of the “Post and Lightning;” it is yellow with age. It had probably been handed down from generation to generation as a precious heirloom. The column containing the marriage notices is folded outward, and one marked with blue pencil reads:
“Wolf—Lamb. Mr. F. Wolf to Miss M. Lamb, both of the State of Kroy Wen, May 25th, 912, at the home of the bride.”
“The Wolf had devoured the Lamb.”
I beg of you all just a little time
In which to attend to this dear class of mine.
Dear Tuesday night girls you should all have a prize,
And it makes me feel sad, and tears dim my eyes
When I think that for most of you I have no prize.
But a dear little “tot” in this class doth belong
Whose euphonious cognomen is Margaret Armstrong,
If she will come forward, I gladly will give
A prize she can cherish as long as she’ll live.
And here is another for Nellie J. Bell,
Whose sweet resonant tones you all know so well;
Come hither, dear Nellie, a friend greets you now,
Here, take this small package and make a large bow,
While I tell your dear classmates, with smiles all serene,
That soon you will rival the renowned Lawyer Green.
Ah! here is another, it seems to be round,
I wonder for which of the class it is bound.
It may be intended for some gentle “myth”
But no, my dear friends, it is meant for Miss Smith,
Who’ll take the world easy wherever she is,—
Will she take it this evening and smile as she does?
Here’s something else before we pass on
For our dear kind teacher, Mr. W. L. Mason,
For oft have I seen the briny tear start
To his bright kindly eyes, while my classmates so smart
Were kept waiting, while I tried to write like the chart.
In these days of model schools it is difficult to find an innovation or to advance a theory of improvement which has not already been made; but it seems to me there is one crying grievance from which all schools suffer, and which I should like to do my little mite to redress. My ideal of a school-master is the one in the opera of “Billy Taylor.” His creed is summed up in the quatrain.
“When a pedagogue, I’d often wish,
I’d give prizes to the worst boys at school.
The good boys I would like to swish,
But alas! I would not break the rule.”
Since the pleasant duty of awarding prizes has fallen to my lot, I am determined to award them according to my theory, and lest my reasons for bestowing them may not be perfectly clear to all, and the system of reasoning by which my results are attained appear somewhat illogical, I will endeavor to explain my reasons.
What, for instance, can be more absurd than the usual way in which the prize is chosen for the individual obtaining the highest per cent. in an examination? What, forsooth, is awarded but a collection of books!!! Yes! To the very person who is supposed to know all that books contain! It would be much more logical to my thinking to give the aforesaid set of books to a poor plucked student who would be so glad to avail himself of a little of their weighty contents.
For, and in consideration of the aforesaid reason, and for other valuable consideration, I hereby assign, transfer and set over unto you, my dear Miss Reidy, this little volume. It may seem small, but believe me therein is comprised a respectable proportion of human knowledge. It will be your consolation in time of need. In it you will find every thing a mortal mind may desire. Do you desire wealth? You will find it described on all that certain lot, piece or parcel of column 2, situate, lying and being on page 303. Or perhaps happiness is your aim? That you will find near the southeast corner of page 133, the same being therein described as the State of Enjoyment.
In short, you will have no wish unfulfilled. Go, read ye and be wise, and however friends may forsake you, be sure this faithful Dict. will never fail you.
Another striking injustice in the bestowal of prizes is the fact the teachers get none of them, and who, pray, is more entitled to them? Is it not the teacher who has crammed and coached the unfortunate students to the saturation point? Now, in my model school, no such injustice shall be done, but, what to offer? There’s the question. Of course a teacher’s mind is a compendium of all human knowledge, therefore books would be out of place. So, Mr. Mason, to you I offer no gaudy volume, but only this little machine, adapted for physical culture. It is warranted to exercise every one of the blank muscles of the human body at once; besides cultivating the artistic taste. Note the graceful curve it describes in the air! Note the harmony of color in the handles! Take it, dear teacher, to have, to possess, and to enjoy the same unto yourself, your heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns forever.
Another striking incongruity is the fact that the best student is generally a pale, slender girl, or one on which the ravages of disease have set their mark. To this delicate creature is given a prize of books which will still further tax her powers. Now, would it not be wiser to minister to the body diseased and award a prize of this nature. Will Miss Hilda Busick step this way? Permit me to ask you one question. Be you sick? That is all I wish to know. Be you sick? If that be so, dear friend, take this in time. It is warranted to cure every ill under the sun, and taken internally or externally makes no difference. Take it, and bless your fortunate star which brought this to your lot rather than a pile of dusty volumes.
For you, dear Miss Clancy, I was at a loss, but knowing that your future career will be a busy one, I thought this little engagement slate might be handy. You see you can hang it up in your office when you are called away to take down a sermon of Phillips Brooks, or to report the World’s Fair of ’92, and the horde of stenographer-hunters may subscribe their names here and their humble supplication that you will attend to them on their return. The other side of the slate may be used in casting up bills.
I quite agree with Miss Sharp that patriotic sentiments ought to be inculcated, and for this reason I have chosen this little flag of our country which I beg she will accept; accompanying it is a little bundle of fire-crackers dear to every patriotic heart. The best way to appreciate them is to tie them together with their fuming little projecting frizzles, set fire to the last one and throw them on the street; the result will astonish you, I am sure.
And now, my dear friends, you have seen the merits of my system, but it is with pain that I point out its only defect. I give prizes to the worst ones at school, the only trouble is there are so few “worst” that the list of prize-winners is naturally small. But I hope you will acknowledge that its defect is amply compensated for by its other excellencies.
Listen my friends, and you shall hear
A dreadful poem which I have here.
’Tis about the class of ’91,
And a harrowing tale when once begun.
A tale that will make you all shiver and shake;
The thought of it now is making me quake.
’Tis a tale of struggle and grief and woe,
Of the girls who wrote fast, and the girls who wrote slow,
Of girls who came early, of girls who came late,
Of those who had plenty, others, none to dictate.
Of the girls who held pencils as if they were pills,
Of others, who held them as if they had chills.
Of the dear darling girls who did everything (write) right,
Of other unfortunates weeping all night,
Oh! indeed, my dear friends, ’twas a terrible sight.
Of a dear kindly teacher who came every night,
And who stayed long after the electric light,
Of the class in a circle the teacher around,
While he watched every outline, and heard every sound.
And the five minutes recess to catch the fresh air.
Of return to the circle and “catching” it there;
Of the girls who can stand up and read as they’d write.
Of others who couldn’t if they stood up all night;
Ah! yes indeed, ’twas a pitiful plight.
Of Complaints and of Answers, of Leases and Deeds;
Of all kinds of letters for business men’s needs;
Of good sound advice as we all neared the end,
From our dear kind Instructor, who is “also our friend.”
Of that dread Monday eve which had long been expected;
Of the papers accepted, and the papers rejected.
Of this beautiful calm which has followed that night;
And I’m sure that my teachers and classmates unite
In thanking Class ’90 for this pleasant sight.
Hail! To our friends, both one and all,
Hail! To our neighbors, great and small,
Hail! To the sweet June air and sun,
Hail! To the Class of ’91.
For the past eight months we’ve been working,
Working with might and main,
To get Phonographic outlines
Fixed firmly in our brains.
But now our work is ended,
Our Winter’s work is done;
Then hip hurrah, hurrah, hurrah,
For the Class of ’91!
And we smile as we think of the hours
That we thought so fraught with pain;
They have gone like the fleeting shadows,
N’er to return again.
And now we can sit in our cosy homes,
And watch the drizzling rain;
It used to be, “Put up your umbrella
And don’t you miss the train.”
I was seated one night, with book and pen,
The midnight oil burned low;
While on the table spread before me lay,
A legal doc. with verbiage slow.
When all at once on the still night air,
Rang a terrible shriek, so wild and shrill,
It curdled the warm blood in my veins,
And made my very heart stand still.
I rushed to the casement, and open it flew
The pale moon shone in the azure sky,
And like costly gems, ’neath a cloud of lace,
Gleamed the stars in the Milky Way.
And I looked and shuddered,
For what did I see,
But Thomas and Maria a lookin’ at me,
Their voices were pitched in the high key of C.
Classmates, now step to the front,
And make your bow to the business world,
We are ready to work for honest hire,
With our banners all unfurled.
And now in conclusion we bid you adieu
And make room for the Class of ’92.
Now give three cheers, and three times three
For this glorious G. S. M. & T.
God’s blessing be on it forever, we say,
May it know naught but prosperous days.
My Dear Pupils:
This is the last night of our course, and since we have studied our final lesson together, it has occurred to me that this would be a good opportunity for a little talk with you, as you are about to leave this school and go out into the world. First of all, I want to tell you, as I have many times told you before, how very much I have enjoyed my work in connection with this class during the past Winter. There is a certain satisfaction in feeling that I have been able to help you to learn something, and this feeling is increased by remembering that I, too, have been learning, and that my knowledge of the art of shorthand has been enlarged by teaching it to you. You, on the other hand, must keep in mind the fact that you have not learned all there is to be learned about Phonography. Though you may live many years, and practice Phonography all your life, you probably never will feel that you have a perfect knowledge of all the details of the art. This, however, need not discourage you, but, on the contrary, should fill you with pleasure to think there is something yet to be learned, and thus the fascination which the study of Phonography has had for you during the past few months, can never diminish so long as you have a desire to advance more and more towards perfection. It is not to be expected that you will for any length of time remember everything that I have ever said to you with regard to the advantages of shorthand or its practical use; but of one thing I feel very sure, and that is that whatever I have said that is worth anything will at some future time recur to you when you need it most, and when it will probably be better understood than it is now.
There is one fact that I wish very strongly to impress upon you, namely, that you have, by your diligent study of the past Winter, gained something which is of priceless value to you, and, if used aright, something which must some day, sooner or later, prove of particular advantage. This practical knowledge of shorthand which you now possess is something which cannot be bought or sold; it is something which you can never wholly forget; it is something which many persons would give a great deal to obtain; and I therefore charge you to guard it with care, and treasure it as a talent for the right use of which you will some day be held accountable. Do not by any means give up your practice. Even if you cannot continue it regularly, do not abandon it altogether, but look upon your shorthand as a mine of intellectual wealth which, if rightly worked, will yield rich results.
And now, one word more: be diligent, be persevering, be true to whatever trust is reposed in you; and, if you seek a reward outside of the natural satisfaction that will come from work well done, remember the word of One who said, “Thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things.”
With hearty congratulations upon your success, and with the most cordial wishes for your future prosperity, I bid you God-speed.
’Tis said, alas, that life must have its sorrows,
That with the roses cruel thorns should grow;
And though we fondly dream of love’s to-morrows,
Must every heart the grief of parting know.
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the authors’ words and intent.