_Class of '89._
Last Fall sixty girls, accompanied by a trusty guide, started on an
exploring tour through the wilderness of stenography. We had been told
by those who had visited this region, that the way was dark, the road
thorny, and the pleasures but few; but nothing daunted, we set out,
anxious to prove these assertions false.
Like all travelers about to enter upon strange and novel scenes, we
started upon this journey with eager eyes, and minds full of
expectancy. Following closely in the footsteps of our leader, we
approached the enchanted forest. The entrance was guarded by great
trees, which seemed to extend, as far as the eye could see, in one
long avenue, and we were surprised to find, upon coming nearer, that
the forest which at first appeared to be but a heterogeneous mass of
stems, was set out and arranged in the most orderly and symmetrical
manner, and we saw that we should be enabled to find our way about
much more easily than we had at first feared. In accordance with our
guide's directions, we began jotting down in our memory tablets the
names of the different trees, and the peculiarities of each. Certain
kinds occurred so often that we soon became familiar with them, and
long before we turned into new pathways, we had mastered the names
of them all. As we left the main avenue of first principles, we
encountered more trees, but so arranged in brilliant foliage and
curious blossoms that we almost failed to recognize them. We listened
in wonder while our guide unfolded to us the beauty of each bud and
leaf; how patiently he traced every vein of the leaf, and every petal
of the flower, until our eyes, too, were opened to their beauty so
that we could appreciate and discern the difference between them,
notwithstanding that they possessed great similarity. This comparative
sameness caused us no little trouble, however, at first, for ever and
anon, owing to early lack of training in concentration of mind, we
were prone to get them confused, and often mistake one for the other.
Here again the memory tablets were brought into requisition, and it
seemed as though they fairly expanded under the influence of our
pencils, so eager were we to absorb all the knowledge possible. As the
lover of nature, by constant association with the flowers, the trees,
and the shrubs, learns in time the name of each, so we learned, by
loving the study of our strange plants, to recognize them at sight.
But we were not left to wander at our own sweet wills. Having
thoroughly familiarized ourselves with the details and orderly
arrangement of this wonderful forest, and having stopped for awhile to
review our progress, we were led into new paths where, though there
were many obstructions and apparently insurmountable obstacles, we
could at least see the beginning of the end of our journey.
Here, too, sign posts greeted us on many sides, but none were so
alluring as that which bore the legend, "Slow and sure." This accorded
perfectly with our ideas, and we would fain have rested awhile, and
gazed on the comforting words, had not our guide pointed out to us the
necessity for advance, and described the pleasures which were still to
come, which, if we chose that as a perpetual motto, we should never
enjoy.
As if to give emphasis to his words, a little dwarf, whose name was
"Try," met us at this juncture; and by his bright example urged us on
to greater tasks. But alas! there were so many weary hearts waiting
for his cheery countenance that he was forced ere long to leave us.
Scarce had he gone when his enemy, a misshapen gnome, called "I
Forgot," sprang up in our path, and by many devices, sought to undo
the good work of "Try." Finding this impossible, he, too, soon
departed, but his injured lordship, not caring to retire utterly
defeated, left his first cousin, "I Didn't Mean To," to pester and
annoy us throughout our journey.
Ere long the sound of running water attracted our attention, and
eagerly we hastened to bathe our faces in a refreshing stream "which
ran down the side of a hill," only to draw back in terror as we saw
a poor, meek lamb devoured by a ravenous wolf who had come to the
brook-side to drink. Thereafter it seemed as if the wolves had special
designs on the lambs at this season, for whenever our travels led us
near the creek we were forced to be unwilling spectators to these
tragic scenes.
Here and there along the bank we had noticed little pebbles which our
Instructor told us were called, in the language of this country,
"Grammalogues," and some of which, attracted by their uniqueness, we
had gathered. We were obliged to label and memorize each one, until
it seemed as though the tablet would not hold another word, and the
memory pouch would break under the weight of, what seemed to us,
heavy, worthless stones. But after being polished with the emery of
practice, the pebbles grew lighter, and seemed to lose their dull
color, and assume a sparkling brilliancy.
How often since have they appeared as bright jewels in our pathway,
when, with pencil flying over the page, we have fully realized the
fact, that however lenient Old Father Time may seem to be to others,
he has no mercy for stenographers.
After becoming somewhat acquainted with our surroundings that we might
be able fully to realize every snare and pitfall, we were taught to
begin to walk alone. What weak, tottering, childish steps they were.
How often our eyes would wander to the face of our guide, as if to
implore his help. But he, knowing it was for our good, would simply
encourage us instead of rendering the longed for assistance, and we
were thus compelled to walk or fall.
But when the nervous feeling had somewhat worn off, and each step
became more firm, with what expressions of delight we proclaimed the
tidings that we could at least _stand_ alone, and how pleased he
seemed at our successes. And then with watchful care was pointed out
to us the necessity of removing every obstacle from our path so
that our progress should not be retarded. We carefully heeded the
instruction, and as a fallen bough or a moss-covered trunk of some old
"snag" barred our onward march, we brought all our strength to bear
and remove it to a place of safety, so that our weary feet should not
be caused to trip over it again. And truly we _were_ weary, while
the promised land seemed still afar off. How hard the road appeared
can only be realized by those who have trodden it.
A great mountain, like Bunyan's Hill Difficulty, soon rose before us,
and we were told that we must reach its summit, before the view toward
which our eyes had been ever turning would burst upon our sight. Here
we were joined by a crowd of people, some clamoring for land, which
they claimed had been willed to them by those who had long since
joined the great majority; others quibbling over deeds and warranty
deeds, some of which particularly attracted our attention, on
account of their great length and useless verbiage; and others with
complaints and actions at law, until our eyes were opened, and we
realized, as never before, that strife is more prevalent in the world
than peace.
But hard work and that perseverance which we believe is the surest
road to success have at length conquered all obstacles. And now,
having left behind the clamor and the strife, we stand on the summit
of the mountain that has so recently seemed as though it could not be
climbed.
And here we rest awhile and look backward. The roads with their
winding turns are no longer new, and eyes moisten as we think of the
old but true saying:
"The path that has once been trod,
Is never so hard to the feet;
And the lessons we once have learned,
Are never so hard to repeat."
We will not be called upon to walk in those paths again, but when we
meet the familiar faces of our companions we will live over in memory
the now seemingly short weeks of our journey.
But let us look also before us. We have penetrated the forest, we have
gathered bright gems, we have climbed the mountain height, and now we
stand ready to cast our boats adrift upon the ocean of life.
In what waters they shall glide we know not, but can only trust that
in that great day of gatherings, all our craft may be moored in the
harbor of peace! These thoughts bring to our minds the well known
words of our beloved poet Longfellow:
Like unto ships far off at sea,
Outward or homeward bound are we;
Before, behind, and all around,
Floats and swings the horizon's bound,
Seems at its distant rim to rise
And climb the crystal wall of the skies,
And then again to turn and sink,
As if we could slide from its outer brink.
Ah, it is not the sea;
It is not the sea that sinks and shelves,
But ourselves that rock and rise
With endless and unweary motion,
Now touching the very skies,
Now sinking into the depths of ocean;
Ah! if our souls but poise and swing,
Like the compass in its brazen ring,
Ever level and ever true
To the toil and the task that we have to do,
We shall sail securely, and safely reach
The fortunate isles, on whose shining beach
The sights we see, the sounds we hear,
Will be those of joy and not of fear.