_Class of '91._
It affords me much pleasure to greet you this evening, and, on behalf
of my classmates, to extend to all a sincere and hearty welcome.
No presence is more inspiring than that manifested in the attendance
of friends at such exercises as these. Truly it is a deep source of
gratification to us, for, as we gaze into the many kindly faces before
us, we are conscious that it is unqualified evidence of the loyal
interest taken in our work, and a full appreciation of our past
efforts.
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.
_To the Class of '91._
Mr. Chairman, Ladies of the Class of '91 and Friends: I almost feel as
if I were one of the graduates of this institution, I have been here a
number of years now. But one thing that puzzles me is how I should go
to work to report these speeches, and, really, a moment or two ago I
thought the young ladies were engaged in taking down the music. And I
should not be surprised if they after a little while would be able to
take music down stenographically and write it out on the typewriter
and perhaps, by some modification of their skill, evolve it into tune
again. I know that they can talk musically, because we just heard some
beautiful music talked by one of them and I know that she is a
representative of the class.
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 L10,000 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.