Then I saw what seemed to be an illegal doc.u.ment 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 a.s.sociation. 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 s.e.x 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."

Verses

READ BY MISS CARRIE R. PURCELL, UPON AWARDING PRIZES TO THE MEMBERS OF HER SECTION, TUESDAY EVENING, JUNE 2ND, '91.

I beg of you all just a little time In which to attend to this dear cla.s.s 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 cla.s.s 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 cla.s.smates, 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 cla.s.s 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 pa.s.s 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 cla.s.smates so smart Were kept _waiting_, while I tried to write like the chart.

Address

OF MISS ELLEN M. PHILLIPS, UPON AWARDING PRIZES TO THE MEMBERS OF HER SECTION, TUESDAY EVENING, JUNE, 2ND, '91.

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 a.s.sign, 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 ent.i.tled 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 a.s.signs 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.

A Tale of Woe

BY MISS CARRIE R. PURCELL.

(_Read on Cla.s.s Night, Tuesday, June 2, 1891._)

Listen my friends, and you shall hear A _dreadful_ poem which I have here.

'Tis about the cla.s.s 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 cla.s.s 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 cla.s.smates unite In thanking Cla.s.s '90 for this pleasant sight.

Verses Read on Cla.s.s Night

BY MISS NELLIE J. BELL.