GIFT OF 
 Class of 1887 
 
 

Ooe^* 
 
 Selected Poems 
 
 Ebarles German flllen 
 
TReal Ibero 
 
 Your navy may be iron-clad, 
 
 Its missiles weigh a ton, 
 These count but little when compared 
 With 
 
 The man 
 
 behind 
 
 the gun. 
 
 The swiftest cruiser comes to grief 
 
 And has to turn and run, 
 If he lacks the right material 
 In 
 
 The man 
 
 behind 
 
 the gun. 
 
 The admiral in blue and gold, 
 
 Resplendent as the sun, 
 If a true man, takes off his hat 
 To 
 
 The man 
 
 behind 
 
 the gun. 
 
 In the hour of fiercest combat 
 
 No danger can be shun, 
 But standing steadfast at his post 
 Is 
 
 The man 
 
 behind 
 
 the gun. 
 
 If honors are to be bestowed 
 Count heroes, one by one, 
 Pray don t forget the grimy face 
 Of- 
 
 The man 
 
 behind 
 
 the gun. 
 
 And when sweet peace shall come 
 
 again 
 
 When victory has been won, 
 Let praises peal from every throat 
 For 
 
 The man 
 
 behind 
 
 the gun. 
 
 C. H. A. 
 
SELECTED POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 CHARLES HERMAN ALLEN, 
 
 1 And here s to the friend, the dear friend of our youth, 
 With a head full of genius, a heart hill of truth, 
 Who guided our feet in the sunshine of life, 
 Who has stood by our side in its peace and its strife." 
 
 SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA. 
 1900. 
 
SELECTED POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 CHARLES HERMAN ALLEN. 
 
 
 1 And here s to the friend, the dear friend of our youth, 
 With a head full of genius, a heart lull of truth, 
 Who guided our feet in the sunshine of life, 
 Who has stood by our side in its peace and its strife." 
 
 SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA. 
 1900. 
 
COPYRIGHT, 
 1900 
 
 ESS OF A. C EATON. 
 
This boo^ is published and presented to the author 
 by many friends, in to^en of their esteem 
 and of their appreciation of his life 
 and educational 
 
 8810:84 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Salute to the Flag 7 
 
 Welcome to the Grand Army 8 
 
 Shasta Spring 11 
 
 For a Floral Exhibition 12 
 
 To the Eschscholtzia 13 
 
 A Stormy Day on Mount Shasta . "1 . . . . 14 
 
 Fly Fishing on Webber Lake .14 
 
 The Welcome Rain 16 
 
 The Teacher s Work 17 
 
 The Bright Side \ .... 18 
 
 Things Are Not What They Seem . V . . .18 
 
 Auf Wiedersehn ~. .... 19 
 
 The Temple of Silence 20 
 
 Twilight Musings 21 
 
 Extracts from Letters 22 
 
 A Wedding Anniversary 25 
 
 To the Faculty 26 
 
 A Presentation .28 
 
 Planting of a Class Tree . .30 
 
 Columbus . . 32 
 
 Our Memorial Tree 34 
 
 Educational Fads and Foibles 36 
 
t tfc* Teasers f GUIfon)!*. 
 
 All hail our Country s Flag ! We honor thee, 
 The Stars and Stripes, fair emblem of the free, 
 
 So widely, justly famed in song and story. 
 Saluting thee, this solemn pledge I give 
 I will be true, so long as I shall live, 
 
 And ever loyal unto thee, "Old Glory !" 
 

 i)c*njpn;*i;t r S&n? jrse, August, 1886 
 
 Veterans and comrades, it will be our boast 
 That once you met on the Pacific Coast. 
 This marks an era in time s rapid flight, 
 And so we bid you welcome here to-night. 
 We know full well that on your march this way 
 You have encountered one great holiday ; 
 That tens of thousands, all along the line, 
 Have bade you welcome, both by word and sign. 
 All have rejoiced to meet "the boys in blue," 
 And California gives you welcome, too. 
 Welcome to those who, at their Country s call, 
 Upon her sacred altar laid their all. 
 Welcome to those who, in the hour of need 
 Grasped sword or musket, and, with anxious speed, 
 Went forth to mingle in the fateful strife, 
 And do good battle for a Nation s life. 
 Welcome to those who stood firm as a rock, 
 Nor yielded to the battle s fiercest shock, 
 Who proudly bore the grand old flag on high, 
 Whose watchword was "Defend the flag or die !" 
 Welcome to those who come with many scars, 
 Each scar made sacred by the stripes and stars ; 
 To those who with the home guard did not lag, 
 But made the world respect our Country s flag. 
 Welcome to those who led our armed hosts ; 
 But those "who only fit" we welcome most. 
 Time has made ranks and titles disappear, 
 All stand as equals only comrades here. 
 Welcome the remnant, small, but true and tried, 
 
Of that great army, still our Nation s pride. 
 
 Its ranks grow thinner, thinner day by day, 
 
 Soon the last veteran will have passed away ; , 
 
 And if our comrades on the other side, 
 
 In earthly things can yet feel joy or pride, 
 
 Then shall such camp-fires as are neld to-night, 
 
 To them make all the joys of heaven more bright ; 
 
 And as they see our land all one again, 
 
 Then shall they know they did not die in vain. 
 
 We sing a welcome in a softer strain 
 
 To those who ministered by beds of pain 
 
 The great "Relief Corps" woman s noble part, 
 
 To which she gave her hand, her head her heart. 
 
 Her kindly hand, busy through all the strife, 
 
 Nursed many a dying hero back to life. 
 
 Her head sought new devices, homelike joys, 
 
 Giving good cheer to convalescing boys. 
 
 Her heart gave comfort in the dying hour, 
 
 And at such times, hers was an angel s power. 
 
 Welcome to sisters, daughters, sweethearts, wives, 
 
 Who gave our country then more than their lives; 
 
 For woman yielded more than man, we know, 
 
 When blanched lips whispered, "Darling, you must go." 
 
 Welcome from lofty Shasta s snowy crown; 
 
 Welcome from fertile valleys, rich and brown ; 
 
 Welcome from mountain rills and broader streams; 
 
 Welcome from mines where gold or silver gleams; 
 
 Welcome from orange groves, so bright and fair, 
 
 From vineyards ripening in our balmy air; 
 
 Welcome from yellow grain fields, waving free; 
 
 Welcome from fruitful foothills, fair to see, 
 
 From tall sequoias, reaching to the skies, 
 
 From dark leaved pines that welcomes breathe in sighs; 
 
 Welcome from grand Yosemite, where man 
 
 Sinks to a pigmy by El Capitan; 
 
10 
 
 Welcome from old Pacific for each wave 
 
 Rolls out its welcome, "Honor to the brave !" 
 
 Comrades, the warmest welcome yet remains : 
 
 For more than twenty years, across the plains, 
 
 Each State, each corps, almost each regiment, 
 
 A constant line of skirmishers has sent. 
 
 These have made homes upon this lovely coast, 
 
 And bid you welcome now from every Post; 
 
 And from the heart all these say : "Welcome, Hail !" 
 
 The friendship sealed in blood shall never fail. 
 
 With throbbing hearts, with eyes brimful of tears 
 
 Tears that obscure all intervening years 
 
 They stretch forth hands. What if the old hands quake? 
 
 The cheery voice cries out, "Old Comrade, shake ! " 
 
 What though the flashing eye is somewhat dim? 
 
 What though we are no longer strong of limb? 
 
 What though the locks are thin and streaked with gray? 
 
 What though the bloom of youth has passed away? 
 
 What though we sometimes speak with faltering tongue ? 
 
 Brave hearts and true, such hearts are always you??g. 
 
 Comrades, to-day our glorious land is one; 
 
 No fairer heritage beneath the sun. 
 
 No North, no South, no East, no West we know; 
 
 Who preaches Section is his country s foe. 
 
 Let this refrain go up from shore to shore : 
 
 "One Flag, one Country, now and evermore." 
 
II 
 
 [A Prize Poem.] 
 
 Hail, glorious Shasta ! Silent and alone ! 
 Crowned with a grandeur that is all thine own ! 
 Thy towering pinnacles are passing fair, 
 Glistening, resplendent in the upper air ; 
 Thou look st serenely on the world below, 
 Decked in thine ermine of eternal snow. 
 
 Great frozen rivers creep adown thy sides, 
 And at thy foot the melted torrents glide ; 
 L,oosed from their icy bonds by fires below, 
 Down through thy bosom crystal streamlets flow, 
 And in thy sacred heart slowly distilled, 
 Are with life-giving virtues richly filled. 
 
 Still on through fissures dark they pass ; at length 
 Carbonic gases add their magic strength ; 
 Charged with new life the water gurgles on, 
 Seeking an outlet which it finds anon, 
 And here it gushes forth, a joyous thing, 
 Sparkling and bubbling. This is Shasta Spring. 
 
 In Nature s grand alembic, thus distilled, 
 It asks no aid from man, however skilled ; 
 Fresh from the fountain s brim it slakes the thirst, 
 And heals the ills with which poor flesh is cursed ; 
 A grand, a precious boon, far famed and wide, 
 The world s great blessing California s pride. 
 
 The dun deer sought it for a cooling draught, 
 And with its waters strength and vigor quaffed. 
 Thither the red man turned when fever raged, 
 And by its spell the burning heat assuaged. 
 Ages passed on ; yet silent and alone 
 Its work was done, unheralded, unknown. 
 
12 
 
 Its healing virtues were at length revealed, 
 Like truth, that never can be long concealed. 
 To-day it stands "The Queen of Waters." Now 
 All other claimants at its shrine must bow. 
 Hail, Shasta Spring ! Thou seem st in very truth 
 The long sought "Fountain of Eternal Youth." 
 
 1891. 
 
 [An Extract.] 
 
 Hail, Flora, goddess ! at thy fragrant shrine 
 
 To-day we worship ; here the world is thine. 
 
 These offerings bright, gathered from far and near, 
 
 This wealth of blossoms that thou seest here, 
 
 The best we have, are made an offering free, 
 
 Laid on thine altar, sacrificed to thee. 
 
 Our hearts go with our gifts, for well we know 
 
 That where thou breathest grace and beauty glow ; 
 
 Where er thy garments trail, thy footsteps press, 
 
 The earth bursts out in dreams of loveliness. 
 
 From fertile valleys dressed in living green, 
 
 To Alpine heights thy handiwork is seen ; 
 
 The whole world, underneath thy genial sway, 
 
 Adorns herself as for a holiday. 
 
4e4icai4 to tl>* Boar4 of l-a^Iy ^airj&gerj f 
 tije California. Vor!4 p 5 Pair 
 
 Bright golden emblem of our Golden State, 
 
 Flashing athwart our hills thy tongues of flame, 
 No flower more beauteous Flora can create, 
 
 And none more worthy of thy lasting fame. 
 Thy fragile leaflets, nodding to the breeze, 
 
 Drink in the sunshine of each daylight hour, 
 Treasure it up, and then with affluent ease 
 
 Return it to us in a rich, resplendent flower. 
 
 Thy slender helmet pointing to the skies, 
 
 Bathed in the dews of "incense breathing morn," 
 Leaps from its seat, then with a glad surprise 
 
 Thy petals open and a flower is born. 
 The meadow-lark trills forth his matin lay, 
 
 The wild bee drones its drowsy, cradle hum, 
 Glad nature welcomes in the perfect day, 
 
 Rejoicing that the beauteous Queen of Flowers has 
 come. 
 
All day the clouds hung lowering in the skies, 
 
 Rain drops in mists or fitful torrents fell ; 
 No snow-capped summit met our waiting eyes ; 
 
 Has Shasta vanished, as by magic spell? 
 No, as the sun, low sinking in the west, 
 
 Sends slanting rays athwart the floating mist, 
 The clouds grow light, the winds are lulled to rest, 
 
 The eastern hills by golden rays are kissed. 
 
 The mountain s form is seen, partly concealed, 
 
 Draped in soft, floating clouds, as in a veil, 
 Like bashful maiden, half her charms concealed, 
 
 Modestly waiting till the daylight fail. 
 We are content ; the clouds will roll away, 
 
 The grand old mountain then will all appear ; 
 We wait in patience for the coming day, 
 
 Then shall we stand in awe, and worship here. 
 
 Gently, so gently, glides our boat along, 
 Softly, good boatman, softly, not too strong ; 
 So time it that the finely feathered lure, 
 If one does touch it, takes and holds him sure. 
 Now flash the glittering bamboo through the air, 
 (Throw from the wrist, and thus the shoulder spare). 
 The curving line speeds forward straight and true, 
 The light flies kiss the wave like morning dew. 
 Now ready, hand and eye, and nerve and brain, 
 Ready, all ready, soon may come the strain. 
 

15 
 
 So move we on, each hoping that ere long 
 
 May come to us the good reel s cheerful song. 
 
 The glistening waters part. Aha ! a splash ! 
 
 The quick response, and then the rapid dash ; 
 
 "Bravo, my boy ! bravo ! but not so fast, 
 
 Your days of freedom soon, I trow, are past." 
 
 Now slightly check the swiftly humming reel, 
 
 Let him the yielding, springy bamboo feel ; 
 
 Gently, but firmly, curb him in his run, 
 
 Know that the battle has but just begun. 
 
 He leaps in air and shakes his prisoned jaws, 
 
 Goes to the bottom, makes a moment s pause, 
 
 Sulking and quiet, trying very hard 
 
 One moment now to take you off your guard ; 
 
 Then from the boat straight out he takes his flight ; 
 
 Give him more line, but hold it rather tight ; 
 
 Again in air, then backward toward the boat, 
 
 Reel in, reel in, and as you do take note 
 
 How he is hooked ; but always have a care, 
 
 He yet has will, and wit, and strength to spare. 
 
 At last he finds to struggle is no use, 
 
 Turns on his back and shows the flag of truce, 
 
 Comes quickly, meekly, towards the landing net; 
 
 But do not boast, you have not got him yet. 
 
 Just one plunge more, and then he yields the day, 
 
 And so has given you, really splendid play. 
 
16 
 
 For long, long weeks the skies had seemed like brass, 
 The parched earth basking in the sun s fierce glare ; 
 
 The pasture fields showed only withered grass, 
 Lying like desert v/aste, lifeless and bare. 
 
 The herds, half-famished, wandered aimlessly, 
 Lowing for food, food that the fields denied, 
 
 Struggling for life, from hunger never free, 
 Or, giving up the strife, lay down and died. 
 
 The thrifty farmer watched his well-tilled field, 
 Saw the stunt grain wilt neath the northern blast, 
 
 Thought sadly of the crop it would not yield, 
 Unless the sky with clouds was overcast. 
 
 Then came the south wind like the breath of God, 
 A cloud appeared, much larger than the hand, 
 
 The promise was, new life to grain and sod, 
 A benison of rainfall to the land. 
 
 The massing clouds grew darker hour by hour, 
 The flood-gates all were opened, hill and plain 
 
 Received and swallowed up the bounteous shower, 
 Rejoicing in the welcome, welcome rain. 
 
 Joy comes to all the land ; the thirsty earth 
 
 Drinks from the floods that come and come again, 
 
 The glorious baptism brings a glad new birth 
 
 To plant and flower the welcome, welcome rain. 
 
 We know "seed time and harvest shall not fail," 
 
 His is the promise, never given in vain, 
 Let this Hosanna rise from hill and vale, 
 
 "Thanks to the bounteous Giver for the rain," 
 
 MARCH, 1899. 
 
If, of the pebbles on the ocean strand 
 
 That now are tossed by childhood s busy hand, 
 
 One in a thousand were a precious stone 
 
 Needing the lapidary s skill alone 
 
 To break the hardened crust, the enclosing seal, 
 
 And all its hidden beauties to reveal, 
 
 Think you these pebbles would unheeded lie, 
 
 Or that the multitude would pass them by? 
 
 No; many hands, all moved by greed of gain, 
 Would test each pebble, o er and o er again, 
 Breaking the encrusting surface to bring forth 
 All that lay buried there of wondrous worth. 
 
 Teachers, each child committed to your care 
 Is of itself a jewel far more rare 
 Than all the precious gems the earth can give 
 A soul, that through eternity shall live. 
 
 Yours be the task to set these jewels free 
 From crust of habit or heredity, 
 To make each well-cut facet brightly shine 
 With luster that may be almost divine. 
 Not like the pebbles, many cast aside, 
 Again to be submerged by ocean tide, 
 The latent powers of every child await 
 Your training as the almoner of fate ; 
 These "little ones", committed to your care, 
 Their glory or their shame you, too, must share. 
 
iS 
 
 Look on the bright side ; the world is before us, 
 All covered with beauty as yet ne er espied ; 
 
 Why then be cast down, if the clouds do frown o er us? 
 There s enjoyment enough, if we see the bright side 
 
 Look on the bright side ; there s no use in repining, 
 For we never can alter the wind or the tide ; 
 
 All hope to do that, then, forever resigning, 
 May we learn, in its place, to look on the bright side. 
 
 Look on the bright side ; never fear for the morrow, 
 Hope the best from the things that as yet are untried, 
 
 And if it should chance that they bring with them sorrow, 
 Its weight will be light, if we see the bright side. 
 
 Away then with blood-baking, sad Melancholy ! 
 
 In our homes, heads, or hearts may he never abide ; 
 To yield to his frown would be life s greatest folly, 
 
 And life s greatest wisdom to find the bright side. 
 
 It s not the walking but the sweeping that wears the 
 
 carpet out ; 
 
 It is not work that kills us but the things we fret about ; 
 Not the wearing but the washing frays our garments 
 
 through and through ; 
 And our conscience most upbraids us for the good wt 
 
 meant to do. 
 
Auf wiedersehn ! Aye, though our paths diverge, 
 And each goes on his toilsome, happy way, 
 
 We clasp each other s hands, keep back the tears, 
 For there may come again a meeting day ; 
 Hope sends along our path a cheering ray 
 Auf wiedersehn ! 
 
 Auf wiedersehn ! In this great changing world, 
 Meetings and partings ah, how oft they come ! 
 
 Just as we learn to love, fate bids us part ; 
 
 Hearts speak, although the quivering lips are dumb. 
 And ears drink in the sweet prophetic hum 
 Auf wiedersehn ! 
 
 Auf wiedersehn ! Dark clouds and storms may come, 
 Hiding loved faces from fond, longing eyes, 
 
 Drowning loved voices in the whistling blast ; 
 We patient wait for brighter, fairer skies, 
 And listen for a sound we dearly prize 
 Auf wiedersehn ! 
 
 Auf wiedersehn ! The time draws swiftly on 
 When comes, alas, our final parting here ; 
 
 Nor love nor friendship can delay the hour, 
 Yet we may hope, in yon celestial sphere, 
 A sweet reunion, free from doubt or fear ; 
 Auf wiedersehn ! 
 
 German salutation at parting "May we meet again ! " 
 
20 
 
 There is balm for the soul that is wounded, 
 
 There is rest from the burdens of life, 
 There is calm from its uproar and tumult, 
 
 There is peace from all turmoil and strife. 
 
 For those who are bound there is freedom, 
 
 For those in the darkness a light, 
 For the lost there is guidance and shelter, 
 
 And the day is the child of the night. 
 
 Would st thou learn the sweet secret, my brother? 
 
 "On the heights" there is ever repose ; 
 There the prophets and martyrs and sages 
 
 Found rest from life s turbulent v/oes. 
 
 Far above the low plane of life s sorrows, 
 
 Above all its struggle and strife, 
 Even here we may reach the eternal, 
 
 And enter the "fulness of life." 
 
 Would st thou reach these fair heights near to Heaven, 
 
 The mountains of infinite peace ? 
 Come into the Temple of Silence, 
 
 And find for all trouble surcease. 
 
 Leave the burden of self at the portal 
 
 All selfishness weighs like a clod 
 And in silence thy soul is made ready, 
 
 Becoming the temple of God. 
 
21 
 
 The day is done; the fading sunlight gently falling, 
 Fringes the mountain tops with hues of gold ; 
 
 The night-bird, from his perch, his tardy mate is calling, 
 Love s message sweetly told. 
 
 The busy hum of active, throbbing life now ceases, 
 
 A restful silence soon embraces all ; 
 The night comes on apace, darkness increases, 
 
 Like some funereal pall. 
 
 At such an hour fond memory spreads her magic pinions, 
 Waking to life bright visions of the past, 
 
 Showing the many treasures of her vast dominions, 
 Gems all too bright to last. 
 
 And then there comas that deep, that soul-felt tender 
 longing 
 
 That scenes like these might be our lot again ; 
 Only the brighter visions that come trooping, thronging, 
 
 Are brought within our ken. 
 
 The darker pictures, merciful and wise provision, 
 But faintly outlined on the changing scene ; 
 
 The whole appears to us a beatific vision, 
 With shadows limned between. 
 
 All fades away ; and loneliness deep and unbroken, 
 Comes like the darkness and envelops all ; 
 
 The soul seems dead, awaiting some life-giving token, 
 Some thrilling bugle call. 
 
 TJC- # -: * 
 
 Reason resumes her sway ; the past is gone forever, 
 The "has been," bright or sad, no more can be ; 
 
 And life must be one constant, strong, and brave endeavor 
 To brighten what must be. 
 
22 
 
 from Letters t 
 
 Remember that sadness is very near joy ; 
 In life every pleasure must have its alloy; 
 The bitter but brings out the sweet of the sweet, 
 And without it a life would be far from complete. 
 
 Your lines are delightful, so delicate too, 
 Every part of the verse reminds me of you; 
 A breath from the forest, a tremor that thrills 
 Like the joy one oft feels, looking off at the hills ; 
 A strain of soft music from Nature s sweet lyre ; 
 A breath from a soul lit by heavenly fire. 
 As I read the lines through a fine perfume arose, 
 As sweet as the scent of a dew-laden rose. 
 
 Be happy, my child ; the Pierian spring, 
 
 To you and to others, much comfort may bring; 
 
 But a heart that can sing such a tender refrain, 
 
 Has sometime been touched by the finger of pain. 
 
 The bell sounds no note of joy or of woe 
 
 Until its repose is disturbed by a blow ; 
 
 The leaves change their hues when the keen frosts 
 
 appear, 
 And the beautiful pearl has its birth in a tear. 
 
23 
 
 You have yielded and coyly said "yes," 
 
 Well, maidens can t always say no. 
 I know an old fellow whose life has been blessed 
 
 By a "yes" that was said years ago. 
 
 And thus may you bless a man s life, 
 Make him feel as I feel here to-night, 
 
 Life is hardly worth living without a good wife 
 To make a home cheerful and bright. 
 
 A dignified schoolma am no more, 
 Of a turbulent schoolroom the head ; 
 
 These troubles, these pleasures with you are all o er, 
 You must be be a staid matron instead. 
 
 In the home that your presence shall grace, 
 
 May love be the one guiding star ; 
 May peace and contentment forever find place, 
 
 With never a discord to mar. 
 
 The froth on the rippling rill 
 
 Dies away on the deep flowing river; 
 
 So your love should grow deeper, its surface more 
 
 still, 
 But the current must flow on forever. 
 
 Oft when I stand beside a swollen stream 
 Its swirling waters to my fancy seem 
 Much like the stream of life, swift gliding on ; 
 A leaf flits by, and as you gaze is gone. 
 Small floating fragments scurry swiftly past, 
 Hastening to find some resting place at last. 
 
24 
 
 And I have seen, while standing on the brink, 
 
 That some grow weary, and then slowly sink, 
 
 Leaving no trace behind; the waters close 
 
 And they are gone. And then I have marked those 
 
 That come together, as with friendly grasp, 
 
 Holding each other in a loving clasp, 
 
 As if forever they could journey on, 
 
 Bound thus together. But observe, anon, 
 
 The stream divides, and they are torn asunder. 
 
 Each goes its separate way: well may we wonder 
 
 If they shall ever meet and clasp again. 
 
 Sometimes they do, but who knows where or when? 
 
 Thus on life s stream we have been thrown together, 
 
 Clasped hands in love, through bright and stormy 
 
 weather. 
 
 The stream has parted, each has gone his way, 
 But memory sends a bright, heart-gladdening ray 
 Across the past the happy, useful years 
 Made sacred by our common joys and tears. 
 Some of our number have laid down the load, 
 Growing aweary of life s rugged road, 
 Their life-work finished ; shall not every one 
 Receive the welcome plaudit "Child, well done? " 
 To those who still remain, those gladsome times 
 Send memories sweet as happy Christinas chimes. 
 
"Time in advance behind him hides his wings 
 And seems to creep, decrepit with his age ; 
 
 In such a strain the grand old poet sings, 
 Showing himself a poet and a sage. 
 
 "Behold him when passed by, what then is seen 
 But his broad pinions, swifter than the wind?" 
 
 This, too, is wisely said, as well I ween, 
 And as you who are younger soon will find 
 
 And so our friends who seventeen years ago 
 Joined hands and hearts in wedlock by love s light, 
 
 Had they looked forward with a wish to know, 
 Far off had seemed this celebration night. 
 
 But as they backward look, the happy time 
 
 Seems, ah, how close to hand ! For on the way 
 
 There has been music, and the golden chime 
 Of children s laughter, and of children s play. 
 
 Five times the mother has gone down the vale of tears 
 And brought an angel back upon her breast ; 
 
 And these have made such happy, happy years, 
 And given a home with lasting riches blest. 
 
 We would congratulate them then to-night 
 
 On all the blessings that have been bestowed, 
 
 And wish for them a future yet more bright, 
 For love and hope will lighten every load. 
 
 And as they journey toward the setting sun, 
 The shadows stretching backward, gaunt and long, 
 
 May consciousness of duties all well done 
 
 Make of life s closing hours an "Evening Song". 
 
26 
 
 Ck>r*C*lf>t f & fr$*utlf a! 
 
 Kind friends, you have given me a joyous surprise 
 In the beautiful etching that gladdens my eyes ; 
 Where can there be found a fairer sunrise"? 
 
 I had thought, off up here, and out of the way, 
 
 With nothing my on-creeping age to betray, 
 
 That you would not remember nor think of the day. 
 
 That I made a mistake seems now very clear, 
 For your kindly good-will has followed me here, 
 Just as it has followed for many a year. 
 
 The gift is suggestive, perhaps so designed, 
 
 For one on a ranch will certainly find 
 
 He must welcome the sunrise or soon fall behind. 
 
 To sleep when the day is about to begin 
 Is to lose in the race where all strive to win, 
 And is reckoned a gross horticultural sin. 
 
 The hint is accepted, the picture as well, 
 
 With a pleasure that words seem too feeble to tell, 
 
 For words, of such feelings, are only the shell. 
 
 To-day I have looked through the past sixteen years, 
 At the journey I entered upon with great fears ; 
 How sunny the long, pleasant pathway appears ! 
 
2 7 
 
 The load has been heavy, as you are aware, 
 But a good-natured Faculty kept the sky fair, 
 And with your help the burdens were easy to bear. 
 
 When shadows have thrown themselves over the way 
 And shadows are darker, the brighter the day 
 The cheer of your faces has charmed them away. 
 
 Many changes have come ; some old friends are gone; 
 But still the same Faculty always works on 
 Though new friends have joined in our labors anon 
 
 A practical unit whate er may arise, 
 
 Bound together by strong, though invisible ties, 
 
 Ties ever held sacred in all of our eyes. 
 
 With much love for the old friends, much love for the new, 
 I give you a hand-clasp, and this watchword too 
 Be true to yourselves, to the Normal be true. 
 
 And may the Good Father keep each of you free 
 From life s deepest trials, where er you may be, 
 And deal kindly with you as you have with me. 
 
23 
 
 B? tfte PrejeiijtatioBj of a "razy Qul34" to ?v*. < V. 
 
 I T P I 8S4. 
 
 J/irj. Foote: It long has been the way 
 To celebrate with friends the natal day, 
 And so your friends have gathered here to-night, 
 Mong other things, to make your birthday bright. 
 And may I guess I know tis very bold 
 That you to-night are twenty-five years old? 
 
 To greet you, loving hands have deftly wrought, 
 From glowing colors, in odd corners sought, 
 A work, almost of magic, and have built, 
 And now present you with, this crazy quilt. 
 
 By looking closely, you will notice here 
 One large square block put in for every year, 
 For every month a piece, in joining which, 
 They must have used, for every day, a stitch. 
 The blocks are each &foot on either side, 
 Five blocks each way; it can not be denied, 
 That when one looks, there comes a haziness 
 O er twenty-five square feet of craziness. 
 
 The colors shade, you see, from grave to gay, 
 
 And so the givers shade, the self-same way, 
 
 Some dark, some light, and sometimes may be seen, 
 
 With other colors, just a shade of green. 
 
 Some scraps are angular, and some are round, 
 
 The same peculiar features you have found 
 
 In living with us through these many years, 
 
 Years that have brought us all both smiles and tears. 
 
 The sharpest corners have, from day to day, 
 
 Under your kindly spirit worn away, 
 
 Until to-night, in union we all meet, 
 
29 
 
 And each, as friend, can every other greet. 
 
 To gather up these fragments rich and rare, 
 
 The whole great city has been searched with care, 
 
 Dress patterns have been robbed, and I suppose, 
 
 Some maidens may have sacrificed their bows. 
 
 But willing hearts have yielded up their best, 
 
 And busy hands have wrought with cheerful zest. 
 
 Tis said that gift is highest prized, which holds 
 
 Most of the giver in its secret folds; 
 
 So, in these stitches many, you may view 
 
 Our time, our kindly thoughts, our love for you. 
 
 What can you do with it? I ve thought it o er, 
 
 And thinking of it has perplexed me sore. 
 
 Some things suggest themselves within my mind, 
 
 And I will hint at uses you may find. 
 
 Make it a screen to decorate your hall, 
 
 Or hang it as a picture on the wall, 
 
 Or, if you wish to make the people stare, 
 
 Exhibit it at the next county fair, 
 
 Let Oregonians gaze, and in each quirk, 
 
 See California s skill and handiwork. 
 
 Make it a banner, floating to the breeze, 
 
 Or make a cushion of it, if you please. 
 
 But, I would warn you, never , never, spread 
 
 The quilt upon your loving husband s bed; 
 
 For, looking at it, I should hardly think 
 
 That underneath it he could sleep a wink. 
 
 One hurried glance, and how the brain goes round, 
 
 No rest for eye or thought can there be found; 
 
 The craziness would make a well man sick, 
 
 If he were ailing, it would end him quick. 
 
 But then, the thing is handsome, all admit, 
 
 And no one dare find any fault with it; 
 
30 
 
 And gazing on it, when you re far away, 
 May bring you pleasant thoughts of San Jose. 
 Accept this gift, which only half reveals 
 The love, the sadness every block conceals. 
 
 Hold ! I forgot ! One thing I have omitted, 
 Two crazy shams", which to the pillows fitted, 
 Complete the bed, a gorgeous sight to view, 
 But still, alas ! no place of rest for you. 
 Admiring glances on yonr couch you ll shed, 
 Yet long for one old-fashioned, homely bed. 
 So hang these, too, upon your parlor wall, 
 Invite your friends, whene er they chance to call, 
 To inspect the wondrous handiwork suspended, 
 But ne er imagine them for use intended. 
 
 A goodly thing it is to plant a tree 
 
 A tree that, striking root deep in the earth, 
 The gentle mother who first gave it birth, 
 
 Spreads out its branches, lithe and strong and free. 
 
 And you the class of eighteen ninety-nine, 
 
 Here plant the Silk Leaved Oak the common name- 
 As the Grevillta wider known to fame ; 
 
 Strength, grace, and elegance in it combine. 
 
 Its growing roots, strike downward, strong and deep, 
 There finding strength to meet the wintry blast ; 
 So you have sought for wisdom in the past, 
 
 And in the future must her precepts keep. 
 
An -.r away, 
 
 May noughts of San Jose. 
 
 reveals 
 block conceals. 
 
 a ing I have omitted, 
 
 - e pillows fitted, 
 to view, 
 ou. 
 
 :1 shed, 
 j iy bed. 
 r parlor wall, 
 i they chance to call, 
 .work suspended, 
 .ed. 
 
 :- . . : T-: : ;:., 
 C*.*s of 
 
 A tree tha . _ i p in the earth, 
 
 The gen j.ave it birth, 
 
 atrong and free. 
 
 And you "iir,e*y-nine, 
 
 Here pi: :ik the common name- 
 
 As the Grsvillta w; ler kn^ Ar. to fame ; 
 
 Strength, gra^ n it combine. 
 
 Its growing roots, strike downv ;ag arid deep, 
 
 There finding strength to meet the wintry blast ; 
 So you have sought for wisdom in the past, 
 
 And in the future must her precepts keep. 
 
This tree, from year to year, will upward rise, 
 
 Reaching still heavenward toward the source of light 
 Your aspirations for the pure, the right, 
 
 Will lead you day by day toward the skies. 
 
 Its grateful shadow shall refresh the earth, 
 And many shall seek rest beneath its shade ; 
 So let your ministrations e er be made 
 
 Showing your genial nature and your worth. 
 
 Its coral flowerets, too, shall please the eye; 
 And may the graces of your lives impart 
 Something of pleasure to each weary heart ; 
 
 Good deeds, kind words are things that never die. 
 
 Long may this tree thrive in our genial clime ; 
 Long may you cherish in your inmost heart 
 The memory of this day ; may it impart 
 
 An impulse that shall make each life sublime. 
 
 And as the months and years pass swiftly by, 
 And often from your chosen work you come 
 Back to your Alma Mater, once your home, 
 
 Watch how your tree still stretches toward the sky. 
 
 "No haste, no rest," let this your watchword be, 
 
 Do each days duty with a willing hand, 
 
 Always "excelsior," never idly stand, 
 Then shall you emulate your chosen tree. 
 
sSs frail? a. j5>e:mj rea.^ 31) <Sll Cia:nij;lj>af .a.y f i 
 
 Four hundred years ago there stood a man 
 Upon the western shores of the Old World, 
 Who, looking out upon the mighty deep, 
 Saw more than the illimitable waste 
 That met the vision of his fellow men. 
 He saw beyond the ever restless waves 
 A vision fair no other eye had seen, 
 And that fair vision beckoned him to come. 
 * * * 
 
 With heart inspired, with feelings all aglow, 
 With tongue persuasive, yet with modest mien, 
 He plead for sympathy, not for himself 
 But for his thought, that had so far 
 Outreached the world. 
 
 -:;- * :;:- 
 
 Honor to her, the gentle, courteous Queen, 
 Who, taking in his thought in all its breadth, 
 Saw a great duty lying close at hand. 
 Believing that a people far away 
 Were yet in ignorance of the blessed Truth, 
 And that as almoner of Christ the Lord, 
 She should bestow the means with bounteous hand 
 To spread the light, she pledged her royal gems. 
 And woman moves the world f 
 * #- * 
 
 The three small ships are ready at the port ; 
 A solemn mass is said, with many tears 
 God s blessing is invoked upon the band, 
 And great Columbus, with a faith sublime, 
 Sails boldly out upon the pathless deep. 
 
33 
 
 "Land ho ! " comes from the lookout s dizzy stand. 
 "Land ho ! " rings out in accents loud and clear. 
 The mystery is solved, the dark veil rent ; 
 The Master stands acknowledged by his crew. 
 * * 
 
 With sword and banner and with sacred cross, 
 Now planted first upon this unknown shore, 
 He knelt in prayer, surrounded by his men. 
 Then, in the name of God and of the King 
 And of the Queen whose bounty sent him forth, 
 He took possession of this wondrous land. 
 
 -:S -S 
 
 How little dreamed he what a world was here ! 
 Mountains that tov/ering pierce the very skies ; 
 Great fertile valleys, rich in wealth untold ; 
 Rivers majestic sweeping to the sea; 
 While lakes like oceans lie embosomed there; 
 A glorious land, ordained by God to be 
 The land of Freedom, offering a home 
 To all who come seeking for Liberty. 
 * * -* 
 
 Hail ! then, Columbus, truly, grandly great ! 
 Honored at first, then bound in prison chains. 
 The world was not yet worthy of the man. 
 We meet to honor thee. Now thy great name 
 Springs to fresh life ; it is Columbian Year. 
 
 -* -s -# 
 
 To-day such grand Te Deums should arise 
 
 As lift all human hearts above the earth 
 
 To the All-Father for his gracious gifts. 
 
 And we, returning to our happy homes, 
 
 Should go resolved to make this grand New World 
 
 The home of Virtue, Liberty and Peace. 
 
34 
 
 ien)riafi Tree, 
 
 f a ^e^aola tfarlajj $*)& QaHeaj JTuMEes of 
 
 ^ ! If fo 
 
 More centuries ago than man can tell, 
 
 Upon a mountain in this western land 
 A little seed came, fluttering as it fell, 
 
 And soon was buried in the shifting sand. 
 Wakened to life by sunshine and by shower 
 
 Its roots grew downward deep into the earth, 
 The stem sprang upward with a magic power ; 
 
 Thus our Sequoia, thegiganfea, had its birth. 
 
 Nursed by dame Nature s ever fostering hand 
 
 The tender shoot took on a tree-like form, 
 Developing a strength that could withstand 
 
 The blasts of winter, the fierce mountain storm. 
 Its gray-green foliage from each passing cloud 
 
 Condensed the moisture for the thirsty ground ; 
 The summer breezes through its branches soughed, 
 
 And here, a genial home for upward growth it found. 
 
 Long cycles passed; its growth not yet complete 
 
 It stretched still upward toward the source of light ; 
 The firs and pines seemed pigmies at its feet, 
 
 As thus it stood in majesty and might. 
 Fruitage at length appeared upon each bough ; 
 
 By winds its seeds were scattered far and wide; 
 These found a home on mountain top and brow, 
 
 And struggled further down, upon its rugged sides. 
 
 But when the ice-king reigned, the glacier s path 
 Swept round the summits, leaving there alone 
 
 The great Sequoias; and the storm king s wrath 
 Disturbed them not, high on their mountain throne 
 
f 35 
 
 This tree is California s, hers its fame, 
 
 Its only native home upon our shore; 
 Two nation s claimed the honor of its name, 
 
 But Wellington and Washington are heard no more. * 
 
 * * * 
 
 Our sixth decade of Statehood has begun ; 
 
 We plant, to-day, this fair Sequoia tree, 
 Memorial and symbol, both in one, 
 
 Of what our State has been and what shall be. 
 The honored Pioneers from far away, 
 
 The Native Sons of this our Golden West, 
 Have made this Jubilee a golden day, 
 
 With sacred memories and with richest promise blest. 
 
 Around its roots, gathered with patient care, 
 
 Earths have been strewn from many a field of fame, 
 Nature s grand alchemy shall these prepare 
 
 To make one tree, it brooks not whence they came : 
 And thus our State, peopled from many lands, 
 
 Shall like this tree be unified and strong ; 
 Joined each to each by more than iron bands, 
 
 To work for God and right, and to suppress each 
 wrong. 
 
 Dare we look forward many hundred years? 
 
 Withdraw the veil that kindly hides our fate ? 
 Our hearts are full of hopes, undimmed by fears ; 
 
 The tree, the State shall both alike be great: 
 The tree in all its symmetry and grace, 
 
 The State in noble women, noble men, 
 Each having won and held an honored place; 
 
 And to this prayer let all respond, one grand Amen. 
 
 *\Vhen the "Big Tree Grove" was discovered the tree was to be named. 
 Dr. Joseph Hooker, the English botanist, supposing it to be a new genus, 
 named it the IVellin^toniy, gi;antca., while Dr. Kellogg of San Francisco, 
 under the same supposition, named it the Washinqtonia gigantea. Closer 
 examination showed that it belonged to the same genus as the R edvvood 
 Sequoia, and by mutual agreement it took its present name, Sequoia., 
 Ztgantea. 
 
My theme is progress, for "the world does move," 
 Mostly, tis true, along the well-worn groove ; 
 Sometimes the wheels turn from the deepening ruts, 
 And then, unheeding all the "if s and but s," 
 Ic takes its course along some new-found way, 
 Causing what seems "the wonder of the day." 
 
 Yet every year brings forth a fad, and every month a 
 notion, 
 
 And each within its little sphere creates a great com 
 motion ; 
 
 So all who wish to ornament our great and good pro 
 fession 
 
 Must do the best they can, if they would keep with the 
 procession. 
 
 Our mother tongue is being changed, alas ! we must 
 
 admit it, 
 And many a new word has been born without a thought 
 
 to fit it; 
 Old things have been baptized anew, put on such forms 
 
 and features 
 
 As make it hard to recognize the once familiar creatures. 
 Tfie modern teacher who at last becomes the proud 
 
 possessor 
 
 Of a first grade certificate, at once is dubbed "Professor." 
 A course of study once was thought a sturdy thing to 
 
 dashon, 
 Now you must say "curriculum" if you would be in 
 
 fashion. 
 
37 
 
 A school term s a "semester," a school ground is a 
 
 "campus," 
 
 A strange philology indeed, that so far can revamp us. 
 Once girls wrote compositions and little boys spoke 
 
 pieces, 
 Now boys "pronounce orations," and little girls write 
 
 "theses." 
 Soon we shall hear "commencement day" applied 
 
 through our whole nation 
 To what in good old times was called "beginning of 
 
 vacation." 
 
 Then new words, long and very strange, our mental 
 tasks to vary 
 
 Have been adopted as a part of our vocabulary. 
 
 So now things do not harmonize, they are "co-ordinated," 
 
 And when they help each other out, then they are "cor 
 related;" 
 
 Self-consciousness is not the word, we now say "apper 
 ception," 
 
 That prefix- syllable has had a very warm reception. 
 
 For possibilities that may sometime become realities, 
 
 There is but one word you must use, the word "poten 
 tialities. 
 
 In journeying we no longer try to find the shortest dis 
 tance, 
 
 But always strive to move along "the line of least resist 
 ance." 
 
 No one now says he spares himself, he seeks for "con 
 servation;" 
 
 The things are very near alike, must be a close relation. 
 
 Once we had knowledge-studies, and studies that gave 
 power, 
 
Now these are "content"; those are "formal" these 
 two words, what a dower ! 
 
 And if the thing goes bravely on, in word and phrase 
 oracular, 
 
 We shall entirely "lose our grip" upon the plain verna 
 cular. 
 
 All persons now who wish to teach, it they would make 
 the thing go, 
 
 Not only have to learn the work but also learn the 
 "lingo". 
 
 V- : .- 
 
 Once arithmetic was mental, slate and pencil incidental, 
 But such mental work no longer now is used; 
 
 But has there been a gaming to offset the splendid 
 
 training 
 Of that work when it was used and not abused? 
 
 Then "concert recitation" swept like wild-fire o er the 
 nation, 
 
 And it made a really very pretty race; 
 To arrive at erudition "simultaneous repetition" 
 
 Was the only thing thought worthy of a place. 
 
 Now all this is relegated to the niche marked "anti 
 quated", 
 
 And the pupil sits so silent on his seat, 
 And becomes so dull and dozy that he very rarely 
 
 knows he 
 Has learned a single sentence to repeat. 
 
 "Object lessons" next invaded our domain; we were 
 
 persuaded 
 
 That the pupil should do all his work with things; 
 Text-books were no longer needful, but each pupil must 
 
 be heedful 
 Of the lessons that Dame Nature ever brings. 
 
39 
 
 We have now a repetition well, perhaps a new edition, 
 Of these lessons, Nature Studies" it is called; 
 
 Very nearly the old story, with a new halo of glory, 
 Asking for a place in which to be installed. 
 
 The old dry bones of grammar, over which we used to 
 
 stammer, 
 
 Were once "prophesied upon" till they had life; 
 How we parsed in Young and Milton ! getting knowl 
 edge that was built on 
 A foundation still the source of ceaseless strife. 
 
 Next "Delsarte", the graceful creature, came to be a 
 leading feature, 
 
 Its impressions we can hardly yet efface; 
 By many a weary tussle one can discipline each muscle, 
 
 And "decompose" with dignity and grace. 
 
 All these fads, as I have shown them and most of you 
 have known them, 
 
 Are now packed away, and labeled "out of date;" 
 But examine each chimera, it marks a Progress-Era, 
 
 In the evolution of our present state. 
 
 Again, in this connection, a pertinent reflection 
 On the things to be observed in every fad; 
 
 At birth, they are not prominent, in growth becoming 
 
 dominant, 
 And each has much of good, and some of bad. 
 
 Each is guarded by a "bogie", the warning cry, "old 
 
 fogy", 
 Applied to every one who would oppose, 
 
40 
 
 Makes the timid teacher follow it, although he may not 
 
 swallow it, 
 So, however inconsistent, on it goes. 
 
 * * : 
 
 Of the fads that now are rampant, in less than twenty 
 years 
 
 Very few, I prophesy, will be alive; 
 Let it settle all our doubts, allay our anxious fears, 
 
 To reflect that all "the fittest will survive." 
 
 Child Study is a fad, loud proclaiming something new ; 
 
 It s as old as love within a mother s heart; 
 The most that can be claimed, and that I grant is true, 
 
 It is superseding nature s plan with art. 
 
 For the spirit of child-students I have only words of 
 
 praise; 
 
 I believe the work can so be reconciled 
 That children can be studied in such deft and subtle 
 
 ways 
 As to leave the charm of childhood with the child. 
 
 The way is pointed out in the Book so highly prized, 
 
 It is nature s plan, unmodified by art; 
 No better way has ever been, can ever be devised : 
 
 "His mother kept these sayings in her heart." 
 
 Clay modeling has now, in a measure, quite displaced 
 The mud-pies of our childhood what a void ! 
 
 And the pocket-knife that once so many desks defaced 
 Is kept busy now, and teachers call it "Sloyd". 
 
41 
 
 Psychology is here, and it claims a title, "New," 
 And with it also seems to "want the earth;" 
 
 It is robbing all its neighbors, and, from its "point of 
 
 view", 
 Most knowledge with psychology had birth. 
 
 All this is very well, but is it not quite true 
 
 That those men whose torches shed refulgent light, 
 
 Never heard of a psychology, that is, one labeled 
 
 "New"? 
 And yet they led us pretty nearly right. 
 
 First the blade, so frail and slender, then the ear, how 
 
 fresh and tender, 
 
 And after that, the full corn in the ear, 
 An attempt to force the growing makes in vain the care 
 ful sowing, 
 For the "cheat" and not the corn will then appear. 
 
 Whoever draws a long-bow must be sure it is a strong, 
 bow, 
 
 And the bow-cord must give forth a healthy twang, 
 Or the arrow, by deflection, may take a new direction, 
 
 And become at any time a boomerang ! 
 
 Strange that a Christian nation, in its scheme of educa 
 tion 
 
 That we are a Christian nation who denies? 
 Should accept a Greek mythology a very lame apology, 
 
 For the broader faith we all so dearly prize ! 
 
42 
 
 Go with me to the village school to-day 
 And see a school taught in the modern way. 
 If quite observant, soon the teacher sees he 
 Must if he would succeed make all things easy; 
 Therefore he gets, no matter what the price is, 
 A multitude of schemes now called "devices," 
 Ways to save study, and make things so thin 
 That an automaton could take them in. 
 He must "develop" this, make it so plain 
 The child can grasp it without mental strain; 
 "Developing" is a new-fangled quirk 
 In which the teacher mostly does the work, 
 The pupil wondering, we may well suppose, 
 "That one small head can carry all he knows." 
 
 f,- * * 
 
 When I was young, ah, many years ago, 
 Study meant work, and we were made to know 
 By illustrations of elaborate length, 
 That he who did the work obtained the strength. 
 If this be true, and who of us can doubt it, 
 How will these children get much strength without it? 
 Simplification has become a "craze," 
 An evil that receives a world of praise. 
 If you would send out weaklings, do their work, 
 Teach them thus early in their lives to shirk. 
 
 ! . : .-. !> 
 
 Now do not for a moment understand 
 That schools are not improving in our land, 
 As I have said, a loss goes with each gain, 
 To make true progress then, the rule is plain; 
 Conserve the gain, the loss then minimize. 
 This pre-supposes that we realize 
 That we must use intense discrimination 
 To recognize these, in the work of education. 
 Lacking this power, how oft we go astray, 
 Failing to see which is the better way. 
 
San Jose, Calif. 
 
 Dedicated to the Teachers of California. 
 
 A SALUTE TO THE FLAG. 
 
 * * * 
 
 All hail our Country s Flag! We honor thce, 
 The Stars and Stripes, fair emblem of the Free, 
 
 So widely , justly famed in song and story! 
 Saluting thee, this solemn pledge I give, 
 I will be true, so long as I shall live, 
 
 And ever loyal unto thee, "Old Glory" . 
 
 CHAS. II. ALLEN. 
 
Educational Progress 
 
 ITS FOIBLES AND ITS FADS 
 
 After, but a great ways behind, an old Poem 
 
 BY PROF. CHARLES H. ALLEN 
 
 SAN JOS 
 
 Read at the 
 
 California State Teachers Association, San Francisco 
 December, 1897 
 
INVOCATION. 
 
 Hail, Sacred Muse, the fairest of the Nine, 
 For this one hour let all thy powers be mine. 
 I beg of thee that thou wilt gently spread 
 Thy lunds in benediction o er my head; 
 Inspire my biain with true Promethean Fire, 
 My hand, that I may strike the tuneful lyre; 
 Let the divine afflatus fill my soul 
 And make mine eyes with a fine frenzy roll; 
 Touch thou my pen-point with a living flame, 
 My lips with honey, that I may proclaim 
 In lofty measure and in words refined, 
 The blessings now bestowed upon mankind. 
 
 Keep ny digestion good, my voice in tune, 
 That 1 mav sweetly sing my runic rune; 
 Ik-fore my faltering footsteps clear the way 
 Thai: horn the truth I never widely stray; 
 And may all those who hear me, as they may, 
 Fech to the other, sweetly, softly say, 
 With not ? voice dissenting, not a nay, 
 "We heard a Poet in the hall to-day; 
 H ; s brow was haggard and his whiskers gray." 
 
 Then can I to all waiting ears impart 
 
 The trail s now burning in my inmost heart, 
 
 Letting them fall with such a subtle art 
 
 That each shall reach its end like magic dart. 
 
 Grant these requests, O Gentle Muse, and th^n 
 
 I ll i.over, never trouble thee again. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 We meet so r-any thir.gs in life that vex us and harass us,- 
 
 And this, your iiivivritir-n, that I shall climb Parnassus 
 
 To catch my dear old Pegasus, and bring him down to business, 
 
 Gives to my brain a certain sense of weariness and dizziness. 
 
 It sets my heart to throbbing- with tumultuous commotion. 
 
 And my feelings run a riot like a storm-beat, troubled ocean. 
 
 T am confident that few of you have ever stopped to realize 
 
 The mental strain one undergoes in efforts to idealize 
 
 The prosy, hnmdnrm, grinding work, the work called pedagogic; 
 
 And those who hove will not expect good sense, good rhyme, jjootl 
 
 logic. 
 
 You see, my beast has been so long exposed to wind and weather 
 That he doesn t quite appreciate the virtue of a tether; 
 He often bucks and shows his heels, acting at times so frisky 
 That to parade him here to-day may prove a trifle risky: 
 He cares, not he, for curb nor rein, for coaxing words nor banter, 
 But lopes along, indifferent, with a clattering kind of canter. 
 So I must ride at his sweet will; no use to fret nor grumble, 
 And T shall feel more than content if I don t catch a tumble. 
 
[ 4 ] 
 
 John Gilpin once took such a ride, the scene is quite pathetic, 
 As Cqwper wrote it down for us, in word and phrase poetic. 
 Well, here I corne, with lance in rest, a modern Don Quixote; 
 Whom I encounter, where I strike, I care not one iota. 
 My subject gives a wondrous range, my measure, opportunity; 
 "Poetic license." gives relief, from blame I claim immunity. 
 If heads are hit or toes are cinched, pray do not be offended, 
 I simply tell you what I think, and no offense intended. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 My theme is progress, for "the world does move," 
 Mostly, tis true, along the well-worn groove; 
 Sometimes the wheels turn from the deepening ruts, 
 And then, unheeding all the "if s and but s," 
 It takes its course along some new-found way. 
 Causing what seems "the wonder of the day." 
 
 Aforetime there were Giants, we are told; 
 Ours it has been some giants to behold, 
 Men with great minds who won the public ear, 
 Speaking such words as all delight to hear. 
 These rren have taught us well, by precepts mild, 
 Set in oui midst, as did the Christ, the child, 
 Showing in words of wisdom, words of love, 
 That this, "the little one," must stand above 
 A!! othei things, that we must work and plan 
 To tiair him toward the type, the perfect man. 
 
 These men we honor, their grand work we praise. 
 For they have taught us wiser, better ways. 
 For Pestalozzi, Froebel, Mann, and Page, 
 Arnold of Rugby, wisest of his age, 
 We would entwine a wreath of fadeless bays. 
 Singing their glory in no stinted phrase. 
 They all have passed away, their work well done; 
 Each bore a torch, bright, shining as the sun. 
 
 At these great torches tapers have been lit, 
 Thousands of tapers, can you question it? 
 Tapers that glimmer with a fitful glare, 
 And like an ignis fatuus, lead us where? 
 Each one who holds a taper cries aloud, 
 Striving to win a hearing from the crowd: 
 "Lo here, lo there," in strident tones they cry, 
 "Ye who lack wisdom, come to us and buy; 
 Not without money nor without a price. 
 That were too simple; come learn our device; 
 We ll show you how to make proficient scholars. 
 But you must pay us well, where are the dollars? 
 Or, buy our book, you know tis copyrighted. 
 Above all things the purse must not be slighted. 
 The laborer is worthy of his hire, 
 If not a hearer, please become a buyer; 
 Wisdom will die with ns, do not delay; 
 Put up the coin, this is the appointed way." 
 
[ 5 ] 
 
 And so these taper-men are flitting round, 
 Finding, of course, abundant threshing- ground 
 On \\hich to thresh the old straw o er and o er, 
 That has been threshed a hundred times before. 
 I need not tell you how to recognize 
 This class of men they all are wondrous wise 
 All other ways but theirs they loud decry, 
 And every one exploits a giant I. 
 
 There arc some torches yet, we have great men; 
 They are not common in our world, but when 
 You meet one, you will often be surprised 
 To find that he has scarcely realized 
 That he is great; moreover, this I ween, 
 Such men are few and very far between. 
 One might, perhaps, in looking o er our land, 
 Count all upon the fingers of one hand; 
 Oh, blessed hope how in each heart it lingers 
 Your name will find a place upon those fingers. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Ou" real progress has been made by slow and easy stages, 
 As Mother Nature has been working all along the ages: 
 Along the line there is a movement, called by some progression, 
 Which thoughtful ones might designate merely a retrogression. 
 If change were progress, as some claim, in stilted declamation, 
 To find out now "where we are at" would take some calculation. 
 The pendulum swings to and fro, sometimes far from the normal, 
 But always settles back again into the staid and formal; . < 
 Yet e\ery year brings forth a fad, and every month a notion, 
 And each within its little sphere creates a grand commotion; 
 So all who wish to ornament our great and good profession 
 Muse do the best they can, if they would keep with the procession. 
 
 Our mother tongue is being changed, alas! we must admit it, 
 And many a new word has been born without a thought to fit i ; 
 Old things have been baptized anew, put on such form and features 
 As makes it hard to recognize the once familiar creatures- 
 The modern teacher who at last becomes the proud possessor 
 Of a first grade certificate, at once is dubbed "Professor:" 
 A couise of study once was thought a sturdy thing to dash on, 
 Now you must say "curriculum" if you would be in fashion: 
 A school term s a "semester," a school ground is a "campus," 
 A strange philology indeed, that so far can revamp us; 
 Once girls wrote compositions and little boys spoke pieces, 
 Now boys "pronounce orations." and little girls write "theses." 
 Soon we shall hear "commencement day" applied through our whole 
 
 nation 
 To what in good old times was called "beginning of vacation." 
 
 , Where will this end? Oh, who can tell? Our words are ever 
 
 altering: 
 
 T.e in the swim," adopt each word, and never think of faltering. 
 And thui new words, long, very strange, our mental tasks to vary, 
 Have been adopted as a part of our vocabulary: 
 Some of them have a fair excuse, a new thought is presented, 
 
[ 6 ] 
 
 But most of them are very old; why were new words invented? 
 They sound more learned, it is true, but had it not been better 
 To spell spade, s-p-a-d-e, and never change a letter? 
 ".Ah, no/ our taper friends reply, "we make no such concession, 
 For simple, homelike, well-known words will make no deep impres 
 sion." 
 
 So now things do not harmonize, they are "co-ordinated," 
 And when they help each other out, then they are "correlated," 
 Self-consciousness is not the word, we now say "apperception," 
 That prefix-syllable has had a very warm reception. 
 For possibilities that may sometime become realities, 
 There is but one word you must use, the word "potentialities." 
 In journeying we no longer try to find the shortest distance, 
 But always strive to move along "the line of least resistance." 
 No one now says he spares himself, he seeks for "conservation," 
 The things are very near alike, must be a close relation. 
 Once we had knowledge-studies, and studies that gave power, 
 Now these are "content;" those are "formal" these two words, what 
 
 a dower! 
 
 And if the thing goes bravely on, in word and phrase oracular 
 We shall entirely "lose our grip" upon the plain vernacular. 
 All persons now who wish to teach, if they would make the thing go 
 Not only have to learn the work but also learn the "lingo." 
 
 The writer here desires to make a pertinent reflection; 
 He has for this our mother tongue a genuine affection: 
 He learnt it from his mother s lips, so loving and so tender, 
 And he desires, as best he can, to speak as its defender. 
 The language that a Shakespeare wrote, showing its wondrous feat 
 ures, 
 
 Should meet the needs if not the wants of nineteenth century teachers. 
 And when a teacher strains a point, high sounding words to borrow, 
 He dare not say, "It makes me tired," it fills his heart with sorrow. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 It would weary your attention should I even try to mention 
 
 Half the fads that have been followed in the past; 
 I must touch a few, but gently, and if you watch intently 
 
 You will see what I am coming to at last- 
 
 It is hardly worth the telling, but the old syllabic spelling 
 
 Once held proud dominion over every class; 
 Now all syllabication has taken a vacation, 
 
 And the thoughtful teacher cries, "alack! alas!" 
 
 On<-e arithmetic w.as mental, slate and pencil incidental, 
 
 But such mental work no longer now is used; 
 But hrs there been a gaining to offset the splendid training 
 
 Of that work when i t was used and not abused? 
 
 Then "concert recitation" swept like wild-fire o er the nation, 
 
 Anc! it made a really very pretty race; 
 To anive at erudition "simultaneous repetition" 
 
 Was the only thing thought worthy of a place. 
 
[ 7 ] 
 
 Now all this is relegated to the niche market "antiquated," 
 
 And the pupil sits so silent on his seat, 
 And becomes so dull and dozy that he very rarely knows he 
 
 Has learned a single sentence to repeat. 
 
 "Object lessons" next invaded our domain; we were persuaded 
 That the pupil should do all his work with things; 
 
 Text-books were no longer needful, but each pupil must be heedful 
 Of the lessons that Dame Nature ever brings. 
 
 Bui to do this, every teacher must be more than half a preacher, 
 Must "understand all mystery, all knowledge," to succeed; 
 
 Was it strange that so to study made the acquisition muddy? 
 Ficm the te!xt-book we can never quite be freed. 
 
 We have now a repetition well, perhaps a new edition, 
 
 Of these lessons, "Nature Studies" it is called; 
 Very nearly the old story, with a new halo of glory, 
 
 Asking for a place in which to be installed. 
 
 The old dry bones of grammar, over which we used to stammer, 
 
 Were once "prophesied upon" till they had life; 
 
 How we parsed in Young and Milton! getting knowledge that he was 
 built on 
 
 A foundation still the source of ceaseless strife. 
 
 The grammar exploitation was of very long duration, 
 
 L-iving on for very nearly, forty years; 
 When at last it passed away, the thought of its decay 
 
 Has never been the cause of many tears. 
 
 But there came a strong reaction, other things had more attraction, 
 
 And the study has been driven to the wall; 
 Though once so widely famed it has had to be re-named, 
 
 Arid the study now is "language lessons" called. 
 
 Years ago we heard the ringing of the "geographic singing," 
 
 When we sang the states and capitals "by rote" ; 
 It came with much persistence, but in all its brief existence 
 
 It yielded no "geographers" of note. 
 
 Then we had a siege of "phonics," running through all diatonics, 
 When we spelled our reading lessons out by sound; 
 
 This led up to "elocution," that ear-electrocution, 
 Which at last brought on a serious re-bound- 
 
 Next "Delsarte," the graceful creature, came to be a leading feature. 
 
 Its impressions we can hardly yet efface; 
 By many a weary tussle one can discipline each muscle. 
 
 And "decompose" with dignity and grace. 
 
 All these fads, as I have shown them and most of you have known 
 them, 
 
 Are now packed away, and labeled "out of date" ; 
 But examine each chimera, it marks a Progress-Era, 
 
 In the evolution of our present state. 
 
I am not ashamed to own it, for some of you have (known it, 
 I bowed down and worshiped all of these in turn; 
 
 But we have this consolation, in our glorious vocation, 
 Every teacher is obliged to live and learn. 
 
 Again, ir this connection, a pertinent reflection 
 
 On the things to be observed in every fad; 
 At birth, they are not prominent, in growth becoming dominant, 
 
 And each has much of good, and some of bad. 
 
 Each is guarded by a "bogie, the warning cry, "old fogy," 
 
 Applied to every one who would oppose, 
 Makes the timid teacher follow it, although he may not ^swallow 
 
 So however inconsistent, on it goes. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 Part I. 
 
 The pi ogress in the past having briefly been portrayed, 
 
 That is, the fads that helped it pointed out, 
 It remains to speak of this, the wonderful decade, 
 
 When so many startling fads are coming out. 
 
 Of the past, it has been simple, these fads have passed away, 
 But the present shows a very different phase; 
 
 The "personal equation" is prominent to-day, 
 And a speaker must be careful what he says. 
 
 The self-same bogie haunts us, "old fogy" is the cry, 
 If you don t fall in and follow all that s new; 
 
 It is not an easy matter for a man as young as I 
 To admit that such a charge, perhaps, is true. 
 
 But alas, it must be done, my steed will not be curbed, 
 
 I must speak of these as freely as of those, 
 If I seem to strike some idol, pray do not be disturbed, 
 
 For "the truth will always triumph o er its foes." 
 
 Of the fads that now are rampant, in less than twenty years 
 
 Very few, I prophesy, will be alive, 
 Let it settle all our doubts, allay our anxious fears, 
 
 To reflect that all "the fittest will survive." 
 
 As a fad the kindergarten has but recently had birth, 
 
 As a place for homeless children, it is old; 
 And for these it is a charity, the grandest known to earth, 
 
 One that angels are delighted to behold. 
 
 out for children with good homes, the first five tender years 
 
 All belong unto the mothers of our land; 
 Ah, who would dare assume all the anxious hopes and fears, 
 
 And the tender ministrations of her hand? 
 
[ 9 ] 
 
 To the mother it is precious: that is her "better part;" 
 And the training that good mothers always give 
 
 Is a beacon light to glory in every human heart, 
 Shining ever on, so long as one may live. 
 
 Child Study is a fad, loud proclaiming something new; 
 
 It s as old as love within a mother s heart; 
 Ihe most that can be claimed, and that I grant is true, 
 
 !* is superseding nature s plan with art. 
 
 That a modicum of knowledge can be gathered by this plan 
 You will find no one so foolish as to doubt; 
 
 But when it has been gathered, where can you find the man 
 Who can take the facts and figure children out? 
 
 Ah no, my friends, believe me, child-nature is a thing 
 That no human hand can measure, mind compute, 
 
 Arid despite the work so far, and the peans that they sing, 
 They have shown us very little useful fruit. 
 
 The child is made self-conscious all children like to pose 
 And the bloom of childhood, how it disappears; 
 
 The children who are "studied" will certainly be those 
 Whom we recognize as wise beyond their years. 
 
 For the spirit of child-students I have only words of praise 
 
 I believe the work can so be reconciled 
 That children can be studied in such deft and subtle ways 
 
 As to leave the charm of childhood with the child. 
 
 The way is pointed out in the Book so highly prized, 
 
 It is nature s plan, unmodified by art. 
 No better way has ever been, can ever be devised; 
 
 "His mother kept these sayings in her heart." 
 
 Manual Training is so broad in what it claims to do 
 
 That its period can hardly be defined; 
 A part of it is old, but some of it is new, 
 
 So to treat it as a fad I m not inclined. 
 
 Writing, drawing and designing have long been recognized 
 As "expressive work" each pupil should attain; 
 
 But the phase of it to-day that seems most highly prized 
 Is the skill to use the hammer, saw and plane. 
 
 Clay modeling has now. in a measure, quite displaced 
 The mud-pies of our childhood what a void! 
 
 And the pocket-knife that once so many desks defaced 
 Is kept busy now, and teachers call it "Sloyd." 
 
 That each gain must have its loss is a universal law. 
 
 And all progress is accomplished at that cost; 
 We are gaining greater skill this conclusion I must draw, 
 
 The mischief and the fun are nearly lost. 
 
[ 10 ] . 
 
 The training of the child is a company affair 
 In which every home and school should do its part; 
 
 In laying out the work we must exercise great care, 
 Or we make a serious blunder at the start. 
 
 Is it not the better way to let parental care 
 Do the things that from a home we should expect? 
 
 If we claim to do it all, every one must be aware 
 That the home will be the loser, by neglect. 
 
 Psychology is here, and it claims a title, "New," 
 And with it also seems to "want the earth" ; 
 
 Tt is robbing all its neighbors, and, from its "point of view," 
 Most knowledge with psychology had birth. 
 
 AJ this is very well, but is it not quite true 
 That those men whose torches shed refulgent light, 
 
 Never heard of a psychology, that is, one labeled "New?" 
 And yet they led us pretty nearly right. 
 
 Ami what, may we expect when the giants of to-day 
 Shall perfect their work, magnificently great? 
 
 We bow our heads in silence, and with bated breath we stay, 
 The coming revelation to await! 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 Part II. 
 
 Another fad prevailing, protest is unavailing, 
 
 When under way a fad is hard to stop; 
 The process of inversion causes pain and not diversion 
 
 Teaching literature, beginning at the top 
 
 The subject thus presented makes the pupil discontented, 
 
 And it seems to be unfortunate for both, 
 That teachers do not realize, in efforts to idealize, 
 
 That literary culture is a growth. 
 
 The work must be amended to attain the ends intended, 
 
 Otherwise we can expect but poor results: 
 There can be no great advancement, little culture or enhancement, 
 
 In giving children what was written for adults. 
 
 First the blade, so frail and slender, then the ear, how fresh and 
 tender. 
 
 And after that, the full corn in the ear, 
 An attempt to force the growing makes in vain the careful sowing. 
 
 For the "cheat" and not the corn will then appear. 
 
 And with this, in close connection, claiming from it safe protection, 
 Comes the "Child Myth," with its visionary claim, 
 
 With its boastful declaration that it trains imaginaton, 
 Though sometimes the thing receives another name. 
 
[ 11 ] 
 
 Between prevarication and a rich imagination, 
 
 It is difficult at times to draw the line: 
 In childhood both are vigorous, unless we are quite rigorous, 
 
 We must draw distinctions very, very fine. 
 
 Whoever draws a long-bow must be sure it is a strong-bow, 
 And the bow-cord must give forth a healthy twang, 
 
 Or the arrow, by deflection, may take a new direction, 
 And become at any time a boomerang! 
 
 If we train to observation of the works of re-creation 
 
 That are going on around us day by day, 
 While useful knowledge gaining there will be enough remaining 
 
 To give the love of mystery full play. 
 
 We have this strange anomaly, quite worthy of a homily, 
 
 Of heathen gods we all may teach at will, 
 But of the King of Glory we dare not lisp the story, 
 
 But obey the mandate given, "Peace be still. " 
 
 Strange that a Christian nation, in its scheme of education 
 That we are a Christian nation who denies? 
 
 Should accept a Greek mythology a very lame apology, 
 For the broader faith we all so dearly prize! 
 
 Now with emphasis T say, I believe in all of these, 
 
 All are excellent, if kept where they belong; 
 It is only when o er-dominant that their profound decrees 
 
 Can lead us to results that may be wrong. 
 
 And one reason I have spoken of the fads I have to-day, 
 
 The fads that some of you so highly prize, 
 Is to call to your attention, in a somewhat pleasant way, 
 
 The places where the danger chiefly lies. 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 Now let us turn to other, lighter things, 
 Observing all the good that progress brings; 
 Go with me to the village school to-day 
 And see a school taught in the modern way. 
 If quite observant, soon the teacher sees he 
 Must if he would succeed make all things easy; 
 Therefore he gets, no matter what the price is, 
 A multitude of schemes now called "devices," 
 Ways to save study, and make things so thin 
 That an automaton could take them in. 
 He must "develop" this, make it so plain 
 The child can grasp it without mental strain; 
 "Developing is a new-fangled quirk 
 Ir which the teacher mostly does the work, 
 The pupil wondering, we may well suppose, 
 That one small head can carry all he knows. 
 
 When I was young, ah, many years ago, 
 Study meant work, and we were made to know 
 By illustrations of elaborate length, 
 
[ 12 ] 
 
 That he who did the work obtained the strength. 
 
 If this be true, and who of us can doubt it, 
 
 How will these children get much strength without it? 
 
 Simplification has become a "craze," 
 
 Ar. evil that receives a world of praise. 
 
 If you would send out weaklings, do their work, 
 
 Teach them thus early in their lives to shirk. 
 
 Now do not for a moment understand 
 That schools are not improving in our land: 
 As I have said, a loss goes with each gain, 
 To make true progress then, the rule is plain; 
 Conserve the gain, the loss the n minimize: 
 This pre-supposes that we realize 
 That we must use intense discrimination 
 To recognize these, in the work of education. 
 Lacking this power, how oft we go astray, 
 Failing to see which is the better way. 
 
 I thought to make my paper bright and sprightly, 
 To touch our fads and foibles very lightly; 
 A man once tried to live upon his wits 
 And failed for want of capital; this fits 
 The present case, and I have not succeeded 
 Because this useful warning was unheeded. 
 You know, yourselves, the wonderful facility 
 With which one over-rates his own ability; 
 And more, there are some subjects so far-reaching, 
 Connected with our work, the work of teaching, 
 That to a man who feels and judges rightly 
 It seems a sacrilege to treat them lightly. 
 
 L ENVOI. 
 
 My theme is not exhausted, it is different with you, 
 I have done the very best within my power; 
 
 But there are so many fads, what can a speaker do 
 When they cut him down to less than half an hour?, 
 
 If your fad has been omitted, the one you hold most dear, 
 Do not yield to disappointment, nor be vexed; 
 
 It is doubtless worth attention, and I promise now and here 
 To treat it very fully in my next. 
 
 If in rounding out a period, or fitting up a rhyme 
 Some of the fads I ve seemed a trifle hard on, 
 
 I am ready for forgiveness, and speak of it in time, 
 Feeling sure I shall receive abundant pardon. 
 
 Then with thanks for the attention you have given to my lay, 
 
 An attention that has wearied you, I fear, 
 I close with cheerful greetings, and from my heart I say, 
 
 I wish you all a happy glad New Year. 
 
tr\ ppi^nsls WQO 
 
 Reception; p^eb. 11, lc)00 ; in 
 
PRESS OF BROWER & SON, SAN JOSE, CAL. 
 
SAN JOSK, March, 1900. 
 
 DEAR FRIENDS : 
 
 The reception recently tendered me was worthy of 
 more than a mere passing acknowledgment. It is 
 impossible, by personal letters, to make this acknowledg 
 ment, for a large number generously responded to the 
 invitation of your Committee. May I therefore beg you 
 to accept, in place of what I would like to do, this little 
 memorial. 
 
 To say that I was deeply touched by the demon 
 stration of your kind remembrance and good will, but 
 feebly expresses rny feelings. I may confess to you 
 that during the last few years I have sometimes doubted 
 if the work I attempted to do with and for you had 
 secured, in any considerable degree, the ends at which 
 I aimed, and for which, in my imperfect way, I so earn 
 estly labored. 
 
 While the general scope of this work was to aid 
 you in acquiring a limited amount of knowledge about 
 certain subjects, and more especially about the art and 
 science of teaching, there was always abiding, deep in 
 my heart, a strong desire to aid you in becoming manly 
 men and womanly women, as well as to awaken and 
 stimulate in you new and stronger aspirations toward a 
 pure, noble, Christian life. 
 
 The sentiments so well and so universally expressed 
 in the papers and letters read upon that ever-to-be- 
 remembered occasion, and in the many other letters 
 received, have fully convinced me that our work, for I 
 
wish to include in this the splendid work of the noble 
 men and women that I was permitted to select as my 
 associates, has not been in vain. I am comforted, for I 
 can say with Byron : 
 
 "If in your memories dwell 
 A thought that once was his, if on you swell 
 A single recollection, not in vain 
 He wore the sandal-shoon, the scallop-shell." 
 
 For this I thank you all. 
 
 The little volume, so daintly gotten up and so 
 gracefully presented, made up of selections from the 
 "waifs of my brain," that you had the temerity to 
 print, was indeed a surprise. Doubtless your kind feel 
 ings for the author have led you to esteem them more 
 highly than they deserve. They will, henceforth, have 
 to me an added value your appreciation. Even a 
 casual reader will observe that few of them were written 
 for the public eye, and but for you they never would 
 have taken their present form. 
 
 It will be remembered that on the occasion, there 
 was a collection of poems read, from graduates of the 
 school, entitled, "A Jingle of Many Bells." This 
 most of you have never seen, and I take pleasure in 
 putting it into your hands. They are grave and gay, 
 running through the entire gamut, from the mere rhyme 
 ster to the true poet ; but I can assure you that the 
 undertone of friendship, permeating all, is as sweet in 
 the one as in the other. 
 
We once had a cynic in the faculty, and had these 
 poems appeared at that time they would have given rise 
 to something like this : " Well, here comes one more 
 objection to Normal schools ; if they are to turn loose 
 upon a suffering public a crop of would-be poets." 
 However, as less than one per cent of our graduates 
 is represented, though doubtless others are guilty, the 
 public can endure it. 
 
 Let me close by again cordially thanking you, and 
 
 sign myself as 
 
 Ever your friend, 
 
 CHAS. H. 
 
A Jingle of Many Bells. 
 
 i. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 A nightingale, so reads an old time story, 
 Who d sung all day, still mid the evening glory, 
 Poured forth her cheerful notes in generous measure, 
 For cheer of villagers and children s pleasure. 
 
 So you, dear friend, who, with poetic greetings, 
 Have furnished cheer for anniversary meetings, 
 Have led us on with words and strains inspiring, 
 In service to the Muse are still untiring ; 
 And when for festival or feast we mingle, 
 We re apt to look to you to write a jingle, 
 Quite confident that, like the bird of fable, 
 To still sing on you ll always prove well able. 
 
 To-night it comes our turn to bring the offering; 
 You are the honored guest to whom we re proffering 
 Our best respects, with hearts quite in a flutter, 
 And each arrayed in his best bib and tucker. 
 And as we add to these, esteem, affection, 
 The best that we can bring in each direction, 
 We keenly feel how much we need a poet 
 A genius, who would know just how to do it. 
 
 As names of graduates many we con over, 
 
 But one a famous poet we discover 
 
 Charles Edwin Markham, whom the world is knowing 
 
 As author of " The Man that did the hoeing" 
 
 If he were here, to help us we d beseech him, 
 
 But as he s gone to eastward, we can t reach him. 
 
 For every hour of need a hero s ready; 
 And humbler rhymesters, though with nerves unsteady, 
 Said, "Verses we must have, and so to make em 
 We pledge ourselves or save our necks or break 
 
We oft had heard and read, in various places, 
 
 Of lt Pfg&SUS)" a steed of wondrous paces, 
 
 On whose broad back one mounts and rides ecstatic, 
 
 With frenzied eyes and utterings erratic. 
 
 Few of us knew at all what he resembled, 
 
 And those who did, to mount him sorely trembled. 
 
 We d also heard a Muse the poet guided, 
 But no directory told where she resided; 
 And as we sought, with consternation smitten 
 We found the words " divine afflatus" written. 
 Here was a term our puzzled brains to addle ; 
 Was this the beastie s bridle, or his saddled 
 
 Our steeds once mounted by their trembling masters, 
 They showed no willingness to leave their pastures. 
 Some, from long rest, were stiff, and some were frisky, 
 Some had lame feet, which made the riding risky ; 
 And some that looked and trotted well unmated, 
 When matched with others, proved quite different gaited. 
 
 So we set out resolved on death or glory. 
 
 But of that ride, ask not to hear the story. 
 
 You oft have told us, in poetic measure, 
 
 That gift is ever prized as greatest treasure, 
 
 In which most of the giver s self is hidden. 
 
 If so, could you but know the ride we ve ridden 
 
 The grievous stumbling over stony places, 
 
 The perspiration rolling down our faces, 
 
 As whip and spur we plied through brush and bramble, 
 
 To make our stubborn beasts consent to amble, 
 
 The spurts, that made the echoing hills to rumble, 
 
 The sudden stops, resulting in a tumble 
 
 Could this tale all be told, from start to ending, 
 
 As home, afoot, our weary way we re wending, 
 
 You d know that, if as poets we re " not in it," 
 
 We ve given ourselves to end and to begin it. 
 
 Ruth Royce. 
 
II. 
 
 This offering of love we bring to-night, 
 This birthday greeting to our poet-sage, 
 We call a medley poem (?) term most fit 
 For such a group of fragments as our lines. 
 Yet who has ever heard in voice or song 
 A medley carrying through its every change 
 The unifying swell, the underflow 
 Of one deep feeling, as may here be found? 
 For let the lines be either grave or light, 
 Ever one common heart-throb sent them forth ; 
 And he, our friend, with ear to truth attuned, 
 Will hear that cadence and its import feel. 
 
 Laura BethelL 
 
 III. 
 
 Dear friends, my memory turns to-night 
 To other scenes, to other joys, 
 
 And backward rolls old Time s swift flight 
 To days when we were girls and boys. 
 
 The pranks we played, the merry jest, 
 
 In vivid, joyous pictures rise ; 
 We tell them o er with hearty zest, 
 
 With laughing lips, but tearful eyes. 
 
 The days, that then were free from care, 
 Have since been filled with worldly strife 
 
 And distant views that looked so fair, 
 Turned rugged steeps in the Hill of Life. 
 
 The brave ones climb the upward way, 
 With merry song and laughing jest 
 
 As they hew and toil ; while others play, 
 And the tired ones sink to early rest. 
 
 But he who led us, teacher still 
 
 And friend, he s lingered on the way ; 
 
 Some of us feel December s chill, 
 He gathers yet the flowers of May. 
 
9 
 
 Dear Father of us all, we pray 
 
 For strength to meet life s pain, L,ife s joys ; 
 Though passing years turn hair to gray, 
 
 At heart still keep us girls and boys. 
 
 Alice Ely the Wilson. 
 
 IV. 
 
 When called to join the band of rhymesters, 
 I pondered o er what I should say, 
 
 My mind insistently reverted 
 
 To the Method hour" in old "Room K." 
 
 There happy hours we spent as Seniors, 
 Heeding intent all you would say 
 
 The sound advice so wisely given, 
 
 Wise words that helped us day by day. 
 
 Our greetings fond we gladly send you, 
 
 With those of others far away. 
 Your children ever call you blessed 
 
 For lessons taught us in " Room K." 
 
 S. Ellen McFarland. 
 
 V. 
 
 By the law of the old school circle, 
 
 Tis written in letters of gold, 
 The Beloved is never forgotten, 
 
 Much less can he ever grow old. 
 
 Because of the love that he gave us, 
 Far more than for all that he taught, 
 
 Because of his true loving kindness, 
 
 For his joy loving gifts are now brought. 
 
 So for our beloved Professor 
 
 This queer little jingle I send, 
 With the hope that some added pleasure 
 
 Its sincere best wishes may lend. 
 
 Annie Kohler. 
 
10 
 VI. 
 
 How dear to my heart are the scenes of my school days, 
 
 When fond recollection presents them to view, 
 The class-room, the hall where we gathered on Fridays, 
 And every loved spot that our youthful steps knew. 
 The long, windy corridors down which we wandered, 
 
 In twos and in threes, arm in arm, side by side, 
 The spelling we conned and the lessons we pondered, 
 And even the training school, where our hopes died. 
 Troublesome training school, 
 Bothersome training school, 
 Tear-starting training school, 
 Where our hopes died. 
 
 How well I remember the mornings, when tripping 
 
 Across the wet square with our books at our backs, 
 W T e jumped over puddles or else landed dripping 
 
 Where thick, black adobe soon moulded our tracks. 
 But, midst all the scenes in those days that are vanished, 
 
 Filled with youthful delights and with high swelling pride, 
 There is one that stands out and will not be banished, 
 Tisthe terrible training school, where our hopes died. 
 Heart-breaking training school, 
 Soul-aching training school, 
 Brain-sick ning training school, 
 Where our hopes died. 
 
 The old class in methods, when, note-books before us, 
 
 We jotted the points that made teaching so plain, 
 That we longed for the time, when, with classes before us, 
 We could practice the wisdom we d stored in our brain. 
 But, alas for our hopes and our youthful ambition, 
 
 Alas, for the methods we studied with pride, 
 In spite of our aim and our vast ammunition, 
 
 We wept in the training school, where our hopes died. 
 Much-dreaded training school, 
 Sleep-spoiling training school, 
 Soul-racking training school, 
 Where our hopes died. 
 
11 
 
 The swift passing years have brought changes and sorrow, 
 
 Old faces are gone and old voices are hushed, 
 But hope always points to a beautiful morrow, 
 
 And hearts do not break, though so sorely they re crushed. 
 So, we joy in the life that among us still lingers, 
 
 And now, may the love and the homage we bear, 
 Be woven in garlands by magical fingers, 
 And placed by our hands on his silvery hair. 
 In spite of the training school, 
 Hair-bleaching training school, 
 Ghost-breeding training school, 
 Now laid aside. 
 
 Mrs. S. Estelle Greathead. 
 
 VII. 
 
 There comes a long procession 
 From the glimmer of long ago, 
 
 And the faces that pass before me 
 Are those of friends I know. 
 
 As they come and go in the flicker 
 
 That memory holds so dear, 
 A mystical spell enwraps me, 
 
 And one stands out most clear. 
 
 The merry eyes have a sparkle 
 
 That illumined us when we were glad, 
 
 And sympathy s tears would dim them 
 In the hours when we were sad. 
 
 To the timid and homesick stranger 
 There was ever the word that cheers 
 
 That only real friends can give us, 
 To chase away our fears. 
 
 And now if in some small measure, 
 
 In the twilight of his day, 
 We can smooth out some rough places, 
 
 God grant our full hearts may. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Sargent Wilson. 
 
12 
 VIII. 
 
 NOTE.- The concluding stanzas of a longer poem, reminescent of 
 the school and faculty during Mrs. Gray s Normal days. 
 
 Dear Teachers of the precious olden time when life was new, 
 We are thinking not so much of what you taught us 
 
 But we come to-night with greetings, greetings warm and true 
 And our lives are full of good that you have brought us. 
 
 We are thinking of the strange and winding route by 
 
 which we ve come 
 
 To the mile-post that to-night we celebrate, 
 Since the day you said " God speed you," as we started 
 
 from our home 
 And set forth with hope to seek life s Golden Gate. 
 
 And we hope at this home-coming you will let us speak our mind; 
 
 We are better, as life s journey we pursue ; 
 And we love our neighbor better, to his failings are more kind, 
 
 Because we walked along the way with you. 
 
 Our joy in life is greater, and our hearts with peace are blest ; 
 
 Under trial our long-suffering is more, 
 And we know that meekness, gentleness and temper 
 ance are best, 
 
 This you taught us by the characters you bore. 
 
 Do not think our words are idle, for we give you honest praise, 
 And with gratitude unfeigned our hearts are swelling, 
 
 To you who link the present with the precious by-gone days, 
 And to those who now in paradise are dwelling. 
 
 You are standing near the summit with the sunset s golden glory 
 
 Falling over you, and all the landscape fair ; 
 We are following, far below you but we ve learned the 
 
 "old, old story," 
 "When the roll is called up yonder," we ll be there. 
 
 Harriet Haile Gray. 
 
13 
 IX. 
 
 I saw a long, long line of teachers pass, 
 And when I spoke one name, 
 Response in answer came : 
 
 * He opened to our feet the wider world 
 And led us on and on ; 
 The memory has not gone 
 
 Of all the patient wisdom of his art ; 
 Teaching, he made us long 
 To reach, and teach the throng. 
 
 11 He urged us forward to no fairy field ; 
 While ideal worlds were his, 
 He knew the world that is, 
 
 "And honest, with parental wisdom taught 
 The real, whereon to build 
 Toward hopes yet unfulfilled. 
 
 " He turned us toward his much-loved books, 
 As one with faith commends 
 The utterance of friends. 
 
 His teachings still in heart we hold, 
 And from the teachers ranks, 
 Return to him our thanks. 
 
 " And teaching what we learned from him, 
 We let our pupils know 
 To whom their thanks they owe. 
 
 " The patriarchal honor his ! 
 His pupils pupils hear 
 His name with reverence dear." 
 
 Laura Everett. 
 
14 
 X. 
 
 Psalter. Psalms 21-6. 
 
 There s a melody in spring time, 
 
 There s a rhythm in the air ; 
 There s harmony of sight and sound 
 
 With gladness everywhere; 
 A time for happy greeting, 
 
 For joyous roundelay, 
 To wish thee all things fair and good 
 
 And a happy after-day. 
 
 There s the gladness of the spring time 
 
 Perennial in thy heart, 
 A contentment through life s changes, 
 
 Tis thy lesson to impart. 
 There is sunshine in thy dear, kind eyes, 
 
 A ringing in thy voice, 
 The cheeriness our Father gives 
 
 To the children of His choice. 
 
 As the trees drink in the sunshine, 
 
 To give back in fruit and leaf, 
 As the grain and grass take light and warmth, 
 
 Fulfilled in bind and sheaf; 
 So thy deeds of pleasant kindness, 
 
 And thy words of loving care, 
 Come back in love s full measure 
 
 From thy children everywhere. 
 
 There is no older growing 
 
 When the heart is always young, 
 With the lasting sure felicity, 
 
 As the Psalms have ever sung; 
 That is the larger sunshine 
 
 To make all pathways bright 
 By thy cheer and trusty friendships 
 
 And thy counsels always right. 
 
15 
 
 With the brightness of the spring time 
 
 This wish is sent full free, 
 That each year may near the blessing 
 
 Of the sure felicity 
 That shows life s compensations 
 
 To brighten all the way, 
 For the lights of "life s west windows " 
 
 Are the brightest of the day. 
 
 Mrs. Bertie Week Fitzell. 
 
 XL 
 LIFE S SEA-FARER. 
 
 Into another port, dear friend, thy good ship sails to-day, 
 Out from God s mystic deep, 
 Where Time and Eternity sleep. 
 Like a sea-bird emerging from mists of gray, 
 Iced with storms, and white with spray, 
 Thy ship seeks a haven to-day. 
 
 On Life s broad seas, brave captain, thou hast served 
 
 at watch and wheel, 
 Where reign the fierce storm-kings, 
 Where the wandering albatross wings 
 Its untiring flight ; where weird waters feel 
 The breath of Wrath, and the brain doth reel 
 As the mariner stands at the wheel. 
 
 And now as thou sail st from port to-day, borne on 
 
 toward realms unknown, 
 Far out on God s mystic deep 
 Where Love and Destiny sleep, 
 
 In the trust ever strong that He knoweth His own, 
 Thou never shalt wander, aimless, alone, 
 On the limitless seas unknown. 
 
 John G. Jury. 
 

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