Model Speeches for Practise | Page 8

Brothers of the Association of the Alumni:--It is your misfortune and
mine that you must accept my services as your presiding officer of the
day in the place of your retiring president. I shall not be believed if I
say how unwillingly it is that for the second time I find myself in this
trying position; called upon to fill, as I best may, the place of one
whose presence and bearing, whose courtesy, whose dignity, whose
scholarship, whose standing among the distinguished children of the
university, fit him alike to guide your councils and to grace your
festivals. The name of Winthrop has been so long associated with the
State and with the college that to sit under his mild empire is like
resting beneath one of these wide-branching elms the breadth of whose
shade is only a measure of the hold its roots have taken in the soil. In
the midst of civil strife we, the children of this our common mother,
have come together in peace. And surely there never was a time when
we more needed a brief respite in some chosen place of refuge, some
unviolated sanctuary, from the cares and anxieties of our daily
existence than at this very hour. Our life has grown haggard with
excitement. The rattle of drums, the march of regiments, the gallop of
squadrons, the roar of artillery, seem to have been continually sounding
in our ears day and night, sleeping and waking, for two long years and
more. How few of us have not trembled and shuddered with fear over
and over again for those whom we love. Alas! how many that hear me
have mourned over the lost--lost to earthly sight, but immortal in our
love and their country's honor! We need a little breathing-space to rest

from our anxious thoughts, and, as we look back to the tranquil days
we passed in this still retreat, to dream of that future when in God's
good time, and after his wise purpose is fulfilled, the fair angel who has
so long left us shall lay her hand upon the leaping heart of this
embattled nation and whisper, "Peace! be still!"
Here of all places in the world we may best hope to find the peace we
seek for. It seems as if nothing were left undisturbed in New England
except here and there an old graveyard, and these dear old College
buildings, with the trees in which they are embowered. The old State
House is filled with those that sell oxen and sheep and doves, and the
changers of money. The Hancock house, the umbilical scar of the cord
that held our city to the past, is vanishing like a dimple from the water.
But Massachusetts, venerable old Massachusetts, stands as firm as ever;
Hollis, this very year a centenarian, is waiting with its honest red face
in a glow of cordiality to welcome its hundredth set of inmates; Holden
Chapel, with the skulls of its Doric frieze and the unpunishable cherub
over its portals, looks serenely to the sunsets; Harvard, within whose
ancient walls we are gathered, and whose morning bell has murdered
sleep for so many generations of drowsy adolescents, is at its post,
ready to startle the new-fledged freshmen from their first uneasy
slumbers. All these venerable edifices stand as they did when we were
boys,--when our grandfathers were boys. Let not the rash hand of
innovation violate their sanctities, for the cement that knits these walls
is no vulgar mortar, but is tempered with associations and memories
which are stronger than the parts they bind together!
We meet on this auspicious morning forgetting all our lesser
differences. As we enter these consecrated precincts, the livery of our
special tribe in creed and in politics is taken from us at the door, and we
put on the court dress of our gracious Queen's own ordering, the
academic robe, such as we wore in those bygone years scattered along
the seven last decades. We are not forgetful of the honors which our
fellow students have won since they received their college
"parts,"--their orations, dissertations, disquisitions, colloquies, and
Greek dialogs. But to-day we have no rank; we are all first scholars.

The hero in his laurels sits next to the divine rustling in the dry garlands
of his doctorate. The poet in his crown of bays, the critic, in his wreath
of ivy, clasp each other's hands, members of the same happy family.
This is the birthday feast for every one of us whose forehead has been
sprinkled from the font inscribed "Christo et Ecclesioe." We have no
badges but our diplomas, no distinctions but our years of graduation.
This is the republic carried into the university; all of us are born equal
into this great fraternity.
Welcome, then,