dience; sixteen professors sat by his side
and he had just delivered forty-nine diplomas to as many graduates.
Usually the annual address was mainly to the graduates. This address took
a wider scope. It was intended and did touch everyone who had an interest
in this great institution. It was full of affectionate counsel and
expressions of honest gratitude. The atmosphere which had been
unconsciously affecting the people throughout the program was beginning
to be analyzed. Farewell words were of course expected at this time; such
were customary at such a time. But these were no common words. There was
more than a common "Good-by" in them. This president had spoken similar
words twenty-nine times, but never just such words. His eyes were growing
misty when at the end he said: "My dear friends, this is not simply a
'Good-by' that I speak, but a sincere, heartfelt 'Farewell.'" A few
minutes later seven hundred persons stood with eyes suffused with tears,
and with bowed heads to receive the apostolic benediction.

Next day at ten o'clock the joint board met in the board room, in its
annual meeting. The attendance was large--trustees, faculty, and visiting
brethren. The word had gone out that important changes would likely take
place, but none knew just what they would be.

J. M. Quintin, chairman of the board, presided. Reports from each officer
were made. The secretary of the board read his report; it was a model of
perspicuity and encouragement. Each member of the faculty presented an
account of his work. A glowing report was made by Quintin of Sparrow's
work on the farm, and a resolution of appreciation was sent to the
farmer. Indeed, the board had never received such reports of the
prosperous condition of the Monastery. Then came the president's annual
report. This was his thirtieth annual report; nor was it very different
from the twenty-nine that had preceded it. It was permeated with
hopefulness for the future and gratitude for the past. Then came that
which seemed to be the great burden of his heart. This was to be his last
official message. He said, in substance, that the wise man's description
of old age was fast coming into his experience. The keepers of the house
begin to tremble, the grinders were ceasing because they were few. He
was beginning to be afraid of that which was high. The almond was
flourishing; the grasshopper was becoming a burden; desire was beginning
to fail. In a word, three score and ten years