rattling keys and tinny sound, on which we were supposed to play our scales and exercises for an hour, though we often slyly indulged in the ‘Russian March,’ ‘Napoleon Crossing the Rhine,’ or our national airs, when, as slyly, Mr. Powell, our music teacher, a bumptious Englishman, would softly open the door and say in a stern voice, ’Please practice the lesson I just gave you!’

“Our chief delight was to break the rules, but we did not like to be caught at it.  As we were forbidden to talk with our neighbors in study hours, I frequently climbed on top of my bureau to talk through a pipe hole with a daughter of Judge Howell of Canandaigua.  We often met afterward, laughed and talked over the old days, and kept our friendship bright until the day of her death.  Once while rooming with Harriet Hudson, a sister of Mrs. John Willard, I was moved to a very erratic performance.  Miss Theresa Lee had rung the bell for retiring, and had taken her rounds, as usual, to see that the lights were out and all was still, when I peeped out of my door, and seeing the bell at the head of the stairs nearby, I gave it one kick and away it went rolling and ringing to the bottom.  The halls were instantly filled with teachers and scholars, all in white robes, asking what was the matter.  Harriet and I ran around questioning the rest, and what a frolic we had, helter-skelter, up and down stairs, in each other’s rooms, pulling the beds to pieces, changing girls’ clothes from one room to another, etc., etc.  The hall lamps, dimly burning, gave us just light enough for all manner of depredations without our being recognized, hence the unbounded latitude we all felt for mischief.  In our whole seminary course—­and I was there nearly three years—­we never had such a frolic as that night.  It took all the teachers to restore order and quiet us down again for the night.  No suspicion of any irregularities were ever attached to Harriet and myself.  Our standing for scholarship was good, hence we were supposed to reflect all the moralities.

“Though strangers, we have a bond of union in all these memories, of our bright companions, our good teachers, who took us through the pitfalls of logic, rhetoric, philosophy, and the sciences, and of the noble woman who founded the institution, and whose unselfish devotion in the cause of education we are here to celebrate.  The name of Emma Willard is dear to all of us; to know her was to love and venerate her.  She was not only good and gifted, but she was a beautiful woman.  She had a finely developed figure, well-shaped head, classic features, most genial manners, and a profound self-respect (a rare quality in woman), that gave her a dignity truly royal in every position.  Traveling in the Old World she was noticed everywhere as a distinguished personage.  And all these gifts she dedicated to the earnest purpose of her life, the higher education of women.

“In opening this seminary she