“Be not a burrowing parasite, feasting off of the world’s raw blood.  Let the world draw life from you.  Use not the misfortunes of your people as stones of a monument erected to your name.  If you do, the iron fist of time will knock it over on your grave to crumble your decaying bones to further dust.

“Always serve the world as the voice of good conscience, instructed by a righteous God, may direct.  Do this and thou shalt live; live in the sweetened memory of your countrymen; live in the heart of your Alma Mater; live when the earth is floating dust, when the stars are dead, when the sun is a charred and blackened ruin; live on the bosom of your Savior, by the throne of his God, in the eternal Heavens.”

The teacher’s soul was truly in his discourse and his thoughts sank deep into the hearts of his hearers.  None listened more attentively than Belton.  None were more deeply impressed than he.  None more readily incorporated the principles enumerated as a part of their living lives.

When the preacher sat down he bowed his head in his hands.  His frame shook.  His white locks fluttered in the gentle spring breeze.  In silence he prayed.  He earnestly implored God to not allow his work and words to be in vain.  The same fervent prayer was on Belton’s lips, rising from the center of his soul.  Somewhere, these prayers met, locked arms and went before God together.  In due time the answer came.

This sermon had much to do with Belton’s subsequent career.  But an incident apparently trivial in itself was the occasion of a private discourse that had even greater influence over him.  It occurred on Thursday following the night of the delivery of the sermon just reported.  It was on this wise: 

Belton had, in everything, excelled his entire class, and was, according to the custom, made valedictorian.  His room-mate was insanely jealous of him, and sought every way possible to humiliate him.  He had racked his brain for a scheme to play on Belton on commencement day, and he at last found one that gave him satisfaction.

There was a student in Stowe University who was noted for his immense height and for the size and scent of his feet.  His feet perspired freely, summer and winter, and the smell was exceedingly offensive.  On this account he roomed to himself.  Whenever other students called to see him he had a very effective way of getting rid of them, when he judged that they had stayed long enough.  He would complain of a corn and forthwith pull off a shoe.  If his room was crowded, this act invariably caused it to be empty.  The fame of these feet spread to the teachers and young ladies, and, in fact, to the city.  And the huge Mississippian seemed to relish the distinction.