New-York tribune., 1922-05-21

ters don't look into the mirror so
often. We know what he has been up
to. AS yet there is unfortunately no
science Of reading other peoples faces.
| think chair for this should be
founded In ST. Andrews.
That professor will need to be
sublime philosopher and for obvious
reasons he ought perhaps to wear spec
tacles before his senior class. 1t will
be a gloriously optimistic chair, for he
can tell his students the glowing truth
that what their faces are to be like
presently depends mainly on them
selves. Mainly, not altogether:
am the master of my fate
the captain of my soul.
found the other day an old letter
from Henley that told me of the cir
cumstances in which he wrote that
poem. 81 was patient" he writes,
"in the old inhrmary Of Edinburgh. /
had heard vaguely of Lister and went
there as sort of forlorn hope on the
chance Of saving my foot. The great
surgeon received me, as ne did and
ness: and for twenty months ! lay in
one or other ward of the old place un
der his care. 1t was desperate bust
ness, but he saved my foot, and here
ami" There he was, ladies and gen
tlemen and what he was doing in that
infirmary was singing that he was mas
ter Of his fate.
If you want an example of courage
try Henley. Or Stevenson. | could tell
you some stories about these two, but
they would not be dull enough for a
rectorial address. For courage again
take Meredith, whose laugh was "as
broad as a thousand beeves at pasture
Take, as think, the greatest figure
literature has still left to us. to be add
ed to-day, to the roll of St. Andrews
alumni. though it must be in absense.
The pomp and circumstance of war will
pass and all others now alive may fade
from the scene, but | think the quiet
figure of Hardy will live on.
Reads ScOtts Letter
Written on His Deathbed
! seem to be taking all my samples
from the calling | was lately pretend
ing to despise. | should like to read
you some passages of a letter from q
man Of another calling, which | think
will hearten you. | have the little
filmy sheets here. | thought you might
like to see the actual letter; it has
been long journey, it has been to the
South Pole. 1t is a letter to me from
Captain Scott of the Antarctic and was
written in the tent you know OF, where
it was found long afterwards with his
body and those of some other very gal
liant gentlemen, his comrades. The
writing is in pencil, still quite clear,
though toward the end some Of the
words trail away as into the great
silence that was waiting for them. 1t
begins: 1--WE are pegging out in very
conf ortless spot Hoping this letter
may be found and sent to you, write
you a word of farewell | want you
to think we'll Of me and my end After
some private instructions too intimate
to read he goes on: "Goodby-I am
not at all afraid of the end, but sad
to miss many a simple pleasure which
| had planned for the future in our
long marches We are in des-
perate state, feet frozen, etc, no fuel
and long way from food, but it would
do your heart good to be in our tent,
to hear our songs and our CHEEKY con-
versaton Later"-it is here
that the words become dificult-"W e
are very near the end We did
intend to finish ourselves when things
proved like this, but we have decided
to die naturally without"
| think it may uplift you all to stand
for a moment by that tent and listen,
as he says, to their songs and CHEEKY
conversation. When | think of Scott
| remember the strange Alpine story Of
the youth who fell down a glacier and
was lost, and of how scientific COM
panion, one Of several who accompan-
led him, all young, computed that the
body would again appear at certain
date and place many years afterward
When that time came round some OF
| the survivors returned to the glacier
to see if the prediction would be full
| flled-all old men now, and the body
reappeared, as young as on the day
| he left them. SO Scott and his com.
rades emerge out Of the white immersl
ties always young.
How comely thing is afflictior
borne cheerfully, which is not beyonc
| the reach of the humblest of u.s. Wha'
is beauty? 1t is these hard bitten mer
singing courage to you from their tent
it is the waves Of their island home
grooming Of their deeds to you who ar,
to follow them. Sometimes beauty boil
over and then spirits are abroad Age
may pass as we look or listen, for tim
is annihilated. There is very olt
Norwegian legend told to me by Nan
sen, the explorer like best to be il
the company of explorers-the legen
of monk who had wandered into tn
fields and lark began to sing He ha
never heard lark before, and he stoo
there entranced until the bird and it
song had become part Of the heaven,