You could hardly have crowded another human into the great hall. From the gowned and decorated dignitaries on the stage to the great orchestra in the upper gallery every square foot of floor space was packed, as the president of the great woman’s college arose to open the commencement exercises. This followed one of the most impressive scenes I have ever witnessed. The great audience had been waiting long beyond the appointed time for starting, when suddenly the orchestra started a slow and stately march and we all rose. A woman in cap and gown, with soft gray hair, marched slowly up the , and following her came long lines of “sweet girl graduates,” as Tennyson puts it. The woman walked to the steps which led to the stage, and there reviewed the long lines of girls as they filed silently in and occupied the seats reserved for them. In their black gowns and white bands they seemed, as they were, a trained and army. As they seated themselves and rose again it seemed like the of a great ocean tide. And following them came men and women who had gained distinction in education or public life. They, too, were in cap and gown, with bands of red, purple, white, green or brown, to designate their college or their studies. The bright sunshine flooded in at the open windows. Outside, the beautiful green college campus stretched away in gently rolling and little valleys. I noticed a perched on a tree with his head on one side, calmly viewing the great professor who with the bright red band across his breast was delivering the address. Very likely this wise bird was saying, “You should not be too proud of that dash of red on your gown. There are others! Your red badge is man made. It will not appear on your children, and it may even be taken from you. The red on my breast is a finger-print of Nature, and cannot be removed.”  
I know that there are those who would call this impressive service pomp and vain parade, yet, to the plain man and woman sitting in the front row of the balcony, it all seemed a noble part of a great , and a great pride for them. Just where the balcony curved around like a horseshoe this gray-haired couple sat—just like hundreds of other men and women who, in other places, with strange thought in mind, were watching their boys and girls pass out of training into the race of life. The Hope Farm man is supposed to be a farmer, and “as the husband so the wife is.” He worked out as hired man for some years and otherwise for the position, while Mother probably never saw a working farm before she was married. But at any rate there they were—like the hundreds of other plain men and women, while down below them the best work of their lives was coming to fruition. For the daughter was part of that army in cap and gown and was about to receive her certificate of education!
 
To me one of the most interesting characters in the universe is “the hen with one chicken”! These women with one child of their own! Having added just one volume to the book of life it is their duty and privilege to regard it as a masterpiece. When you come to think of it, what a day, what a moment, that must have been for a woman like Mother. Here was her only child, a girl who, from the cradle, had never given her a moment’s uneasiness or a single of confidence, now standing up big and straight and fine to take her college degree. It had been the dream of Mother’s girlhood to go through this same great college, but that had been denied her. Yet the years had swung around in their march and here was her daughter, big, trained, fine and unspoiled, making noble use of the opportunity which failed to knock at her mother’s door! Many of you women who read this will know that there can be no prouder moment in a woman’s life. Is it any wonder that there was a very suspicious moisture on Mother’s glasses as the minister read the 25th chapter of St. Matthew?
 
“And I was afraid and went and hid thy talent in the earth.”
 
Would you not, as she did, have sung with all your power when that great audience rose like a wave to sing “The Star Spangled Banner”? The members of the orchestra stood up to play the . As you know, a group of musicians will usually show a large proportion of European faces, but all these markings of foreign blood faded away as they played, and there came upon each the light of what we call Americanism.
 
But what about “father” at such a time and place? Where does he come in? At a woman’s college he stays out—he is a mere incident, and properly so. If he is wise he will accept the situation. For this big girl marching in line has his shoulders and head; she walks as he does, and people are kind enough to remark, “How much your daughter looks like you!” Now this is no fly in the of Mother’s pride and joy, unless you refer to it too much. Far better take a back seat and let the good lady take full pride in her daughter. I confess that when those 200 girls sat together at the front of the room, all in cap and gown, and most of them with their hair arranged alike, I could not be sure of my own girl until her name was called! My mind was back in the years busy with many memories. More than a full generation ago at an agricultural college I walked up to receive my “certificate.” I remember that I had on some clothes which had been discarded by two other men. I played the part of tailor to clean and press them into service. There were no be-gowned and decorated dignitaries on the platform—just a few farmers, several of them right out of the harvest field. I remember how two of these tired men fell asleep through our class “orations.” I had in my pocket just enough money to get me to a farm where I had agreed to cut corn. And this proud and happ............