hearts of thousands to the larger things of life through that effervescent quality which was so characteristic of him.

He believed that everyone should be ambitious to live long. Sometime ago he wrote a book on How to Add Ten Years to Your Life. He believed that man should do everything possible to add to the length of his days. He seemed to have the ambition which possessed Metchnikoff, and thought the day would come when the average man would live to be a hundred years old.

To live a God-like life was the supreme ambition of my friend. Dr. Curry was a man of character. He believed in goodness, and practiced it. He lived the simple life, and reflected the spirit of Jesus. The charm of his personality was the charm of goodness. He was a Christian gentleman in all his social and business relationships. He believed that in order to live well, a man must serve his fellow men, and his life was characterized by service. He has helped thousands of men and women to an education and to better living.

Dr. Curry was a firm believer in immortality. He believed that men are immortal and that death is but a tide under the keel of life lifting us into the presence of God. He had no fear of death, and looked forward to the unknown with a spirit of quiet confidence.

We are sad today because a great teacher and a loyal friend has been taken from us but we rejoice in his memory as that of a great and good man.

THE WORN DOOR SILL

A Tribute to Dr. Curry
ERNEST POWELL

Unnumbered feet, from city, farm and town,
Have passed this way, and worn this door sill down;
The sill is worn, and thinner grows each year,
Because within this place there dwells a seer.

From everywhere they come, the young, the old,
To hear his words of truth, his voice of gold;
And beauty's light in benediction falls
On all who pass within these friendly walls.
Unnumbered feet from near and far away
Have trod upon this door sill, day by day;
The sill is worn, and lower grows each year,
Because within there dwells a sage and seer.

"In every epoch of the world the great event," says Thomas Carlisle, "parent of all others, is the arrival of a thinker in the world."

Samuel Silas Curry came into this world, destined for a thinker, a worker, a pioneer. His early struggles were inchoate gropings for his true fields of investigation,- restless, eager, often discouraged chafings against the very obstacles which were to prove his gateways, opening out to his human immortality. He early revealed both those strengths and weaknesses which have marked these years of splendid endeavor and monumental achievement. I shall not enter into a history of his life, nor endeavor to catalogue his works. To others with more knowledge of that history and keener appreciation of the struggles which led to the stairway up which he was to mount to fame and ere long to write his name among the few who contribute original ideas to the human race do I leave that fascinating task. I trust his biography will be given to the world both for the sake of his thousands of students and for that greater public ever longing to draw water from the wells of such inspiration. In the brief minutes permitted me at this hour, I can but note the original blaze marks cut by his own hands, indicating the trail along which those highroads of vocal expression as well as all art expression would some day be builded. That he was the original thinker, the pioneer, the pathfinder into that unknown realm of self expression no one who fully understands will deny. Up to the time of his revelation, if I may so speak, schools of what was called elocution held sway. In them pupils were taught to recite selections as the teacher dictated. Hence the teacher's mannerisms of voice, carriage, and thought were reproduced. The pupil became a second edition of the teacher. But what were the original powers of the pupil? Was there not some other expression of that same selection which might be even more effective if the personality of the pupil could be liberated? Indeed, were there not as many varieties of expression as there were students to express? Should not, then, the whole study be to awaken the student to express himself and not reproduce his teacher? These were the questions S. S. Curry was so earnestly asking. But to ask such questions forced him to ask others. Are there laws for vocal art, as well as for all other arts? Are there laws which, if found, will enable the teacher to scientifically guide the development of his pupil and thus liberate that divine something we call personality locked up in his

personality; the supremacy of the vocal teacher's art is to assist the student in liberating that divine self. There are scientific laws on which such teaching must be based; the teacher must discover those laws, and train his students, and thus be the means of liberating to the world new interpretations as they issue from each trained mind. All this has become a mere truism today. No school which has for its aim the training of public speakers would dare ignore this great and original conception. To S. S. Curry and to Mrs. Curry the world owes this great gift. Upon such foundations was the School of Expression in Copley Square, Boston, founded. Upon such foundations has it stood; upon such foundations does it stand today. In his school and in the hearts and lives of his pupils is his monument and there is recorded the splendor of his genius. When I look upon his now quiet face and think of all he has meant and will yet mean to the world, I look upon it in reverence and awe. The great world outside never knew him. He never possessed the power to charm the multitude. He was a teacher. In the teacher's room he sat upon a throne. There he was king. I knew him not in these later years as teacher, but twenty years ago I was his pupil. I came to him a young clergyman, feeling all the handicaps and limitations of imperfect training and a too vigorous spirit. He, too, had been a clergyman. He never forgot. In a class of young ministers he was at his very best. He taught us to see the great laws of expression. We for the first time caught the true meaning of the art of vocal expression. We learned how "to train our thoughts, like birds, to soar or wander wheresoe'er they will" and yet keep beauty and grace harnessed to strength. Ere long we glimpsed the truth that "all art is the consciousness of no art." Or to properly translate, all art is the mastery of the laws of art, so that the laws become unconscious agents of the will.

I am glad to come here today to lay my wreath of appreciation and love at the feet of him who gave me liberty and hence gave me life in the profession I have loved and followed during these years and still follow though with added duties and responsibilities.

I have said Professor Curry was a teacher. He loved to teach. His happiest hours were in the class room or in the quiet of his library where he prepared the manuscripts for those many books which bear his name and fame. Here one found the master. From those hidden retreats one went forth with new ideals flashing before him and beckoning him on. Outside the class room

often react in a way to cause the stranger or the friend to wonder. He was impatient of the slowness, the dullness of the multitude. He could see so clearly the need of such teaching in all departments of education, indeed could see that such teaching was the foundation of all true education. Why could others not see? Why would they not pour out some of their wealth for this great cause? Why must he be so limited when a little money would permit him to give to the world the books which were burning in his brain? His nervous system paid the price for his transcendent genius, and, like the great Carlisle, the price was too great to leave residue for humbler loves and commoner tasks. He must walk practically alone and commune alone and be worried by the everyday tasks and duties though these were essential to his living.

I can

An outstanding memory to me is an evening hour at a somewhat formal function at the School. A former pupil, having gained fame in the big competitive world, was the reader. She gave us some of the old loves in literature, yet with such a fresh and different interpretation as to make the old seem new. see Dr. Curry's face now with that light of pride and joy upon it as he listened so intently. Here was his contention of a lifetime made real. Here was divine personality revealing itself by new shades of thought and feeling. It recalls to my mind the poem he wrote some years ago a copy of which I have long treasured:

A TEACHER'S SONG

From a hillside hut, with its door ajar,
One night in the long ago,

A light was waved to thee afar,

Groping in a valley below.

One called to thee on thy rocky road

Through the blinding sleet and snow;
He tried to cheer thee and lighten thy load
And thy upward pathway show.

He was only one of the many who sought
To stir thy heart to be bold,

But he joys to hear of thy battles fought

And the rocks thou hast turned to gold.
The years are long but not a regret

Chills the love for thee untold;

The heart of the teacher can never forget,

In the same low cabin door;

And thinks as he points one up the hill
Of another who went before.

He is proud to hear thou hast weathered the storm
And braved the cannon's roar;

The years are long but his heart beats warm,
Though thou greet him again no more.

A few of his great teachings come back to me now. He said, "See, feel, think, enjoy, realize, then tell. But the 'tell' is not more than one-hundredth of the process.'

A student gave a selection before the class. When he had finished, Dr. Čurry turned to the class saying "He did it, rather than was it. First be and then give.”

Another lesson stands out clearly. He said "In explanation we tell; in dramatics we suggest. As we deepen in thought, feeling and realization words are fewer."

How often out in the busy world, when listening to one having a hemorrhage of words, this teaching has come back to me, “As we deepen in thought, feeling and realization, words are fewer." But this is not the time or place to linger long in such inspiring memories. To other occasions will his pupils by the thousands bring their tributes of love and thanksgiving and praise. I must content myself today with only touching the strings to know that they are in tune. I must turn to the fact that from his physical presence he withdraws himself, leaving us, but for the hour the clay house in which he dwelt. He himself enters into that spiritual body which our coarse eyes cannot behold. He is now clothed upon with that house which is from heaven. What the ranges he now shall enjoy in that spiritual body and from that house in heaven no mortal may ever know. The strongest wing in the boldest flight of the most daring imagination droops in weariness ere half the possibilities of that spiritual freedom are dreamed. We can only leave him in the care of God whose infinite Fatherhood gave and keeps infinite Sonship.

TO THE ALUMNI

Mrs. Curry and members of the family desire to express to the Alumni their thanks and grateful appreciation of the beautiful tribute of lilies tied with the School colors which they sent in memory of Dr. Curry.