United Colleges - Vox Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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10 vox Dr. Elliott , LL.D We live calmly among the peer¬ less in character, but we have eyes. Staunch integrity, fidelity to DR. JAMES ELLIOTT honorable interests and withal a freshness of spirit in these friends of ours do not escape notice. The plaudits of a parading public do not often acclaim such qualities, but the appreciations of unosten¬ tatious friends steadily increase with the years. Do you recognize this man with his ready and abundant but quiet wit, with his sane sense of propor¬ tion, and with a hope that keeps youth in solution in his blood? Briefly (he would insist on that) the facts are these: early education in private, in church educational schools, and the na¬ tional schools, all in Ireland; tour years of Methodist probation in 1876 in Canada, with an addi¬ tional two years of study; gradu¬ ation from Victoria College in 1886 with the medal in phil¬ osophy; preaching in Ottawa, Kingston and Montreal with post-graduate studies under Dr. Watson at Queen’s, and a Ph.D. in 1904; a short time teaching in Wesleyan Theological College, Montreal; the call West in 1907 to Wesley College, Winnipeg, by Dr. Sparling; a D.D. from Vic¬ toria College in 1916, and now, in 1931, an LL.D. from the Uni¬ versity of Manitoba. The highest distinction in the gift of a Uni¬ versity to which he has rendered a quarter of a century of service. In all these years he never sought an appointment or an honor. Self-aggrandisement is not of his characteristics. He often quotes to one not so steady as he: The stars come nightly to the sky; The tidal wave unto the sea; Nor near nor far nor deep nor high Can keep my own away from me. And he has been building up a “self.” If he had learned a static philosophy, he might have been morose, even dyspeptic, but his philosophy is dynamic. It moves on and eventually up. Every¬ thing is in the process of becom¬ ing, and if a becoming, why not a becoming better? That at least is his hope. For this he has been a voice. If a man be but an echo, it is lamentably true that men will crowd to listen and then to re¬ echo, but if he be a voice, men will listen, and as one of his stu¬ dents aptly put it, “I’ve been thinking ever since.” So it isn’t too easy “to think it through, class,” and “to suspend judgment until you’re in possession of all the facts.” Finally, for this article, Irish (Continued on page 89)

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vox 9 The Late Dorothy Elizabeth Gardiner, B.A. TO WHOSE MEMORY THIS NUMBER OF “VOX” IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED D OROTHY E. L. GARDINER was born in Virden, Mani¬ toba, May 3rd, 1908, where her home was until her death, March 21st, 1931. She was the only child of Mr. and Mrs. J. Gardiner. Dorothy was the victim of an accident when her car struck ruts while driving from Areola to Virden on March 6th. Although her injuries were severe, hope was held for her recovery, and her death two weeks later was a shock to parents, relatives and friends. Endowed with a wonderful personality, Dorothy made friends wherever she went and by her unselfish, cheerful disposition won her way into the hearts of all. Dorothy entered college in the fall of 1926 and was a valued member of class 1929. A staunch supporter of her class, a good student; her love of fun and her unusual courtesy and charm—that in¬ tangible something which made her Dorothy—won for her a place in the hearts of professors, classmates and friends in the United Colleges. Graduating from Wesley in Arts ’29, Dorothy attended the Faculty of Education and at the time of her death was a member of the staff of Areola Collegiate. It is difficult to sum up Dorothy’s qualities in a few words. Hers was the impress of a noble, lovable and unique personality. Possibly a short poem by Edwin Markham can bring to us an idea of just what Dorothy meant to those who really knew her. A CREED There is a destiny that makes us brothers. None goes his way alone ' . All that we send into the lives of others Comes back into our own. I care not what his temples or his creeds One thing holds firm and fast — That into his fateful heap of days and deeds The soul of a man is cast. -K.M.H., ’29.

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vox 11 An Address to a Graduating Class By Professor A. L. Phelps If a speaker informed you at the beginning of a twenty-minute ad¬ dress that he was going to talk about Our Prematurely Afflicted Cen¬ tury, The Story of the World, The Challenge of the Tragic, The Achievement of Culture, and The Basis of Faith, what in the world would you expect of him? The coloured balloons of rhetoric, I im¬ agine. Let us see. But first let me make the appropriate gesture towards the occasion. Dear Would-be Graduates at this Farewell: You are about to go out into this hot and silly world. After four years of more or less honest, more or less thoughtless, more or less arduous labours you are about to leave us to join that band of University Graduates who, sometimes doing other things, play poker or golf or bridge or gradually fill up the ranks of the unemployed and the University Women’s Clubs throughout the land. You are about to draw a line between one part of your lives and another part. You are about to leave a way of life to which you will look back with an increasing appreciation of its bright innocence, its unsullied and untaught irresponsibility. After to-night you will change. Inevitably something happens to you as Time draws the line for you between youth and the beginnings of maturity. But it is time to read from “Alice in Wonderland.” As I read, think of me as the Caterpillar and of yourselves, taken individually and collectively, as Alice. If you like, let Alice’s this morning” be your freshman period of four years ago. “The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence. At last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a sleepy voice. Who are you?’ said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, ‘I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least, I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.’ What do you mean by that?’ said the Caterpillar sternly. ‘Explain yourself!’ ‘I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see. ' I don’t see,’ said the Caterpillar. ‘I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,’ Alice replied very politely, ‘for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.’ ‘It isn’t,’ said the Caterpillar. ‘Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,’ said Alice; ‘but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?’ Not a bit,’ said the Caterpillar. ‘Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,’ said Alice; ‘all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.’