That we still love the old College is evident by our presence here on this historic occasion. We are here to drink from a kind of Ponce de Leon “Fountain of Youth.” We would not drink, as did the characters in Hawthorne’s “Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment,” of a magic elixir that would make us physically children again “just for tonight.” But we may be restored imaginatively to that golden youthful period of life, and the imagination works more easily and effectively in the physical surroundings of our youth. I question the truth of Robert Browning’s lines in “Rabbi Ben Ezra,” “Grow old along with me; The best of life is yet to be.” As I grow older, this seems to me like the whistling in the dark I used to try when passing a country churchyard to keep my courage up. No, from my vantage point, I hold rather with Wordsworth who declared in _The Prelude_ with regard to his youth: “Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very Heaven! O times, In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways Of custom, law, and statute took at once The attraction of a country in romance!” Ah, yes, “to be young was very Heaven!” As we look upon these scenes of our early recollection, we are “softened and subdued into a sweet, pensive sorrow, which only the happiest and holiest associations of bygone years can call into being.” These last words are from the lecture on “Visions and Dreams” by the eloquent, tender-hearted Bob Taylor. “O beautiful isle of memory,” he continued, “lighted by the morning star of life, where the roses bloom by the door, where the robins sing among the apple blossoms, where bright waters ripple in eternal melody! There are echoes of songs that are sung no more, tender words spoken by lips that are dust, blessings from hearts that are still!” I hesitate to break the charm cast over us by such a beautiful expression of truth and feeling. But I must end our imaginative rejuvenation and backward turning to the days of our youth at this dear College. In conclusion, may I quote the closing paragraph of President Billingsley’s address to the graduating class on May 19, 1911, the last speech of this kind he delivered at Burritt. May it be a benediction to us as we return to our homes and the duties of life, which we have laid aside, for a time. “I desire to speak a word of congratulations to you,” he declared, “for your success in completing the prescribed course of instruction in this institution with so much honor to yourselves and pleasure to your instructors. Right nobly have you performed your parts, and the impressions you have made upon us will not be forgotten. ‘The echoes roll from soul to soul, And are not lost forever.’