now appointed ushers assigning important places to themselves, and giving important places to others as an inducement for their votes on the Election. Why any man in his senses should think an ushership a desirable thing, I cannot conceive. But yet they do. It perhaps gives them a certain eclat in the eyes of the young ladies, and an importance in the public view to be strutting up and down the aisles, and escorting people to seats. As for me I court no such distinction. Then these same men were known (I have forgotten on what evidence, but it is known now,) to have formed a ring last Fall at the Election for Class Officers. Well, I find that I have forgotten most of the details, but undoubtedly there was a strong suspicion against them. The characters of the men, too, were against them. And, in short, I, with a large number of others, fully believed in the existence of a ring. Allow me to say in this connection, that the person who approached me on the subject, and showed me the list of those who were likely to vote for such and such men, was a person of high honor, of genuine Christian character, the best scholar and literary man, and the most popular person in the class. He had no personal motive at stake, as no ring could have possibly been formed which could injure his prospects any. He was animated only by the desire of seeing justice done, and the right men appointed. Well, what I have told you was all that was done. There was no solicitation of votes, no ticket put up, no discussing of candidates, no agreement even to vote for anybody, no agreement to combine against certain men to defeat them, but simply facts having been laid before every honest man which every honest man ought to know, every honest man was left to vote as he pleased in view of the facts. I declared at once, of my own accord, that I would not vote for any of the men supposed to be in a ring. I declared at once that I would not have voted for them anyway. I did not regard any of them as fit to represent the class, and consequently whether they were in a ring or not, I have nothing to regret in the matter, as the only one of them for whom I would have voted under any considerations was finally elected anyway. This, I say, was all that was done. Nothing which any man need be ashamed of. Even if what had been done made a counter-ring I was in its outermost circles. I was negative, passive in my action—acted simply the private part of an honest man. I cared little about, and took so little thought on the whole matter, that when allusions were made to the day of Election, I generally found that I had forgotten what was to come off on that day. I had not even expected to attend the Election, but finally went, sorely against my will, from a sense of duty. The way the votes went was a strong proof of the existence of a ring. Persons whom you had never once thought of as candidates received a large number of votes at the very first ballot with no increase afterwards, showing clearly a pre-arranged ticket. It would be like this—A. (an insignificant, unworthy person), 10. B. (a valuable man), 6.C. (a good man), 5.D. (another good man), 5. E. (a good man), 4. F. (a good man), 5, etc. At the next ballot A. would still have 10 votes, but B. would have come up to 9 at least, and some of the others dropped off. Then the men in the class not in a ring would combine in B., and elect him, showing that there was no preconceived candidate in their heads, but they simply united on the man (not a ring candidate) who happened to have the highest number of votes. In this way I was elected. The honor came to me unsought, unexpected, undesired, and unwelcome. If I could have avoided it I would. It was thrust upon me. I never lifted a finger to gain it. I never went a step out of my way for the sake of it. I never courted popularity. I never trimmed my sails with reference to any Election. Though I was honorably elected, I count it no honor. It is only a burden to me. I value it neither for what it implies, nor for what it will bring. I accepted it as a personal sacrifice, and I regard it so still. There has been nothing in my conduct, whether before, during, or after the Election, which will not bear the strictest scrutiny. I have said, done, and thought nothing of which I am, or have reason to be ashamed. And the only thing which has come to me through it all is what I regard as a genuine misfortune. Such is my position in regard to the matter. I have said this much to vindicate myself. Of course, after the Election there was a row. The ring, if ring there was, had been completely defeated, only one of its four or five candidates having been elected, and he at the very last ballot. There was a great deal of very bitter language used and hard words. Nobody came to blows, however. As we walked down to the Post-Office, after the Election, I felt no elation, and took congratulations but ill. They had a number of class meetings, which were very savage, consisting mostly of mutual recrimination. I took no part in it at all. I tried to keep my skirts clean. I do not think that I spoke at all in any of the meetings. You may imagine how I felt when I found that the accusations were on both sides, when I found my name commenced to be dragged through the mud. I felt as you did then, Helen—it fairly made me writhe. I felt degraded, humiliated, overwhelmed with shame. Words cannot paint my feelings. I wished to resign. But I took time to consider, and allowed the advice of my friends to rule me. As I write the old feeling comes back on me—the feeling of humiliation—and almost makes me wish I had resigned. The Review came out with that disgraceful editorial. The others (all honorable men) didn’t resign; it would only complicate matters. But I felt it rather hard that I, who didn’t want the place, who had felt that keeping it was a personal sacrifice, should be accused of using unworthy arts to get it, and then should be debarred the privilege of resigning after all. However, I suppose resignation would have done no good. The class would not have accepted it at first. And then if I yielded and kept the position, I would have been accused of worse meanness than ever—of seeking the eclat of throwing the thing up, and having the class refuse to release me. And if I had resigned, and my resignation had been accepted, they would say then that I had not expected when I presented my resignation that it would be accepted, or else they would construe my resigning the position as an acknowledgement that I had got it by unworthy means. No, Helen, bad people, people of unworthy ambitions and low aims, will judge you by their own standards. There is no use in regulating your own conduct with reference to their opinions. Why should I care what the Editor of the Oberlin Review thinks of me, and why should I care if a hundred other people have accepted his statement of the case. I do not care to vindicate my honor in the eyes of the Editor. His opinions are of small weight with me. They will neither make nor mar me. If I have the approval of my own conscience, if I have the consciousness within myself of right doing and right motives, if my friends understand me, and my relations believe in me, what more can I ask or want? Notwithstanding these considerations, I had the thought of resigning still, and after thinking the subject over at leisure for a few weeks, I came to the conclusion that I would resign. I put the matter on other grounds than considerations of honour, however. I didn’t want the labour and distraction which the thing involved. But just as I was going to put in my resignation, plump comes a letter from the Islands from Father, and he seemed to be pleased that I had been elected. I had thought that he wouldn’t think anything about it, and wasn’t keeping track of my petty college affairs here. But when I found he was, why, I hadn’t the heart to go and give it up and resign. I kept it for his sake. And as for hearing his son’s “intellect praised at the expense of his honor,” Father won’t mind as long as he knows that his son has not done anything mean, even if one or two ill-natured and ill-informed people choose to think he has. However, the insignificance of the oration will ensure its being passed over in silence, and his son will escape the trifling distinction even of having his character blackened, as the weakness of his performances will speedily consign him to the oblivion from whence he came. And now, Helen, it is very natural that you at home should not be able to apprehend the exact situation of affairs. But I doubt if I could have got advice from any one to resign. I. W. Metcalf said that I ought not to resign. All my friends urged me not to. None of the others did. C. B., who was himself elected, did not. In fact, the pressure was all the other way. Do not think Bowen offered his advice gratuitously. I sought his advice. I always do. He has been a good friend to me—has furnished me much counsel and sympathy. I have leaned upon him, and I shall miss him sorely when he has gone. I think his position, with reference to this affair, has been a correct one. It was part of his business, and if Bowen did not feel that whatever concerned me nearly was also of interest to him, I should feel very much hurt. He has my full confidence and unqualified respect, and when he leaves for the Islands, I shall lose a very near and dear friend, who has been a greater comfort and help to me than I can tell. Dear Helen, when I come to read this letter over, I feel very much dissatisfied with it. But I have no time to write another. I feel ashamed to have written so much upon such a very paltry affair, and to have thrust myself so gratuitously and diffusively upon your attention. But you will forgive me, I know. The lines: “When the earth with blossoms again is gay,” etc., is from Schiller’s
