University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XV

Incidents and Commencement of Session 1874-75

On Sunday night, January 31st, Rev. Dr. Randolph H. McKim,
a distinguished alumnus—one who had seen active service
in the Civil War—delivered the sermon before the Young
Men's Christian Association in the chapel to a packed audience
composed of students and the University colony. His theme
was, "False Views of Life and a True One," which beyond
able composition and thought had a delivery of rare force and
strength, inasmuch as few approximate, far less equal, that
speaker's manner and personality—both lending a charm of
sincereness and power that carried conviction. He was at
that time Rector of Old Christ Church, Alexandria, Va., but
during the year received a call to a more important field in
New York City; about thirty-five years of age, tall—at least
six feet one inch—compactly built without superfluous flesh,
weighing one hundred and ninety pounds. His face was
bright, reflective and observant; chin and upper lip smooth,
but side whiskers cut well back; strong nose and forehead;
enunciation clear, deliberate, earnest and engaging; voice deep,
rich, sonorous and delightful. As this was the only sermon
published during the session, we give here a few excerpts:
I am to speak to young men, before whom the vision of life
has just opened—who are indeed standing already upon the
shores, and looking out upon its sparkling waters, eager to
launch forth upon them—and it shall be my effort to expose
the unseaworthiness of some of the vessels in which young

men are tempted to embark in life, and to indicate one to which
I think a man may commit himself with a fair prospect of
reaching safe harbor at last. The purpose of life is what I
call the vessel to which he commits his fortunes, and in which
he launches out when he leaves the university. A mistake
here may be fatal, at least productive of great loss. Mere
pastime or pleasure is not the proper end of existence—it is a
leaky vessel that must be abandoned with the toys of the
nursery—for the first results of liberal culture is to emancipate
the mind and heart from the dominion of the senses. Nor
is the accumulation of wealth the proper end of existence—
it also is a leaky vessel, that gauges our civilization by its
material rather than its intellectual and moral development,
that suffers virtue, integrity, public and private honesty to
decline for material prosperity. All the lessons of history, the
records of past valor and patriotism, the evidence furnished
by the remotest ages of their perpetual effort to escape the
bondage of mere material things, in order to pursue the ideal
image of truth and beauty and goodness which has floated like
an angelic vision before the soul and has captivated its deepest
affections—these elements of university culture, to say nothing
of the study of mental and moral philosophy, exercise a most
potent influence against the materialistic idea of life. The
seeking of material happiness is not the end of human life, for
its unsoundness must be apparent at a glance. A civilized community
must rest on a large realized capital of thought and
sentiment; there must be a reserved fund of public morality
to draw upon in the exigencies of national life.

Society has a soul as well as a body; the traditions of a
nation are part of its existence. Its valor and its discipline,
its religion, faith, venerable laws, science erudition, poetry,
art, eloquence and scholarship, are as much portions of its
existence as its agriculture, commerce, and engineering skill.
Happiness is an incident in life, not the object of it—a wayside
flower, not a parlor exotic. If sought for its own sake,
it will mock us like the mirage in the desert; but if a man have
chosen a Noble Aim to lead him, Moses-like, through life, his
happiness will follow, as the smitten rock followed the Israelites
through the wilderness, and ever and anon, as he journeys
forward, will open for him its crystal fountains. Nor do I

consider culture—education, intellectualism—the meaning and
object of life, for it is a leaky vessel of which a man should
beware, if he would not make shipwreck of the most precious
part of the cargo of life. The moral powers and spiritual
faculties are nobler and command higher consideration than
the intellectual, since the latter implies the culture of self, by
self and for self, the former not self-culture, but self-sacrifice.
Human life is not complete in itself, it is a fragment of another
life—the germ out of which that life is to be developed. That
which we call life is but the introduction to life—the Porch
of the Temple—and not only so, the Temple will be in keeping
with the Porch. The life that now is shall determine the
life that is to come; it is this that gives such inestimable value
to the brief span of human existence—a shadow that flits
across the dial-plate of Time, a frail flower soon to be cut
down; but what seeds has it left in the soil for eternal germination?

Our life stands related to the Author of Life, and being his
gift it is reasonable to suppose it must be used with a view
to His good pleasure. What was the Divine purpose in bestowing
life? What is the Divine idea of its significance?
Life is God's training-school for human souls—a University
in which man is to become fitted to enter upon a higher and
better life hereafter. It has many schools, and the Divine
Educator places each in those which are best suited to his
nature and his destiny. According to this view, the great
guiding principle and aim in life should be to submit ourselves
to this Divine will, to receive and obey the Divine teaching.
In the University of Life, the Great Educator has room for
all—there is a place for each, and none is left out. The culture
here of first importance is character. Misfortunes, reverses,
disappointments do not overturn the purpose of life;
rather they help it forward, for, under this sharp discipline,
character is matured; and that is the human side of the
purpose of life, that is God's purpose for the disciples in His
school. Death does not prematurely arrest the educational
process, but only calls the faithful student to an upper form,
to a higher school.

Let the great thought of God come into your life! It will
be like the light of morning upon the landscape. Then you

will perceive that there is nothing irrelevant, or purposeless,
or insignificant in life; that study, business, labor, recreation,
riches, poverty, sickness, health, prosperity, adversity, success,
and failure, are all parts of a Divine plan by which the great
educational process is carried on. Let me remind you, however,
as in this University, so in the University of Life, the
learner must co-operate with the teacher. God's plan of training
is to give every learner in His great school a work to do
—"to every man his own work." God has a place and a
work for each one of you—let it be your first and chief care
to find it, and, having found it, to do it. There is no such
thing as incompetence or incapacity here. You, and you alone,
are competent to do the work God has appointed you to do.
You may each differ in talents, but they are God's gifts, bestowed
to qualify men for the work He designs them to do;
and consequently no man has more than enough ability to do
his work, nor has any man too little to do it.

There are two thoughts which should stimulate every one to
grapple earnestly with the work of life:

1. That in doing, each his own work, "we are laborers together
with God."

2. That the Divine Educator bestows His rewards, not according
to natural talents, nor even according to positive
achievements, as must generally be the case in our schools.
but according to the fidelity with which each has labored.

If then your life-work is to be a success in any true and high
sense of the word, it must draw its inspiration from the Cross
of Christ, for only there can the spirit of man be rid of the
tyrannous bondage of self, and made free to work for God
and Truth alone.

On Sunday night, February 28th, Rev. J. William Jones
delivered a lecture in the Public Hall on the "Character of
`Stonewall' Jackson, in its religious aspects," when the large
and appreciative audience seemed thoroughly delighted at the
many related evidences of the great soldier's moral and religious
life.

The two Literary Societies elected their Final Presidents on
Saturday night, April 3rd, and in the few weeks preceding not
a little of the old time party spirit and favoritism were developed,
but nothing in comparison to what had prevailed in

former years. The honor in the Jeff. fell to Mr. Benj. Fitzpatrick,
Ala., and in the Wash. to Mr. Geo. Ben. Johnson, Va.
A short time thereafter the "Electoral Committees of the
Faculty" rendered their decisions, in reference to those society
members deserving honors, as follows: Jeff.—Medalist,
Mr. Leo N. Levi, Texas; Orator, Mr. L. G. Tyler, Va., who
resigning, the Society elected Mr. A. M. Robinson, Texas.
Wash.—Medalist, Mr. C. E. Nicol, Va.; Orator, Mr. H. C.
Stuart, Va.

The distinguished scholar and Presbyterian divine, Rev. Dr.
Robert L. Dabney, Professor at Hampden-Sidney College, delivered
the Y. M. C. A. sermon for April in the chapel before
a large and appreciative audience. The Doctor had a son, Mr.
Charles W. Dabney, then attending the University, while he
himself had graduated thereform with highest honors a generation
before, had been chaplain to "Stonewall" Jackson's
command, and was recognized throughout the South as a profound
theological thinker as well as an exceptional speaker.

The sermon for May before the Young Men's Christian Association
was given by Rev. R. N. Sledd, of Petersburg, his
subject being, "The Witch of Endor," in which he defined
clearly and forcibly his position on modern spiritualism, making
all who heard him delighted with his eloquence and descriptive
powers.

In early April typhoid fever broke out among the students,
which happily was checked in time to prevent a serious epidemic,
but not until a number had suffered weeks of sickness
and a few sacrificed their lives, causing the mortality to exceed
that of all my other sessions combined. The prevalence of
this malady made those with aches and pains unusually apprehensive,
so that some tarried not for developments but
hastened home, where, in event of something dangerous, they
might have, according to their belief, the best attention and
skill. In most of these cases it was a needless alarm, so that
some returned for the last few weeks of the session and the
Semi-Centennial Celebration.

On May 14th, a very spirited game of baseball took place on
our grounds between the Washington and Lee and our own
(Monticello) nines, in which we were victorious by a score
of 27 to 21. At night the visitors were given an enjoyable

supper down town, Daniel Brothers, where delicious solids,
liquids, and gases (speeches) were indulged in until a very late
hour.

The Commencement this year differed somewhat from the
two preceding ones, it marked the fifty-year mile-stone in
the University's life—an event that proved to be highly commemorative.
The buildings, fences, grounds, walks, and
roads had been looked after with exceptional care during the
previous weeks that gave the historic place an air of freshness
—as though presided over by extremely watchful and painstaking
eyes.

Regardless, however, of the unusual occasion quite a contingent
of students departed previously for home, in which
seemingly they then had the greater interest, but this clearing
out was compensated for largely by the return of many former
graduates, desirous of showing filial loyalty to their Alma
Mater in this exceptional birth-year. The personnel atmosphere
assumed an uncommon complexion, as a number of
strange and beautiful ladies came from near and distant points
seeking enjoyment and holding a higher ambition of making
the event ever memorable, while, instead of the preponderating
bright, quickly stepping, beardless youths, there came in view
at every turn the more somber, quietly moving, gray-haired
and bearded man. A few had been absent forty to fifty years,
others twenty to thirty, and some only one, two, five or ten,
but each and all united in the pleasant memories of student-life,
and for the time lived in delightful companionship. Distinguished
characters in various lines were much in evidence—
not only graduates of our University, but those who had been
trained at other institutions—ministers, lawyers, doctors, educators,
scientists, men of state and men of affairs. Certainly
to the then youthful student, unaccustomed to so much dignity,
distinction, and greatness, in years and calling, it was a
most inspiring scene—one calculated to cause thoughtfulness,
serious reflection, a spirit of emulation, a hope to follow in the
wake of their footprints.

Sunday night, June 27th. The annual sermon before the
Young Men's Christian Association was delivered in the Public
Hall by Rev. Dr. W. T. Brantly, a celebrated Baptist
divine of Baltimore, who, after being introduced by our chaplain,

Rev. S. A. Steel, discoursed for an hour, to every one's
delight, on the subject, "The Temporal Value of Christian
Ethics."

Monday night—Wash. Celebration. After prayer by our
chaplain, Rev. S. A. Steel, the President, Mr. Geo. Ben. Johnston,
Va., in a short speech, presented the orator, Mr. Henry
C. Stuart, Va., who entertained the audience with his studies
upon the words of Hannibal, "Beyond the Alps lies Italy."
He described the beauties of Italy that made it the ideal land
—the world of mind—that which every ambitious student
should strive to possess, even though literary pursuits imply
many formidable obstacles. As Hannibal avowed to follow
in the footsteps of his ancestors, so we students should emulate
the examples of our older and illustrious alumni.

After this the President conferred the debater's medal upon
Mr. Charles E. Nicol, Va., who received and acknowledged
it in a brief valedictory to his fellow-students—Votaries at the
same shrine, and citizens of the same grand Republic. The
usual Lawn illumination and promenading followed, with
sumptuous receptions at Professors Holmes' and Schele's.

Tuesday night—Jeff. Celebration. After prayer by our
chaplain, Rev. S. A. Steel, the President, Mr. Benj. Fitzpatrick,
Ala., introduced the orator, Mr. A. M. Robinson, Texas, who
delighted his hearers to a rare degree with his beautiful flowery
style, on the theme, "Blessings brighten as they take their
flight." After this the President conferred the debater's
medal upon Mr. Leo. N. Levi, Texas, who in his acceptance
speech excelled any undergraduate effort in the memory of
the oldest. His beautiful language, forceful delivery, long accentuated
sentences, and deep stentorian voice, enforced profound
attention and delight—that so seldom accorded at
similar functions. Immediately thereafter Professor Holmes
awarded the Magazine medal to Mr. Marcus B. Almond,
Va., who owing to sickness was absent, and the Magazine
scholarships to Messrs. Robert M. Cooper, S. Ca. and Lyon
G. Tyler, Va. Later in the evening a reception was given
at Professor Minor's.

Wednesday morning—Alumni Celebration. At 10 o'ck,
the entire University community, alumni and friends assembled

in the Public Hall, when after prayer by Rev. Dr.
T. D. Witherspoon, the President of the Alumni Society, Hon.
B. Johnson Barbour, made a short but beautiful address of
welcome, introducing at its conclusion the poet of the day, Mr.
Daniel B. Lucas, W. Va., who delivered the "Semi-Centennial
Poem," of which we reproduce here some stanzas:

Professor Charles S. Venable, LL.D., at forty-nine
1827-1901

See page 373

FACING 296

After Mr. Lucas had finished and the applause had softened
in tone, the Hall rang with many voices for Gen. Jubal A.
Early, who at once arose from among the dignitaries and
responded in a brief, witty manner: "I take this call as no
empty compliment to myself, but as an expression of fidelity
to the cause you all love and cherish. As this is an era of
Centennial Celebrations, and I could not go conscientiously
the whole figure, I thought I would come down to this Semi-Centennial,
hoping that if I lived to the end of the next century
I might then be prepared for even a Centennial. In
joining in the congratulations of this occasion it is to me a sad
reflection that this noble University is all that remains of the
works of its great founder. It ought to be distinctly understood
that Virginia will never consent to occupy the place of a
repentant rebel, and that if she is to have a place in national
processions, she must not be led in chains, however they may
be gilded by kind words and fraternal embraces."

Wednesday night—Alumni Celebration. This was set
apart for the address of Hon. Robert M. T. Hunter, whom,
after prayer, the Hon. B. Johnson Barbour introduced as
"Virginia's honored son."

The speech of Mr. Hunter was valuable from its historical
side, inasmuch as it outlined the establishment of the University—the
obstacles encountered by Mr. Jefferson and his
distinguished coadjutor, Joseph C. Cabell, towards higher education,
the wise innovations introduced into the management
and arrangement of studies, and the great advantage the University
had been to the State and the South. A few excerpts
will illustrate its character:

The patient energy and uncomplaining zeal of Mr. Jefferson,
who never faltered in his purpose until he had established
the grand institution, which, by force of its internal constitution,
was to live and grow with such scanty support as the
State of Virginia could afford it, and to furnish the highest
degree of instruction in all the most valuable branches of
human knowledge, were worthy of all praise. The first was a
problem hard and high for any man, but not insoluble to one
of so much insight into the character of human government;
the second required a superiority to the utilitarian tendencies

of an age which would dwarf the spiritual growth of man in a
base subservience to mammon, and sacrifice the worship of the
beautiful and true to the sordid love of gain. But happily
for Virginia, fortunately for mankind and the larger interests
of human progress, the man had hold of the subject, who of
all on the continent, was probably best fitted by energy and
wisdom to grapple with the difficulties of the situation.

He provided that the professors be paid in part by a fixed
salary from the State and the residue from the students' fees,
thus making it the professors' interest to keep up the University,
and maintain its value and popularity. He introduced
another regulation, of which this institution furnished the first
example—the elective or voluntary system, which seems to be
slowly but surely making its way amongst the colleges of this
country. This innovation was at first received with distrust
by many of Mr. Jefferson's friends, but its growing success
has only served to increase still further our faith in his rare
sagacity and skill in the organization and government of men.
Unwilling to bind the intellect of all men to the procrustean
bed of a curriculum, or to establish an average standard of requirement,
whose measure might be conformed to the average
capacity and opportunities of a class, he boldly declared that
no man should be required to study anything but what his own
talents, tastes, and opportunities should suggest and prescribe.
He established another innovation which was much more distrusted—the
principle of self-government—abolishing the testimony
of one student against another and substituting therefor
the power of well regulated public opinion among the student-body.

Experience, I think, may now entitle us to compare this with
any school in the Union for good order and studious habits.
Indeed, I heard a distinguished gentleman some time ago, who
now has a son here, say he had never seen a school in which
the public opinion of society was so distinctly pronounced in
favor of good order and studious habits. He said it seemed
to him that the point of honor was to behave well and study
hard, and to such a degree was this character impressed upon
the school that he believed there was no place where a young
man was likely to make so much progress in mind and manner
as here. What higher compliment could be paid to Mr. Jefferson's

experiment than this? At the time this institution
was founded there was a general disposition in this country
to adopt the utilitarian standard as a test of the merit of education,
particularly in the sections of country where Franklin
was the model man. Having no knowledge of the ancient
languages himself, there is no evidence that he attached a
special importance to an acquaintance with them. But Mr.
Jefferson, a classical scholar himself, was not insensible to the
value of such studies. Fortunately for Virginia and the University,
he knew that the value of all culture was to be measured
by the growth which it fostered in the soul of man. He
was too elevated himself to believe education was to be estimated
by its money value; he was incapable of any such intellectual
simony, believing with Charles V., of Spain, that every
man was as many times a man as he understood a language.

If there be some who believe that Edgar Allan Poe is ahead
of all other American poets, and speaks in American poetry
with a higher charm than any other who paints his visions or
tells his dreams to delight and instruct his readers, they will
surely believe that he owes that excellence to his having dwelt
with a truer appreciation and higher taste amongst the models
of classic literature than any other of his day. Few colleges
at that day were provided even with the proper text-books to
teach either the ancient languages or their literature. The
young New England teachers, with which the land was then
flooded, with no Greek and but little Latin, turned out a host
of pupils incapable of passing even the meagre examination required
of candidates for matriculation at the University of Virginia.
Of these, it was my misfortune to have been one, and
when I went to Mr. Long with a confession of my deficiencies,
he told me not to take the matter to heart, as he would prefer
to have my mind a blank page on these subjects sooner than see
it filled with the crudities and errors of ignorant or half-taught
teachers, who had so far mistaken their calling as to
have undertaken to enlighten me. How different now, when
schools are found all over our State taught by students of the
University, in which a far more competent knowledge of the
classics is to be obtained than was possessed by graduates of
most colleges in the country when this great institution was
founded. Men may not covet the possession of classical learning

for themselves, but what lover of the reformation, or enthusiast
for Christian progress, will undervalue the Latin and
Greek of Luther and Erasmus, of Calvin, or Zuinglius? All
praise to Mr. Jefferson, to whom we are indebted for so many
other things, for restoring classic literature to its rightful place
in the catalogue of human studies, and providing means and
facilities for its highest cultivation amongst those who desire
to make it the object of their chief pursuit.

To the men who found great schools of instruction, how can
we attribute too much? Take from the history of human
progress the contribution of the great schools of the world,
and how small will be the residuum? Can there be any object
of ambition so seductive to the imagination of states and of
statesmen as the establishment of such schools as this, from
which man maintains his lookout upon the whole destiny and
fortune of his race? Here, sirs, is the stake for which Virginia
is playing in these international jousts. Will any true
son of hers hint the suspicion that she will relax her energies
or grow faint-hearted in playing for such a prize and maintaining
the benediction for the good of the race?

In these days of depression, doubt and unrest we must stand
by the truth—not suffer it to be destroyed or obscured by
selfish interests which disparage principles that were developed
and maintained by our fathers, nor must we suffer public
opinion to be degraded or contaminated for purposes of plunder
or oppression. To do that, we must cultivate and cherish this
grand Southern school, and make its teachings a light to guide
the footsteps of mankind. The fate of this institution will
depend upon her students and alumni—as one class disappears,
another will take its place to fill these halls. May no class
ever resign its place to its successors and leave the University
less efficient in its usefulness or disparaged in reputation, and
may each be enabled to say with pride, "I have been educated
in the school of Jefferson! I have been animated by his spirit
while there, and trained according to his discipline and appliances!
I have now stripped for the fight, hoping to conquer
a place in the estimation of the world of which neither I nor
my posterity shall ever be ashamed!

Mr. Hunter was fitted singularly for writing the historical
side of the University, being one of the matriculants of her

first session, 1825, and knowing thoroughly her struggles for
existence and establishment by Mr. Jefferson. Not only this
—he had continued to take interest in her welfare, following
her various steps of progress up to the immediate present.
Apart from this direct identity, Mr. Hunter himself had grown
to be distinguished—none of the alumni more so—having occupied
with signal ability and satisfaction, beginning with
1833, the highest offices in the gift of his people—legislator,
Congressman (eight years), Senator (fourteen years; 1846-61),
Senator of the Confederacy, and finally its very able
Secretary of State. He was unpretentious but of striking appearance,
moderate size, about five feet ten inches high, weighing
one hundred and sixty pounds; smooth face, strong eyes
and orbits—the latter with well-developed eyebrows; nose
well-proportioned and rather a positive upper lip. He seemed
somewhat feeble and to have impaired hearing; his voice was
not strong, consequently those in the rear of the Hall heard
nothing save the jabber of those around them. Mr. Barbour
reprimanded the audience for general inattention and promiscuous
conversation, but even that had little effect upon the
many lovers and sweethearts bent upon amusing themselves
in accordance with their own pleasure, irrespective of the discourtesy
shown their host—the University.

At the conclusion of Mr. Hunter's address, both Senator
Bayard and Governor Kemper responded to the calls of the
audience, in short but witty speeches, which brought unbounded
delight and respectful quietness to the hitherto restless
multitude. After these exercises a delightful reception,
including dancing, was given at Professor Mallet's.

Thursday morning—Commencement or Final Day. At 10
o'ck, every one assembled in the Public Hall to witness the
conferring of diplomas and certificates of proficiency, when,
after prayer by the chaplain, Rev. S. A. Steel, the Chairman
of the Faculty, Dr. Harrison, announced in proper groups the
names of those who had won University honors, presenting
each, with the able assistance of the venerable Mr. Wertenbaker,
a sheepskin in testimony thereof—concluding his duties
with a short address filled with wholesome advice. After a
recess of an hour, during which many repaired to Jefferies'
Dining Hall—the Alumni luncheon headquarters—or elsewhere

for something light to eat and drink, all reassembled, in
spite of the excessive heat, in the Public Hall, 1 o'ck, to enjoy
the last chapter of the Semi-Centennial Celebration—the oration
of Gen. John S. Preston, of S. Ca.

After prayer by Rev. Dr. T. D. Witherspoon, President
Barbour introduced the distinguished speaker in very complimentary
terms, who upon arising elicited no little applause,
for his physical form was thoroughly impressive. He seemed
several inches beyond six feet, symmetrically and powerfully
built and was winning from the very start. His voice was
strong, beautifully modulated upon long rounded sentences
framed for euphony as well as meaning; his entire delivery was
with unaccustomed earnestness and eloquence, and his subject
—appealing to the sentiments if not the judgments, half-way
acceptable to every one but thoroughly believed out of tune
with the place and occasion—contributed a fascination that
carried the audience to the finish amid surprise, awe and delight.
The address might well have been titled, "A Fervent
Conviction in the Right of Secession," and that afternoon many
comments were heard concerning it, while at the Alumni
Banquet that night Senator Bayard and Governor Kemper
feelingly opposed the wisdom of harboring and expressing
such sentiments—they being out of joint with the time, that
which had long since passed. Even the Faculty deplored the
General's lack of discretion, and did much in repressing the
speech's publicity, never allowing its publication for general
distribution. The Radical newspapers, however, throughout
the country accepted it as another morsel against the South
to feed upon—some giving it the strongest partisan interpretation,
others considering it simply as a joke, the outburst of
a diseased and perverted mind. We reproduce here a few
excerpts:

The whole brood of nurslings, the offspring of fifty years'
annual parturition of the foremost school of letters, science and
philosophy of this New World, has called me, one of the firstborn
and humblest of the flock, to stand here by our nursery
cradle and speak. It is the most notable honor of my life,
and I undertake it with tremulous reverence for the high
responsibility it reposes. My foster-brothers are the wise,
the heroic, the elders and teachers of the land, the intellectual

and social "conscript fathers." Coming out of the obscurity
of age and of a lost country I have been at a loss to divine a
theme with which to celebrate the presence of the Alumni of
this great University; but the literature, science, philosophy,
and the embodied thought of the last fifty years have given the
world themes so varied that I fear I have been more troubled
in selecting one than in the treatment of it. I might with
nimble fingers unweave our thread of fifty years from the
warp and woof of the world's history, and hang our joys on
its golden tissue, like rich jewels, or our griefs and woe on its
torn and jagged shreds. But I believe such themes are only
for our sympathies; they are the fond words of a lullaby that
could be sung here at our mother's cradle only to soothe those
who cling to her breast. The coming world—the after to-day
—may better appreciate them. But with us graybeards, standing
on the silent, solemn shore of the vast ocean on which we
must soon sail; we who see the harvest sickle glittering in the
hand of the Great Reaper, the stern present and the immutable
past, must now prominently prevail. I ask you, my hearers, to
be charitable to the gray hairs of one who offered his life and
gave all the rest that you might be free, and lost all save the
poor and woeful remnant of life. The purport of my theme
is to measure the deep relations of right and wrong, of justice
and liberty, and of such I shall talk here to-day, before these
altars and under this sky, for I cannot stand in the shadow of
Monticello with my heart overflowing with sacred memories
and not ease it by utterance. . . .

The Mayflower freight, under the laws of England, was
heresy and crime; the laws and usages growing out of the
charters of English liberty consisted only of crude and shallow
systems of theological, philosophical, and political fictions,
scarcely above the vain babblings of mediæval speculations,
mingled with the poisons of licentious fanaticism, establishing
upon them municipal forms of mere superficial restraint
and flimsy systems of educational training, calculated to perpetuate
ignorance and substitute individual craft for public
virtue.

The Jamestown immigrant, on the other hand, was an English
freeman, loyal to his country and his God, with English
honor in his heart and English piety in his soul, and carrying

in his right hand the charters, usages and laws which were
achieving the regeneration of England.

The people of New England are adverse to the principles of
English constitutional liberty and of English religious freedom.
They came not as refugees from unlawful persecution
and tyranny, but as escaped convicts from the first penalties
of a turbulent heresy and an ambitious rebellion, which sought
by violence to enforce their conscience on England's law.
Their feud began beyond the broad Atlantic, and has never
ceased on its western shores. No space, or time, or the
convenience of any human law, or the power of any human
arm, can reconcile institutions for the turbulent fanatic of
Plymouth Rock and the God-fearing Christian of Jamestown.
You may assign them to the closest territorial proximity, with
all the forms, modes, and shows of civilization; but you can
never cement them into the bonds of brotherhood. Great
Nature in her supremest law forbids it. Nature in her various
recondite, inappreciable, but most potential organizations, imposes
conditions evolving necessities and results which the
arbitrary or conventional institutions of man cannot control,
and fail even to assimilate. Her stern decrees forbid man's
resistance, and punish his violations of them.

General Preston then in most feeling and eloquent sentences
descanted upon the question: "Whether one man's
liberties ought to be judged forever by other men's consciences,"
and appropriately quoted St. Paul's words of almost
the same tenor continuing thus: While I consider this a
divine injustice, yet has the South done her best to keep
command; has she done so piously, wisely and valiantly, in
full measure of the magnitude and appreciation of its transcendent
value? Have we done all those things we were
commanded to do, and have we done that which it was our
duty to do? Tenderer and more devoted, stronger and purer,
higher and holier than aught on earth save a mother's love
for her child, is the almost divine sentiment which makes us
love and live for the land of our birth. But above all this,
above all the earth, is that feeling which makes us reverence
with worship and cherish by devotion the truth which is transmitted
to us by our fathers; for that is the filial obedience
shining in the same sphere with immortal love. This holy

sentiment, in all its most heroic forms, developed into action
all the virtuous energies of the men who had won the liberties
of America, and with wise, ardent and valorous devotion they
went on building up a grand and glorious structure on that
foundation, strengthening and adorning it with the pillars and
muniments of the right of self-government and the mighty
prerogative of the freedom of conscience.

They were grandly inspired architects, those master-builders,
who came out of the first war for civil independence in this
New World, and in fifty years they completed an edifice dedicated
to civil freedom and free conscience, whose foundation
was a continent, whose boundaries were boundless seas, and
whose turrets aspired to heaven to catch the light and blessing
from a God of Truth. This was the temple which was to
become the pride of history, the joy of a great and happy
people—"the joy, the pride, the glory of mankind"—in which
no man's liberty was to be judged by another man's conscience.
For this sacred purpose the covenants were placed
upon the altar, the gates were opened to the people, and they
went in and prayed with thanksgiving and hymns of praise,
and renewed the covenants, and the world began to know them
and called them blessed—

How awful the holy purity, how wonderful the grandeur of
this temple dedicated to truth, to liberty, and to free conscience
—a temple fitted for the crowned truth to dwell in forever.
After the great struggle for civil liberty—Washington was
dead. His robes of unsmirched purple stolen and misfitted
for a time, were again worthily on the shoulders of Jefferson;
and here white handed hope waved her scepter of faith, and
liberty sat smiling beneath the bright enchantment, or serenely
and grandly seemed to move onward to the anointing and the
coronation. . . .

With bated breath I plead the duty of the Alumni of this
great University, evolved by the immortal Jefferson, the
splendid harvest of fruit that has come from that great man's
design. It is for you to transmit to posterity the true narration

of the facts and the irreversible logic of these three score and
ten years, and with it exhibit the seemingly dying effort of
moral, civil and religious truth in its struggle with fierce intolerance
and greedy fanaticism, sustained by merely mechanical
and physical forces and energies, and thus to justify before
God and posterity how valiant, how virtuous and how heroic
men, women and children may be who, inheriting the promises
of God's holy spirit to an illustrious ancestry, impelled by filial
piety and sustained by the divine sentiment of patriotism, in
asserting that their liberty shall not be judged by other men's
conscience. This narration will unveil the foulest crime which
stains the annals of human history; it will put upon record
that less than seven decades and a lustrum sufficed to uproot
and dispel all veneration for the past countless centuries and
to engraft upon the chronicles and the civilization of the
nineteenth century of grace, as its most vital attribute and
essential element and power the most unnatural crime God
has permitted man to perpetuate. Remember the North's
great desire—to extirpate the people of the South, and to
scatter salt over the land. Oh, my countrymen, it is a sorry
sight to see the toil of ages won by our forefathers—their
pride, their supreme joy, their triumph—sunk to desolation
by our failure, leaving us where all our talk is of graves and
wounds and epitaphs, and all our prayers for oblivion—"a
realm of tombs." . . .

But for you nurslings of to-day, still at our mother's breast,
I would change this sad and weird lament, this gloomy chant
of woe, and strike the resounding chord which sent forth the
bold anthem of hope, and give you a cheering and living echo
from the dark vault of the past. Once I dreaded lest the womb
of Virginia had been seared to barrenness, and her fountains
of nurture all dried up, and hope itself banished from her
sphere. But when I look at you to-day, and see your earnest
and pious souls gleaming forth in your eager bright eyes,
and when I stand here in these lovely and hallowed places,
with this sky and this land about me, and their breezes fanning
my brow—here in the shadow of Monticello—here where we
now, decrepit fragments, were nurtured in that ennobling lore,
and gathered that truthful spirit which led us to give ourselves
and all our hopes in the fruitless struggle to keep you as

Professor William E. Peters, LL.D., at forty-three
1829-1906

See page 378

FACING 306

free as our fathers have made us—I cannot but feel that the
sacred spirit is still alive in your hearts, and will again appear
and move in you to a triumphant ending.

The Alumni Banquet, in the late afternoon and evening,
5-10.30 o'ck, participated in by about four hundred, was a
most brilliant and enjoyable affair—not only from the delicious
morsels it furnished for the body but from the postprandial
efforts for the mind that followed in the order here
named: 1, Alma Mater (Mr. W. C. Rives); 2, Thomas
Jefferson—Father of the University of Virginia (Col. Thomas
Jefferson Randolph); 3, Virginia (Gov. T. L. Kemper); 4,
Knowledge and Virtue (Hon. Thomas F. Bayard); 5, Our
Students of 1825-26 (Professor Henry Tutwiler); 6, Our
Former Professors (Professor William B. Rogers); 7, The
Orators of Our Celebration (Gen. John S. Preston and Hon.
Robert M. T. Hunter); 8, The Visitors and Faculty of the
University (Col. W. R. Berkeley); 9, The Dead of Our Alumni
Brethren (Mr. Daniel B. Lucas); 10, Our Young Alumni (Mr.
A. P. Humphreys); 11, The Faculty and Reception Committee
(—volunteered, Mr. H. Clay Dallam). Letters were read
from Mr. John H. Ingraham, London, editor of Poe's works;
Robert Mallet and George Long, London; Charles W. Eliot,
Harvard; Noah Porter, Yale; Robert E. Rogers, University
of Pennsylvania; Gen. Francis H. Smith, Virginia Military
Institute; Andrew D. White, Cornell, and others.

The concluding function of the Commencement was, as
usual, the Final Ball, which loomed into existence for the
more youthful just as the "dying embers" of the banquet—for
the more aged and dignified—"wrought their ghosts upon
the floor." The Ball itself differed little from others save in
the preponderance of pretty and attractive maidens along with
their several escorts tending to overcrowd the room and thereby
render round dancing less satisfactory. Until midnight square
dances and waltzes were the order, but after supper, which was
served in Wash. Hall, the more acceptable "German" was
indulged bringing to many appropriate "favors" that have
remained ever since pleasant souvenirs.