University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XVI

Incidents and Commencement of Session 1875-76

I reached the Farish Hotel for the session of 1875-76, Wednesday
night, September 29th, and began the next day getting
my room, 50 East Range, in habitable shape—possibly excelling
in comfort and expense those of previous years.
Scarcely had our student duties been resumed when it was reported
throughout the University community that the much
distinguished and revered Thomas Jefferson Randolph lay
dangerously ill at his near-by residence, Edgehill, and that
approaching death was inevitable. He was no stranger to
the older student-body, at least that was our feeling towards
him, as most of us had been impressed with his tall, erect
and stately form—six feet four or five inches—on his occasional
visits to Charlottesville and the University. Whether
at near or far range no one saw his conspicuous figure without
an interest and inquiry as to the personality. We recognized
that his life, more than any one then living, had been linked
inseparably with his grandfather's, Mr. Jefferson, by whom
he was called affectionately "the staff of my old age." We
also knew that he had discharged voluntarily at great sacrifice,
consuming thereby most of his own estate—forty thousand
dollars or more—every pecuniary obligation left by Mr. Jefferson,
so that his illustrious name might be held untarnished
by posterity; that as legatee and executor, he had published his
grandfather's "Memoir and Correspondence" in four volumes,
had been Rector of the University seven and member of

the Board of Visitors thirty-one years, had always taken the
keenest interest in the welfare of the institution, and at its
last Commencement (Semi-Centennial) banquet had responded
to the toast: "Thomas Jefferson, the Father of the University
of Virginia." We repay his love with our gratitude, and
strive to vindicate his wisdom by our works. But as predicted
the final chapter of his long and useful life, having already
passed his eighty-third year, was soon to be written, for on
Thursday afternoon, October 7th, just as "the sun went
down," as was true of his close and kind friend, Dr. McGuffey,
two and a half years before, God touched him and he slept.
Two days later, Saturday morning, 9th, his funeral was held
in the Episcopal Church, Charlottesville, where the services
were conducted by the venerable rector, Dr. Hanckel, for
many years his warm personal friend and spiritual adviser.
On that morning Charlottesville sent a committee of her good
citizens to Edgehill as a respectful escort to the funeral cortege,
which along the route became augmented by kind friends
on horse, foot, or in carriages. At the eastern limits of the
town many citizens aligned themselves on one side of the
public road, opposite the University professors and students,
and stood with uncovered heads until the procession passed,
then joined it. The church was crowded, many stores were
closed and most of the business of the town suspended during
the solemn hour. Afterwards the procession proceeded to
Monticello, where, in the neglected but hallowed graveyard,
near-by his illustrious grandfather, father and mother, and
many others so near and dear, the remains were interred.
His eight grandsons were the pall-bearers, and the last touching
service at the grave was the singing of a hymn by his
former slaves, and the hiding from view of the earthly mound
by beautiful flowers contributed mostly by the young ladies
of his daughter's school in recognition of a respect and love
for him kindred to filial affection.

Our former chaplain, Rev. T. D. Witherspoon, delivered
the October Y. M. C. A. sermon in the Public Hall on the
text, "What shall I do, then, with Jesus, which is called
Christ?" This kindly gentleman I found chaplain upon reaching
the University in 1872, that being his last session, but the
associations of those two years were so pleasant and the memories
so dear that he willingly returned now and then to perform
a Christian service.

Our new chaplain for the coming period, Rev. Robert J.
McBryde, the immediate successor of Rev. Samuel A. Steel,
preached his introductory sermon in the chapel, Sunday morning,
October 10th, from the text, "For we preach not ourselves
but Christ Jesus the Lord." The doctor was rather
tall and slender, with a strong, clear voice, and entered heartily
into the activities of the University as well as the companionship
of the students.

Early in the month my boon companion, Davis, was elected
business editor of the Magazine, and in commenting upon his
selection the editors in the November number gave among
others this commendable sentiment: "His energy and enthusiasm
are known to all of us, and when we say that he
has already, by his own unaided efforts, secured us seventy
subscribers, we say enough to prove his eminent fitness for the
position." Not only was he successful in getting subscribers,
but equally so in advertisements from merchants and tradesmen
of the entire community. Our daily afternoon walks
together down town invariably carried some specific mission
besides exercise—that pertaining to the welfare of our publication,
either in subscriptions, advertisements or arrangements
with the Chronicle's foreman, Mr. Ackerly, concerning printing
and payments. Davis was a thorough business man,
having enjoyed some years of active experience before seeking
a University training, which with his age—twenty-six or
seven—sprightly manner and natural tact caused him to be
well-rounded by a generous contact with men of affairs. He
touched nothing half-heartedly, or that failed; lived up to
every obligation, misrepresented nothing, did friendly acts
wherever he could, and was always the same—true as steel.
The Magazine made a most happy choice in him, as he not
only liquidated its previous year's indebtedness of more than

a hundred dollars, but passed over to his successor a substantial
sum.

We regretted to see no longer around the University the
familiar form of Professor Boeck, whose resignation had been
accepted during the summer. His position was not filled until
the middle of October by the appointment of Mr. William
Mynn Thornton, a very brilliant former graduate, who had
only left us two years before, consequently was well-known to
many of us older students. Contrary to expectation we heard
nothing more of Gen. Preston's Semi-Centennial speech. It
surely was a thing of the past and had only produced momentarily
a slight ripple upon the quieting waters. The Alumni
had published in separate pamphlets Mr. Hunter's address and
Mr. Lucas' poem, and these alone were intended to perpetuate
the literary efforts of that historic occasion.

I procured from Dr. Harrison, Thursday morning, Dec.
23rd, my leave of absence for eight days, and in the afternoon
secured thereto the signatures of Professors Mallet, Holmes
and Smith. As my train did not leave until after 1 o'ck,
that night all duties were performed as usual up to near that
hour, when a little time was taken to say good-bye to clubmates
and friends, and in packing my grip so as to leave my
room precisely at midnight—that being considered abundant
time for walking leisurely to the depot. At the appointed moment,
when everything had been put to order in my room—
window-shutters closed, fire and gas out—I picked up my traps,
opened and passed out the door, giving it not an intentional
hard pull, but one in reality that appeared to make an unusually
loud noise. At the same moment I experienced an unsteadiness
on my feet, and heard, as though coming from out
of the valley in front, a distinct rumbling report, which I accepted
to emanate from the near-by Southern Railroad—either
an explosion of a locomotive or a terrific impact of freight cars,
whose counterpart in less degree I hitherto had occasionally
experienced. The hour otherwise was deadly quiet and seemingly
only myself and the myriads of twinkling stars stood
visible sentinels of what had occurred. In a moment I reopened
my room-door with night-latch key, but finding nothing
wrong or disturbed within, hastily re-locked and turned my
steps trainward. As I proceeded in the dark and quiet the

thought of a possible earthquake never suggested itself, nor
did it until next morning when reaching Washington the
penetrating monosyllabic songs of the newsboys proclaimed
the fact. A paper soon aroused my lethargic mind to the significance
of my midnight realization, as I read the bold headlines:
"Earthquake at 12.02 o'ck, A. M. Felt throughout
Virginia, Maryland and the South. The most severe in years,
etc." Happily this so far has been my only vivid experience of
earth's tottering equilibrium.

After a delightful visit of a week I left home on my return,
Jan. 1, 1876—a day ever memorable with me from its beauty
and mildness, one of the dozen to which I frequently refer
as possessing some striking characteristics beyond all others.
I found Davis and most of the Christmas absentees back in
harness, and soon pulled myself together as though nothing
unusual had come into my plodding life.

In spite of the severities of January and February weather,
the 5 o'ck. walk to and from the town was omitted seldom,
as heavy overcoats, shoes and rubbers amply protected against
any possible risk. Indeed, this form of exercise seemed religiously
observed by the majority—as though essential, like
food, for material preservation and existence.

Harding was not a member of any fraternity, having boldly
resisted the importunities of many, including the best, while
Davis belonged to one and I to another. Yet we three appeared
perfectly congenial, which, together with proximity of
rooms—in regular sequence, 49, 50, 51—made us see more
of each than of others, and occasioned little surprise at our
journeying to meals and elsewhere in companionship—a trio
often observed alone at the beginning of a stroll but usually
with augmented numbers at the finish, including fraternity
members and other friends. Harding also was a confirmed
recluse from ladies' society, and, although polished, agreeable,
affable and thoroughly acquainted with social amenities, always
declined alike the bidding of young and old—even a
beautiful coquette possessed for him no attraction, far less a
charm. It was here that he again differed somewhat from
Davis and myself, since we unhesitatingly accepted in that
direction "a night off" whenever its passing was believed
to carry a compensating pleasure. While recognizing our

residence there primarily for study and a university training,
we did not consider that to be all of a rounded education, but
this to be made up of many elements, one of which—contact
with ladies and their homes—ought not to be neglected, by
no means despised. Of course, this trivial difference in taste
had not the slightest influence on our fondness and friendship
for one another, as it seldom was referred to and only then
for amusement and laughter.

Among the new students of this year was Mr. Edward H.
Squibb, Brooklyn, N. Y., who, finding us without any permanent
gymnasium, generously offered to provide the necessary
outfit if the University would house it. During the early
part of the previous session the Dining Hall at the south end
of East Range, kept for many years by Mr. Jefferies, was
closed, he disposing of his lease to the proprietors of the other

Professor Francis H. Smith, LL.D., at forty-three
1829—

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FACING 316

two hotels—the one Miss Ross, the other Mr. Massie—and they
taking care of his patronage. This hall was considered the
only available and suitable room, consequently Mr. Squibb
had installed into it all the appliances and apparatus it could
accept conveniently, presenting the same to the University,
thus establishing the first permanent gymnasium under the
name of, "The Gymnasium Association." This was opened
without form or ceremony shortly after Christmas, and thereafter
many accepted there the various forms of exercise in
preference to the hitherto accustomed walks, especially on
rainy days. The room was accessible between the hours of
7 A. M. and 7 P. M. to all those paying the annual membership
fee of one dollar and the monthly dues of fifteen cents.

Rev. W. U. Murkland, a prominent Presbyterian minister
of Baltimore, delivered the February Y. M. C. A. sermon in
the Public Hall, upon the career of Solomon. His beautiful
flow of English and varied styles of oratory had seldom been
surpassed in my day at the University, sufficing to please a
very large and appreciative audience.

The Faculty, in December, recommended to the two Literary
Societies that the prize debates be two instead of five—the
number last year—a step gladly acquiesced in and the source
of no surprise, as even one of those long sittings, from 4 to 11
o'ck, P. M., with a short intermission for supper, was no
doubt quite sufficient punishment to older men, as a rule intolerant
of youthful effusions and oratorical short-comings.
This year Professors Gildersleeve, Holmes and Venable constituted
the electoral committee of the Jeff., and Harrison,
Smith and Southall that of the Wash., while the societies at
one of their November meetings announced the dates, subjects
and contestants for orator's and debater's medals:

These societies elected their Final Presidents by open ballot,
Saturday night, April 1st, the events being marked by unusual
quietness and well-tempered feeling, resulting in favor
of Messrs. H. H. Downing, Va. (Jeff.), and F. E. Conway,
Ark. (Wash.). And the "Electoral Committees" of the
Faculty exercised no delay in announcing their awards to the
most deserving: Jeff.—Mr. Bernard Peyton, Va., medalist;
Mr. Lyon G. Tyler, Va., orator, who resigning, Mr. A. P.
Thom was selected upon a third debate. Wash.—Mr. T. E.
Blakey, Va., medalist; Mr. J. D. Colley, Ga., orator.

Near the middle of the session Davis assumed the Superintendency
of the Chapel Sunday School, which compelled him
to miss thereafter Professor Minor's Bible Class—both coming
at the same hour, 9-10 o'ck, A. M.—although I continued
along in the good work.

Throughout April and May evening religious meetings were
held in the Chapel under the supervision of the chaplain and
a number of the more capable and devout students. The exercises
consisted of singing, prayer and a short talk upon the
chapter read by whoever in rotation had charge. Davis was
always one of the master-spirits, who often influenced me to
be his companion, and the half-hours there spent in worship
were always serious, delightful and healthful. The attendance
usually was large, resulting in a decided power for good to
the student-body. I only recall one departure from the golden
rule—a perversion of the Chapel's sanctity—when a ripple of
laughter pervaded the entire assemblage, occasioned by the
nervous trepidation of a student called upon to lead in prayer.
With the first few sentences his voice became more and more
tremulous until he was so choked as to be unable to articulate,
and after a minute's silence some one wisely relieved the embarrassing
suspense by exclaiming boldly, Amen, thus allowing
us all to uplift our bended heads in a reverential mood
mingled with considerable merriment. In conversation afterwards
with the unfortunate young man, he was unable to
explain the mystery of his faltering.

During these University years considerable was heard of
the eccentric colored divine of Richmond John Jasper, pastor
of the Sixth Mount Zion Baptist Church whose one sermon
—The Sun Do Move—had brought him before the world's
footlights more in the sense of ridicule than otherwise. His
untenable and defiant position, however, had not failed to excite
in most of us a degree of pity as well as amusement, and
a decided curiosity to see and hear him plead his cause whenever
an easy opportunity presented. This came to me by
mere accident one Sunday late in June, when several of us
were returning together from church in Charlottesville, upon
reaching Mudwall (called improperly Midway by most of us
—a large, solitary, unattractive brick building near the present
Union Station, whose lower floor was used as a colored Baptist
Church, Delavan, now replaced by a very creditable
worshiping edifice), we observed an overflowing multitude and
heard floating in the air the familiar phrase—The Sun Do
Move. At once taking in the situation we turned left down
the slight incline and began quietly edging our way through
the crowd into the church, where after a fashion I found

myself standing in front of the noted minister. It was near
the beginning of his sensational career, and the colored people
of Charlottesville could wait no longer the expounding of his
theory, consequently had invited him for that purpose and
occasion. I never saw him except the once, and the interim
has effaced some of the detail, but I remember him as a typical
negro—no mulatto—of good size, strong, massive face, reclining
forehead, large feet and hands, voice strong and used
with much enthusiasm, vocabulary often falsely applied and
pronounced, to the extent of provoking, at least, latent smiles;
manner dignified and earnest, compensating for many other
weaknesses—age about sixty-five. He repeated often his text:
Exodus, chapter XV, verse 3, "The Lord is a man of war;
the Lord is His name," and quoted many Biblical verses pertinent
to his theme—showing the power and greatness of God
—among them the following:

Revelation, chapter VII, verse 1, "And after these things I
saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth,
holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not
blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree."

Psalm, chapter CXIII, verse 3, "From the rising of the sun
unto the going down of the same the Lord's name be praised."

Psalm, chapter L, verse 1, "The mighty God, even the
Lord, hath spoken, and called the earth from the rising of the
sun unto the going down thereof."

Malachi, chapter I, verse 11, "For from the rising of the
sun even unto the going down of the same My name shall be
great among the Gentiles, etc."

Ecclesiastics, chapter I, verse 5, "The sun also ariseth, and
the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose."

Judges, chapter XIV, verse 18, "And the men of the city
said unto him on the seventh day before the sun went down,
What is sweeter than honey? and what is stronger than a
lion?"

Joshua, chapter X, verses 12, 13, 14, "Then spake Joshua
to the Lord in the day when the Lord delivered up the Amorites
before the children of Israel, and he said in the sight of
Israel, Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in
the Valley of Ajalon. And the sun stood still, and the moon
stayed, until the people had avenged themselves upon their

enemies. Is not this written in the book of Jasher? So the
sun stood in the midst of heaven, and hasted not to go down
about a whole day. And there was no day like that before
it or after it, that the Lord hearkened unto the voice of a man;
for the Lord fought for Israel."

Upon these passages he made some very potent comments,
affirming that: "according to the scriptural words, we were
living on a four-cornered earth, and if that be true, my friends,
tell me how in the name of God can an earth with four corners
be round? This theory of mine is supported by the Bible and
it is true, for if the earth was like other people, who differ
from me, say it is, they would be compelled at some places to
walk on the ground with feet upward, as flies on the ceiling
of a room. I prove the fact—that the sun moves—by the
highest law given to man. We do not know the distance of
the sun from the earth, as there is no way by which a person
can measure it, because no one could take enough food along
to last all the way. How can a man take a tape line and
measure from the earth to the sun? I appeal to you to search
the Bible for all this evidence, and if you fail to find it hold
me responsible," etc.

The Commencement was ushered in on Sunday, June 25th,
a beautiful day, as were the two that followed, but by Wednesday
"Old Sol" seemingly raised the lid throughout the entire
eastern section, and so held it for nearly four weeks, when he
granted only a temporary relief to sweltering humanity. The
chaplain, Rev. Robert J. McBryde, delivered in the chapel the
regular Sunday morning sermon, but the great event came at
night, in the form of Annual Address before the Y. M. C. A.,
by Rev. Moses D. Hoge, a noted Presbyterian divine of Richmond,
possessing a strong personality—tall, slender, well-marked
facial lines; voice decidedly deep, attractive and sonorous;
language and delivery imposing, oratorical. His subject,
"Nobility of Labor," was handled forcefully, and as it
was unhampered by manuscript or notes, became a veritable
delight to those present.

Monday night—Wash. Celebration. After prayer by Rev.
Robert J. McBryde, the President, Mr. F. E. Conway, Ark., in
a neat and taking speech introduced the Orator, Mr. J. D.
Colley, Ga., who delivered a beautiful address upon "National

Progress." The President thereafter conferred the debater's
medal upon Mr. T. E. Blakey, Va., who received and acknowledged
the same in a brief but highly appropriate speech.

Tuesday night—Jeff. Celebration. After prayer by Rev.
Robert J. McBryde, the President, Mr. H. H. Downing, Va.,
in several well-rounded sentences introduced the Orator, Mr.
A. P. Thom, Va., who, taking for his subject, "The Influence
of England's Universities on England's Greatness," showed a
remarkable familiarity therewith, as well as a scope of much
reading and thought. Afterwards the President in some complimentary
words conferred the debater's medal upon Mr. Bernard
Peyton, Va., a son of our Proctor, Major Green Peyton,
who in acceptance made the most manly and substantial speech
I ever heard from an undergraduate. He was a beautiful debater—well-read
and resourceful under pressure, deliberate and
self-possessed under all conditions, and had often in my presence
been pitted in the Jeff. meetings against those in some
respects worthy of his steel. But of all he seemed to possess
most stability, regard for adversaries and innate power to convince
others to his way of thinking. The great philosopher
and sage, Ralph Waldo Emerson, was upon the platform that
night and apparently took delight in listening to Mr. Peyton's
remarks, congratulating him thereafter with a hearty handshake
in public gaze. This young man would have had a
brilliant career and the University an unusual shining mark,
had he not a few years thereafter met an untimely death in a
railroad accident.

Wednesday night—Joint Celebration. Undoubtedly the
great drawing card of this Commencement was the address
of Mr. Emerson's. This visit South was his first since the
Civil War, and was given much publicity through press and
speech, so that those present, in fact many throughout the
land, had a high degree of expectation, which unfortunately
in a way was not realized. He was accompanied by his
daughter, as traveling companion, a seeming necessity from
his age and physical infirmities, and upon them reaching Charlottesville
about 2 o'ck, the day before, quite a number of
us students were at the depot, and at his first appearance upon
the car platform readily recognized him from the strikingly
accurate portraits that had come under our notice. Professor

Holmes, who entertained them during their stay met and took
them to his home, and was noticeably attentive at every function.
It certainly was a tall, gaunt trio that filed into the
carriage at the depot and drove away to the University, apparently
in haste to partake of the good things prepared and
awaiting, and as they from time to time stalked the arcades
and various University walks their statures diminished not the
least—ever commanded a reverential respect deserved by the
distinguished.

In spite of intense heat the Public Hall that night was
packed to overflowing with young and old—all in perfect
resignation to any bodily discomfort in lieu of the unusual
treat in store. I was one of the marshals and after my supposed
duties were over sought the only available spot—west
window nearest the stage—where an occasional gentle breeze
made it possible for one's brain to accept slightly the literary
food dispensed. After prayer the presiding officer, Mr. Miles,
introduced Mr. Emerson, who arose with a thick manuscript
of the larger size paper in hand, which he placed on the stand
provided for the purpose and at once began its reading. Everything
was breathless silence for a few moments and thereafter
modest pandemonium reigned, as his subject was treated philosophically
and through such a thin, weak, low voice that those
near were unable to follow with any satisfaction and those
remote could only see his form and lip movement. He read
closely with eyes fixed continuously upon the page, apparently
not inconvenienced by the heat, but chafed a little under the
fluttering commotion and restlessness of his hearers—for each
lady had a fan and a fellow, so, deriving no pleasure from the
speaker and determined not to let the hour go idly unimproved,
fought the air with fans for physical comfort, and "spoke only
to be spoken to" for mental enjoyment. Dr. Harrison in his
brusque way plead for attention and silence, while later Professor
Venable thought his word might have a soothing effect,
but young America continued to be defiant. Mr. Emerson
evidently took in the situation, for several times during the
hour, by way of reprimand or rebuke, he quietly said: "I
see you understand the drift of my thought, so I will proceed
to the next subdivision," turning over at the same time quite a
dozen pages to remain forever unsung.

Mr. Emerson's address was never published, at least by the
University, and owing to his great aversion to the daily press,
the reporters present had much difficulty in catching anything
worth recording. The best account of it occurred in The
World (New York), which may well be reproduced
here:

"The World reporter called upon Mr. Emerson and asked
him what he proposed to do for the readers of the newspapers
who could not be present, offering to publish so much of his
lecture as possessed contemporaneous human interest. "No,
sir," said Mr. Emerson, "I cannot permit it. I hate the very
word paper; I don't read newspapers, and my addresses are
never reported. Now, sometimes, in my State when a new
college is started they ask me to read some of my old papers,
if nothing else. Well, I say, `Yes, if I am not to be reported;
keep the reporters away or out, and I will go down and read
for you.' I cannot consent to be reported, for I have nothing
to say worth reporting. So away." But I can give you some
idea of Mr. Emerson's oration, for the reporters joined forces
and obtained aid and comfort from some who sat near enough
to hear all that he said.

After a long introduction, he announced his subject as
"The Natural and Permanent Function of the Scholar," which
opened with an apostrophe to learning, science and philosophy,
in which he showed the usefulness and advantages of the
scholar, theorist and speculative philosopher. Whatever can
be thought can be spoken, articulated. Intellect is within
bounds, but the realm of thought is boundless. He reviewed
the organic nature of study, poetical successes and the pleasures
of poets. Americans as a people gave themselves wonderful
airs, but were a matter-of-fact people. He cautioned his
hearers against the busybodies in it, pretenders and dissemblers;
against rich and official people. He animadverted on practical
men and the scholar. Men were valued according to their
power of expression. The favoritism shown poets was universal
in all lands (some poets ought to be killed). The
thoughts and the pleasure of the poet were far above the sordid
gains of old money-bags. Ideas are the points of men and
things. The lecturer went delving in the depths of thought;
the feats of endurance of such men as Napoleon, Hannibal

and Columbus. "Is an armed man the only hero?" he asked.
Beating down and uprooting prejudice had its heroes, and
he is a genius who accomplishes the feat. How many are
they of whom the world has never heard? There are men
with genius in them who never had it brought out.

As to learning and culture—as many languages as a man
knows, so many times is he a man. I think there are no more
intellectual people in the world than Americans; and then they
are so curious and inquisitive. It was said that an eminent
Frenchman was drowned in his talents. Talent was often
mistaken for genius. Newspapers, money and power carry
their ends, and so do Senators and rich men, rich men become
Senators nowadays, regardless of merit, or position, or fitness.
There is something in nature that demands the scholar to interpret
her laws, to see and identify their connection, where
others see only fragments. There is a great deal in nature
that all men see and admire, but it is the exclusive prerogative
of the scholar to give expression to it. The perfection of the
expression makes the perfection of the scholar. See how the
world in its progress has waited for the scholar and his coming
to wake into existence by his touch all the great and useful
inventions and discoveries, such as the steam engine and the
electric-telegraph! The scholar will, of course, meet with
many obstacles that he must surmount; but let him not be
discouraged! The key-note should be "courage" if he would
incarnate the truth, and not only make it known.

Kepler, the great astronomer, when people tried to discourage
him in his magnificent discoveries, said, "I will wait
a hundred years for a reader, since God has waited six thousand
years for an observer such as I am." Genius seeks truth
as its object, and aims to give that truth expression; but such
talent is too often developed at the expense of character, and
for mere gratification of pride.

Scholarship is merely a weapon or means by which we are
to do something, and achieve some desired result, but if we
stop to admire the weapon we are very apt to fail to use it
for accomplishing our purpose. If we would use scholarship
for achieving some noble object in life, the world would do it
even greater homage than is, sometimes, now bestowed. Men
still admire the true poet, the true philosopher, or anything

Professor M. Schele De Vere, J.U.D., at fifty-six
1820-1898

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FACING 326

else that is true; it is only on the false or pretended that they
would fain pour contempt.

As soon as Mr. Emerson had enunciated his final word, the
audience was transferred from dreamland to a vital present by
strains of stirring music, by the bright, witty speech of Professor
Schele De Vere in presenting the Magazine medal to Mr.
Leo N. Levi, Texas, and, last, but no means least, by the brilliant
oratorical reply of that young gentleman. For between
this and the stoic platitudes of Mr. Emerson there was great
contrast—Mr. Levi being the acme of inspiration and enthusiasm,
giving tone to every sluggish nerve by his beautifully
modulated sentences and deep sonorous voice, so that none
could escape his animated and magnetic influence, even the
Sage of Concord—who must have enjoyed ample verification
of what he proclaimed years before: Among so many students
there are at least four or five worth educating. But alas that
bright Commencement star is no longer with the living—he
survived only a short generation, sufficient, however, for gathering
greater distinctions unto himself and his cherished
University.

Thursday morning—Commencement or Final Day. At 10
o'ck, the entire University contingent, including many
strangers, assembled in the Public Hall to witness the usual
conferring of diplomas and certificates of proficiency, which
lasted about two hours. At the conclusion of this exercise
Dr. Harrison, who had handed each of us our well-earned
sheepskins, delivered a short address filled with good advice
and wishes, and had scarcely finished when the name of Gildersleeve
rang loudly throughout the Hall. This brought the
distinguished scholar to the front of the stage to say farewell
—an act performed so pathetically in manner, expression and
emotion as to bring many tears to manly eyes.

After a recess of an hour we all reassembled at 1 o'ck, to
hear the very able Alumni address, by Colonel F. W. M. Holliday,
Va., who spoke entertainingly on, "Higher Education
the Hope of American Republicanism." Professor William
B. Rogers had been selected months before the Alumni speaker,
with Colonel Holliday as alternate, but owing to continued
indisposition, long distance and anticipated heat, Professor
Rogers concluded the task hazardous to attempt, consequently

the honor fell upon Colonel Holliday, who in appearance was
rather large and commanding, with strong voice and fine delivery,
showing, however, the ravages of war, as he carried
an empty sleeve—the arm having been lost at Cedar Run, in
1862. At night the Final Ball was held in the Library, where
many light-footed beaux and belles—including the Misses
Anderson, Antrim, Blackford, Clark, Farish, Garth, Lathrop,
Massie, Maury, Jordan, Peyton, Pleasants, Randolph, Shackelford,
Southall, Walker, and scores of others—enjoyed the
giddy maze until near the "break of day."