University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XXII

Professors—Personal Characteristics and Traits

William Holmes McGuffey.—When accompanying Professor
Venable home for dinner the afternoon I reached the
University, he halted near the center of the campus and
pointed out the various pavilions occupied by the several professors,
emphasizing the last on West Lawn, by which we
soon passed, as that of the oldest member of the Faculty—
Dr. McGuffey's. I inquired his relationship to the author
of the popular "Readers," only to receive the information
that he was the author himself and a learned philosopher. In
public school I had been brought up on the "Eclectic Series,"
but nothing on the title pages indicated the writer's identity
—all being by Wm. H. McGuffey, LL.D. One can imagine
my great desire to see and hear lecture the man who had
collated so much of my youthful reading matter—that which
had an early realization. He was about five feet nine inches
high and weighed one hundred and sixty pounds. His face
was smooth and beardless; cheek-bones prominent and
straightly angled to the chin; forehead unusually broad and
high; complexion good—more vital than sanguine; voice
clear, sonorous, lower register, fine volume and carrying
power; eyes small and bright. He dressed in conventional
black cloth, with long full-skirted coats and high collars—
silk stock—and a silk hat. He walked erect, with firm, deliberate
step, but carried a cane, upon which he placed some
weight; he seemed always thoughtful, but never oblivious to
surroundings, noticing persons passed-by and conditions encountered.

He spoke in a reflective, absorbed and convincing
style, repeating premises and conclusions wherever he thought
it possible for students to find stumbling blocks; he argued
as he explained, taking much delight in both, until he felt
assured that his meaning was understood by all. He never
worried or despaired from a failure to comprehend the first
enunciation of a truth, but recognized all such to be golden
opportunities for exercising his varied resources as a master
teacher. I was never introduced to him, but we frequently
met, always to tip my hat and have the salute recognized with
a slight bow and kindly smile. I only heard him lecture twice
on his regular course, but a number of times on Sunday afternoons
upon Biblical subjects, of which he had been a close
student and gave beautiful interpretations. Although a consistent
Presbyterian, he did not hesitate to ridicule and denounce
its doctrine of predestination, but otherwise was firm
to the creed. He gave forth many educational thoughts apart
from the subjects he taught; even grammatical construction
and questions of rhetoric received sometimes in class a
straightening process, while students often sought him for
such purpose. I heard him deprecate on one occasion the prevailing
use of the comparative for the superlative degree—
thus contending that of several articles one was not the better,
but the best of the lot. His lectures were among the few attended
by outsiders, and no one at their close—be the subject
discussed ever so dependent upon reasoning—failed to be
profited and to wish for a repetition of the sitting. When
considering the merits and popularity of our professors, it was
soon found that none stood higher among the student-body,
for we accepted him as a model teacher and a master of his
profound subject—a tower of strength in the Faculty. When,
therefore, in early April of my first year his serious indisposition
was announced, one could not be surprised at the gloom
cast over the entire atmosphere and the interest taken in his
daily condition. Sometimes he had rallied to bring joy to every
heart, again unexpected complications had arisen, or, as did
occur, mental aberration and delirium, to spread inexpressible
sadness and regret. Sunday, May 4, 1873, was a delightfully
balmy day—well calculated to stimulate in nature the unfolding
of imprisoned vitality, in youth an appreciation of
the privilege of living—but with its setting sun faded the
light of our immortal philosopher, as death came shortly after
6 o'ck. All exercises of the University were suspended
the following Tuesday—a day likewise of beautiful sunshine
and warmth—when at 10.30 o'ck, the funeral assemblage
began collecting on the lawn in front of the Rotunda, arranging
itself in two parallel lines ten feet apart, extending nearly
to the first terrace. Shortly thereafter the casket was borne
by loving colleagues through these lines, followed by respectful
friends, citizens and Moral Philosophy class—the standing
lines joining the procession in regular order—all ascending
the Rotunda steps and proceeding to the Public Hall,
whose pillars, gallery and stage had been entwined with
black and appropriate mourning symbols. The bier, covered
with floral wreaths, rested at the foot of the stage, while upon
this were seated the professors, assistants, ministers, noted
scholars and friends. The Hall was overcrowded, mournful
and silent—only the mellow sunlight reflecting through the
shuttered windows bringing to the occasion the slightest evidence
of brightness. Rev. Edgar Woods, of the Presbyterian
Church, Charlottesville, a close personal friend of Dr.
McGuffey's, read the Scriptural passage, while our Chaplain,
Rev. Dr. T. D. Witherspoon, delivered a very sympathetic
sermon from the text, "But when the fruit is brought forth,
immediately he putteth forth the sickle because the harvest
is come." During this discourse many were moved to tears,
especially when touching reference was made to the Professor's
great kindness to the speaker personally and to his frequent
visits throughout the final sickness, in which the great
teacher's one thought seemed to be his present class. After
this the Rev. J. H. Bryson gave expression to that which
appeared most pathetic and affecting—the dead professor's
last message to his class.

At the conclusion of these services the casket was conveyed
by the pall-bearers from the Hall, down the front Rotunda
steps, to the right by the Modern Language room, thence to
its rear through the opening between it and Professor Gildersleeve's
pavilion, where the hearse and several carriages were
in waiting. The procession, consisting of the few vehicles and
long line of professors, students and friends on foot, proceeded

toward the Medical Hall, turned left into the road
along West Range and thence to the University Cemetery,
where, with the simple interment service, in the presence of
that vast concourse of uncovered heads, the body was consigned
to its final resting place—in the rear or western section,
near the graves of Professors Bonneycastle, Courtenay
and Harrison, to which have been added later those of Howard
and Bledsoe. During the greater portion of Dr. McGuffey's
sickness until the close of the session, his class was looked
after by Doctors Cabell and Witherspoon to the complete
satisfaction of all concerned.

Of the several books written by Dr. McGuffey none bore
directly upon the great subject of his life's work, Moral Philosophy—there
remaining extant of this only his own notes
and those taken by students as best they could in lectures.
It was a great disappointment that after teaching the
subject so many years he failed to place on lasting record
his own opinions, deductions and theories of mental processes,
and we were delighted to learn early in the session (1872-73)
that his long proposed work was about completed and could
be expected from the press at any date—that which after his
death failed to materialize. Nor had he trained anyone
especially to his liking and method of thought suitable to
be a worthy successor, but recognized many of his graduates
equal to the duties. These conditions, however, from the
students' standpoint made the position very difficult to fill,
as we believed that no other method or system than his would
be acceptable. As a matter of fact, in keeping with Dr. McGuffey's
belief, he had molded abundant material out of which
to make an excellent choice, but what surprised us students
most was the elimination of his own product and the selection
of one who had been trained far differently. This step,
be it said in truth, yielded most happy results, and convincingly
proved that a new man with changed ideas and ideals
may sometimes strengthen a department that already is very
strong.

In the life of Dr. John A. Broadus (1901), unquestionably
one of the University's most loyal and gifted sons (1827-1895),
occurs much pertaining to his own student-life and
subsequent identification with the institution. Among the

letters written while enjoying his many visits there, one to his
wife, June 6, 1872, is of special interest here: "Took tea at
Dr. McGuffey's. His work on `Mental Philosophy'—like
Heaven in size and design—is printing, and he showed me
proofs. He looks as young and vigorous as ever. I attended
a lecture of Gildersleeve's at half past twelve, and got ideas.
In the evening he and Holmes and Peters called, and Dr.
Davis was prevented after proposing. Gildersleeve was glad
to meet somebody interested in grammar, and sat late, very full of talk."

Immediately upon Dr. McGuffey's death, Professor Smith
wrote Dr. Broadus: "May 4, 1873—At 6.15 o'ck this
evening our venerated and valued professor, Dr. McGuffey,
quietly and in unconsciousness passed away. He lingered for
weeks, having rallied after his physicians despaired of him.
His daughter, Mrs. Hepburn, and his wife were the only
relatives with him. . . . Other gentlemen of the Faculty
besides Dr. Davis (John Staige) have spoken to me most
earnestly in reference to his successor, and indeed, so far as
I know, if the alumni, faculty and friends of the Institution
were polled, their well-nigh, if not altogether unanimous,
choice would light on you. These gentlemen desired me to
approach you or cause you to be approached on the subject.
I know of no way save that of simply and directly telling you
the facts and asking you to deliberate upon them and give
us your matured decision, earnestly hoping that this decision
will be favorable to us. It would be presumptuous in me to
attempt to argue the matter with you. I could say nothing
which would not occur with greater forcce to your own reflections.
I can very well understand the strength of your
love for the Seminary, the child of your care and toil."

This sketch cannot be concluded more appropriately than
by quoting from at least two, out of the many, of Dr. McGuffey's
graduates who have not only become distinguished,
but have willingly paid a high tribute of respect to the memory
and worth of their beloved teacher. Thus one says: "It is
impossible to enter even in outline into the great work of
his life in its four departments—the Christian ministry, educational
authorship, college presidency, and University professorship.
In each of these departments his life was eminently

successful and useful. As a preacher, in his earlier
days he had few equals, attracting great crowds wherever he
was announced to preach, and to the last his sermons gave
evidence of rare powers of exposition and masterly acquaintance
with the great truths of redemption. His `Eclectic
Series of Readers' has made his name as familiar as a household
word throughout the land. In the discipline and government
of young men as college president he was eminently
successful; but it was in his chosen field, the professorship
of Mental and Moral Science, that his great powers found
their widest and most congenial field, that the labor of his
life reached its highest and most perfect fruitage, and that
the basis was laid for his most enduring and illustrious fame.
Rarely does there appear in any one man the combination of
so many qualities as a successful teacher. His mind was not
only endowed with a power of subtle analysis which enabled
him to trace without the slightest perplexity or confusion the
most intricate and occult principles of metaphysics; but with
this he combined an ardent love for those paths which conduct
man through the labyrinths of his own thought and volition.
They were as familiar to him and as dear as his mountain
walks, along which he delighted even to his last hours to
roam. His was the most truly philosophic mind we have
ever known. All nature was to him the expression of the
Divine thought—the intelligible seeking to bring itself into
correlation with the intelligent. There was not a bird that
warbled amidst the roses of his trellis, or along the path on
which he took his evening walk, whose notes he did not
interpret into language addressed to the rational ear. Nature
was to him, too, a great temple. His philosophy brought him
at every turn to the foot of the Throne, because it was preeminently
a Christian philosophy—one whose inspiration was
gained at the foot of the Cross. Not more devoted was he
as a student than as a teacher. As in his evening walks upon
the mountain, nothing seemed to please him more than to
have some companion to whose soul he could impart something
of the fullness of his own delight in the beauties and
harmonies of nature around him—so he never seemed so
happy as when, with his class around him in the lecture-room,
he threaded the mazes of psychological inquiry, stepping from
point to point with the bold determined step of a master—
pouring a flood of illustration upon points the most obscure
and perplexing—now luring on by the beauties of his imagery,
now arousing by the glowing fervor of his style—now going
back upon his course to meet and encourage those whose sluggish
minds had not been able to follow him, mingling incident
and anecdote, humor and pathos—his great heart warmed
with the unquenchable desire that every member of his class
should master the subjects of the course. It was no wonder
that he was successful, and that all over the land there are
men whose testimony is `he taught me, as no other man ever
did, to think.' His life was completely given to his great
work. His death might almost be said to be a martyrdom
to it, for there can be no doubt that his final illness was the
result of more than ordinary application to the duties of his
chair. He fell, as every good man may wish to fall, at his
post. He died, as he had so often wished that he might die,
with the harness on. He went from his study where he had
been engaged with a section of his class to the chamber of
sickness and the bed of death. His end was peaceful. His
life work was fully done and well done, and he leaves behind
him the legacy of a name as untarnished in its purity as it is
distinguished in the walks of philosophy and learning."

The other grateful pupil pays this tribute: "Of the many
eminent names which adorn the history of the University of
Virginia that of Doctor William H. McGuffey stands forth
as among the most prominent. His reputation to-day is
broader and greater than during his life, and it is kept alive
by the hundreds of students who were fortunate enough to
listen to his extraordinary lectures. The writer has often
wondered why these lectures were never printed. Even at
this late day they would mark a distinct era in the history
of Moral Philosophy and Political Economy. He was one
of the few absolutely clear thinkers that this generation has
produced, and he had the happy faculty of imparting his
knowledge to others in brief and perspicuous language. The
writer will never forget the field of thought laid open to him
for the first time by this masterful man. He traced the
growth of Realism and Idealism, and demonstrated how the
mind of man had for ages been grappling with the problems

of psychology; he stated that ideas were never lost; that they
were eternal but not immutable; that each age had the benefit
of the learning that was behind it, and, as time passed, brighter
and nobler trophies were streaming from the flag-staff of
science. The learning of Sir William Hamilton, of Victor
Cousin, of Theodore Jouffroy and of Dugald Stewart, was
more known to his class in a form far more attractive and
more profound than that of the writers themselves. He fairly
reveled in delight when he attacked the problems of mesmerism,
clairvoyance and electro-biology and proved that for
more than two thousand years the human mind had been grappling
with these occult problems. He did not deny that there
were perhaps occult forces in nature unknown and yet to be discovered,
and he recognized the fact that electricity was destined
to have tremendous effect upon the political economy of
the world. He drew the most exquisite picture of the world
one thousand years hence, when the great body of men and
women would live out their full natural lives, owing to the
advancement of medical science; when living would be made
infinitely easier; when with machinery now unknown men
would navigate the air, and the great problems of government
would be understood and all people would be absolutely protected
in the three great rights of personal security, personal
liberty and private property. And nothing could have been
grander than the continued attacks he made upon atheism
and infidelity. His blows rained upon the citadel of infidelity
like the blows of Richard Cœur de Lion on the walls of the
castle of Front De Bœuf. He made `Butler's Analogy' as
charming as a well written novel. Which one of his students
can ever forget his touching and graphic description of the
sublime and beautiful doctrine of Him who, clad in an humble
fisherman's garb, taught by the wayside in Galilee and Judæa!
Though an earnest and loyal Presbyterian, nothing seemed
to delight him more than to attack the world's prevalent idea
of predestination. He pounded it with ridicule, stamped it
with sarcasm, and made what predestination really meant so
plain that no one could misunderstand his version of it. As a
logician he was without a rival, and the science of logic was
never better taught than by him. He delighted in syllogisms
and syllogistic reasoning, and so impressed the writer that he

Professor Leopold J. Boeck, Ph.D., at fifty
1823-1896

See page 442

FACING 430

has found this particular kind of argument of great benefit in
his professional career. As a lecturer upon Political Economy
he was, with the exception of Professor Frank Smith, who
stands and is likely to stand, unrivaled in his particular branch,
and the late James P. Holcombe, perhaps the most attractive
speaker at the University of Virginia in his day and time.
Many of the students of his class in Political Economy became
so interested in Adam Smith, who is really the father of the
science, that they read his celebrated work with almost the
avidity with which they read Ivanhoe. It was Adam Smith,
said the lecturer, who first proved to the world that manufacturing
nations were destined to excel all others in prosperity.
And why? Because the shaping of the raw material
into the finished product adds immensely to the intrinsic value
of the article. It makes it salable, merchantable and useful,
and the profit of the manufacturer must be greater than that
of the person engaged in raising the raw material. But he
was at his best when he lectured upon Campbell's Philosophy
of Rhetoric and Kanes' Elements of Criticism. It enabled
him to speak of the growth of English Literature from the
days of Chaucer, the father of English poetry, to the present
time. Two or three of his lectures upon the Elizabethan age
and literature always fired the enthusiasm of his class and we
made the walls of the old lecture-room ring with applause.
I well remember his bald head and his twinkling little eyes
as he would gently admonish us that it was wrong to openly
applaud. I take this method of paying a small tribute to
the memory of the greatest and most profound master of
thought to whom I have ever had the good fortune to listen."

John Barbee Minor—Although this gentleman was the
chief professor of law, in which his reputation was national,
teaching it solely to those of that department the six working
days, yet he was a remarkable Shakespearean and Biblical
scholar, expounding his knowledge of the latter in a course
of lectures delivered every Sunday morning, 9 o'ck, in his
regular lecture-room. To this all students had access, in
fact were invited, but none was desired who would not study
the subject and profit by the teaching. Consequently only
those religiously inclined and legal students desiring to know

something of the sacred writings constituted the class. It
was well understood that Professor Minor recognized the
Christian life as the only one, and that he considered an acquaintance
with the Bible essential to every lawyer, looking
with special favor and interest upon those in his department
of like opinion—who earnestly attended and studied these
Scriptural lectures. Realizing this, few law students inclined
to incur his disfavor through what apparently seemed at the
beginning of the course a slight extra tax upon time, that
which, however, developed into no little responsibility as the
session advanced, owing to the thoroughness of instruction and
amount of material included. I did not connect myself with
the class until the beginning of my third year, and then at
the solicitation of that congenial boon companion, Davis,
whose religious precepts and example I so much admired as
to permit a positive influence—that for which I am deeply
grateful—over many of my University doings. All members
of this class were supposed to have a Bible and a copy of
"Union Questions, Vol. XII."—the latter supplied by the
Professor from the University Sunday School, and in my case
retained as a souvenir of faithfulness until the present in a
good state of preservation. He assigned a certain lesson or
lessons, with direct and concordant chapters in the Bible, lectured
thereon in a conversational style, and catechised upon
the same the following Sunday, when he often elaborated
more fully certain paragraphs. He expected of us a clear understanding
of the subjects assigned with their accompanying
questions, and few of us felt comfortable to go there unprepared.
His questions were not necessarily those found in the
"Question Book," consequently we never felt quite sure of
the extent to which the subjects would be discussed and developed.

In and out of class he was one of the most suave, placid and
easy mannered of men—kind in look and word with Christian
smile and expression—yet earnest, serious and sufficiently
positive to get best results from students. Always so paternal
that he could and would not do other than what he believed
right and just to his own—that which he accepted us to be
for the time being. He, however, did not invariably see our
good through our own eyes, as sometimes he would reprimand

a lack of preparation in poignant words or sentences—that in
spite of stimulating better future effort bore a little heavy at
the time upon a sensitive nature. But it was done, as we afterwards
saw, for good—to secure more conscientious work—
that which it accomplished. Of that class-relationship nothing
stands out so forcibly in these later years as those beautiful
prayers he was accustomed to make—of rare, simple,
exquisite diction, deep, lovable, convincing sincereness—and
the extreme attentive respect accorded him by us all. Professor
Minor was then sixty years of age, about six feet high
and weighed one hundred and eighty pounds. He wore no
moustache, but a short white beard covered the chin and lower
sides of the face; his complexion was clear, sometimes florid;
nose of good size but well-shaped; forehead broad and high;
countenance and facial expressions kindly, benign; voice clear,
well-modulated, rather fine and penetrating, yet thoroughly
agreeable from it not being loud; manners easy, gentle, refined
and retiring; language full, ready and beautiful; dress
plain and neat—mostly black cutaway coats, open standing
collars with narrow black tied cravats, derby, silk or straw
hats. In spite of gouty and rheumatic tendency his step was
quick and positive, but always with a cane. For two winters
I remember he suffered painful attacks which necessitated an
absence of weeks from classes and the doing of his work so
far as possible by others. As soon, however, as the severe
inflammatory stage had subsided he was up, and could be
seen wending his way slowly along the East Lawn arcade
upon crutches to the class-room, where by sitting he could
impart orally his knowledge, gladden the hearts of his
students, and in a way discharge professorial duty. We regarded
him then an old man—in fact often called him, "Old
John B.," but in no disrespect—and believed he would soon
be incapacitated for teaching, that which was not realized until
twenty years later. He enjoyed the reputation among us
students of being the most indefatigable worker in the
Faculty—that he studied early and late, seldom retiring before
1 o'ck, in the morning, and breakfasting with the family
so as to be at his desk by 8 o'ck. It made no difference
how late at night we passed his home, last pavilion on East
Lawn, a light could be seen burning brightly in his study,
thus verifying his studious habit. We understood that he
and Dr. Davis (John Staige) were the heaviest losers in the
bank failures of Charlottesville of those days, but nothing
came to our ears that either ever complained aloud. Indeed,
on the contrary, they bore misfortune with Christian resignation—far
more than did some of the students their small
amounts on deposit willingly made good by loving parents.
Fortunately the University suffered little from these financial
upheavals, as she used Richmond banks for monetary deposits
and transactions.

In my day Professor Minor had two small but very friendly
sons, Johnny and Raleigh, whom I frequently saw and questioned
concerning their studies, which then seemed to me far
advanced considering their years, as Latin and French were
included, and of both they possessed a fair elementary understanding.
These lads have long since grown into most
worthy scions of a noble sire. His daughter, Miss Mary, by
a former marriage, enjoyed the friendship of not a few
students, especially of the older and more thoughtful set, and
contributed largely in making the home attractive and delightful
to visit. Usually during "Finals" they gave, at least,
one reception to which many were invited, and none who
chanced that way was refused a generous welcome, "that
cometh from the heart."

Apart from his great legal knowledge—that which assigned
and fixed his national reputation—we students recognized in
him something deeper and dearer than mere professional attainments:
a wise counselor, a judicious benefactor, a powerful
personality for good, and a Christian gentleman whose
daily acts conformed thereto and arose above the slightest
suspicion or criticism. We believed he could not be tempted
from the path of rectitude by sordid and glittering inducements,
and that he would advocate under all circumstances
what was just, right and true. As a fact, somehow or
another, we fancied these qualities more strongly centered in
him, if possible, than in any other member of the Faculty. I
recall one year, when two or three of his recognized bright
men failed to graduate, that much wild talk was indulged in
by various students, and on Commencement Day as the law
graduates were called a few hisses rang through the Hall

while several vigorously proclaimed the names of the disappointed.
But the feeling was of butterfly duration, as the
next session all thought that justice had been measured out
properly to them—that according to the University's only
standard and guide for excellence, examinations, they had
truly fallen by the wayside. We were familiar in a measure
with the many sacrifices Professor Minor had made in behalf
of the University; the part he played with Professors Maupin,
Schele and others, spring of 1864, in saving her from destruction
by the Army of General Sheridan, which encamped in
and around the campus a few days en route from Staunton to
Petersburg—that owing to the personal appeal of these gentlemen
the General permitted a detachment to guard and protect
every building without the slightest disturbance of contents.
We fancied at that conference the persuasive, self-possessed
and courtly presence of Professor Minor went far towards
disarming the enemy of venom and convincing the General
that the University deserved to live for the cause of education
and humanity. Professor Minor was no impulsive, excitable
secessionist, on the contrary a Unionist, but a true advocate
and teacher of States' Rights, a disciple of the illustrious
Jefferson and Madison, a follower of his distinguished
predecessors, Lomax, Davis and Tucker. He believed in
Christian charity and justice, conservative thought and action,
and that the wise counsel of the intelligent would correct
prevailing wrongs. His religion dominated absolutely
his life—that which he believed should be true with all others
—and his every act, apparent and concealed, was but a manifestation
or expression of that ennobling sentiment.

Through the love and admiration of his former pupils, Law
Alumni and colleagues his fiftieth anniversary of continuous
service at the University was celebrated by presenting to the
Library a life-size white marble bust, carved by Valentine,
mounted upon a polished pedestal, bearing the inscription:
"1845—He taught the law and the reason thereof—1895."
It was unveiled Commencement Day, June 12th, after Professor
Woodrow Wilson concluded his very able Alumni address,
when Professors Thornton and Green made happy speeches
and Senator Daniel an eulogistic oration. The Public Hall
was filled with a distinguished multitude to enjoy the combined

exercises, but Professor Minor, owing to modesty and
feebleness, remained at home, where, however, immediately
afterwards he held a reception, greeting and entertaining delightfully
his numerous old friends and students. He was in
full possession of mental powers but physically weak, yet
during the course just ended had delivered with regularity his
accustomed lectures, and confidently expected to conduct, as
usual, his summer Law Class in the coming vacation. This,
however, was destined not to be, as scarcely was it organized
before increased feebleness gave evidence of weakened vitality
and irreparable bodily infirmities that culminated in death on
July 29th. By tender hands he was laid at rest in the University
Cemetery, near those in life he loved most, where the
friendly pilgrim can read and interpret his prophetic dream—
the inspiration of his earthly existence, "I shall be satisfied
when I awake with Thy likeness."

Noah Knowles Davis—This gentlemen did not become
connected with the University until my second year—being
the successor of Dr. McGuffey, who had filled so acceptably
for thirty-three years the chair of Moral Philosophy. Owing
to the versatility of Dr. McGuffey's scholarly acquirements
making him a philosopher, political economist and minister
of high order—characteristics recognized essential for one
taking charge of the department—few at first believed that
such a combination could possibly exist in Professor Davis.
It is true that Dr. McGuffey had already shed for some years
the clerical gown, but had ever continued his Sunday afternoon
Biblical lectures to the delight of the younger as well
as older heads. Indeed, these being without the quizzing
phase were enjoyed far more than those of Professor Minor's,
as we felt there was, at least, one lecture a week for which
no strict account had to be given—and now what was to become
of this course was to us a speculative question. Upon
our return to the University in October, 1873, we found Professor
Davis on the ground ready to begin the discharge of
his duties. He was only forty-three years of age but older
looking; stood nearly six feet high and weighed one hundred
and eighty pounds. His shoulders were broad and square
but slightly curved forward; walked with a firm deliberate

step with head slightly bowed and eyes fixed downward as
though in deep meditation; face rather large and strong; hair
brownish-black—worn long on the sides and back, the top
being bald; moustache and beard brownish-black—of good
thickness and length; forehead bold, broad and deep—showing
perceptive organs well-developed; eyes clear and bright—
a little dreamy; voice deep, clear, penetrating and agreeable;
articulation slow and thoughtful; manner quiet, sluggish, reflective
and serious—not given to laughter, even seldom smiling;
dress somewhat indifferent but becoming a scholarly
man—usually in black—frock coats, derby and silk hats. Altogether
he suggested the Grecian philosopher, such as we
fancied might have characterized either Aristotle, Plato or
Socrates. Professor Davis was a methodical and persistent
worker, almost converting night into day, seldom stopping
until one or two in the morning, but rested late—often near
unto noon. He saw little of his family and seemingly concerned
himself less with its management, but fortunately had
a helpful companion and good executive in his wife, who
willingly relieved him of all domestic interests—not, however,
without lamenting the seclusion he needed and exacted for
study and reflection. Mrs. Davis, on the other hand, was
of the bright animated type, entering energetically into the
social and more worldly side of life, so that upon her and the
two daughters, Misses Morell and Clara, rested the honors
of entertaining, of which there was considerable. The Professor
seldom dropped in on the visitor and then only for a
few moments, usually excusing himself for a return to his office—room
north of his home, fourth pavilion from the
Rotunda, West Lawn, the original nucleus and library of the
University—where abundant work always awaited him.

He was regarded by the student-body as a deep and profound
thinker, but not as a special favorite, although none
cherished evil wishes against him. The chief criticism lay
solely in his efforts, as we thought, to make his course unnecessarily
difficult, without any regard at abridgment or curtailment—a
grievance that invariably ended after graduation,
when the course was not considered in the least too severe,
if anything, it could be made a little more so. In spite of this
sentiment, however, he enjoyed our unbounded respect and

admiration, owing to his varied knowledge, scholarly attainments
and recognized reputation. We called him as a rule
"Professor Noah K.," sometimes "Professor Davis" and
occasionally "Old Noah K.," the latter without the slightest
disrespect.

Much to our delight he, like Dr. McGuffey, was a painstaking
Biblical scholar and at once began the delivery of Sunday
afternoon lectures which from the first were popular and
well attended. They were given in his regular class-room
from 3.30 to 4.30 o'ck, beginning with Genesis and including
discussions of other books he thought most essential. I very
distinctly recall among others his explanation of the world's
creation in six days—not necessarily days of our accepted
length but periods of far greater time—which I regarded a
vast improvement over the orthodox theory taught me in
earlier days. There were many other points he endeavored
to clarify and conform to reason—a duty he recognized belonging
to every one attempting to expound and popularize
the word of God in this intelligent age.

He was seldom seen taking walks for exercise—that which
apparently he did not need—but devoted all his time to reading,
studying and other duties incident to his department. He
undoubtedly recognized only one object in life—work—such,
however, as might be turned into good for others even at the
sacrifice of self. His chief ambition was seeking truth—that
which could only be revealed so far as he was concerned by a
comparison of others' works and thoughts in order to assign
to them their deserved value. This was only possible through
extensive reading and close thinking—that which finally he
hoped would make him the intelligent adjudicator and collaborator
of the endless amount of philosophical matter.
Largely he has lived to realize his hopes, having enunciated
in his half-dozen works the results of a lifetime's devotion to
unceasing study and careful meditation—works and thoughts
that will survive to impress and teach generations unborn.
There was a great difference between Professor Davis' and Dr.
McGuffey's teachings, as the former did not hesitate to give
most abstruse and comprehensive theories along with those
considered less difficult, while the latter had largely his own
philosophical doctrines which he preferred students to accept

and master, even at the sacrifice of those promulgated by
others and often more popular. Dr. McGuffey was too old
to give the best of certain kinds of service—that dependent
upon research, translation and continued comparison—consequently
adhered to the doctrines, theories, conceptions and
beliefs of his earlier life. With these he was satisfied, in
them placed his faith, and considered them worthy of being
taught throughout the world. While conservative towards
the opinions of others, he was positive in his own, but above
all was considerate and tolerant for the short-comings of
youth. The advent, therefore, of Professor Davis with his
more comprehensive and exacting methods was not without
value, since it introduced changes that brought the department
in harmony with current thought and made its diploma no
longer an open sesame, but among the University's most difficult
acquisitions—that upon which she preferred her reputation
to rest.

Francis Perry Dunnington—This gentleman belonged
to a younger generation than did any of the full professors,
having only reached his majority a few months previous to
my entering the University—my first year being his sixth
as a student and first as Adjunct Professor of Analytical and
Agricultural Chemistry. Although I did not come directly
under him until my last session, when he was in his twenty-sixth
year, I frequently saw him from the beginning on
through my entire course. To all the students of those times
I am confident he appeared exceptionally mature—certainly
not less than thirty years of age. He occupied a room on
West Lawn between the first and second pavilions—Professor
Gildersleeve's and Harrison's—and was recognized as keeping
well within its walls, seldom wandering therefrom save for
meals and the discharge of duties incident to his department.
While neither sad nor morose he was always quiet, seclusive
and busy—seemingly one unto himself and in a measure unlike
the majority of students, younger and older. This attitude
of reservedness or semi-isolation we did not accept as
assumed per force of professorial connection, but as coming
through the natural channel of inheritance or preference. I
doubt if any of us went so far as to consider him peculiar

owing to this apparent idiosyncrasy or difference from us, for
in those days we were very liberal and cosmopolitan along
most lines—granting, at least, to every one the rightful privilege
of forming and following his own ways and manners
without even the thought of mild criticism. Surely few of
us appreciated his youth or ambition, and what the materialization
of the latter meant to him—or in fact to any one making
the attempt to fill with credit such a significant and responsible
position. He devoted little time to the ladies until my
last year, when, realizing I dare say a satisfactory control
of his department, he ventured forth considerably into that
phase of social life—to the extent of shortly thereafter becoming
a husband and in time a multiple father. This step of
matrimony was naturally a surprise to many, as inclination,
courage and a responsive soul were elements some thought
would ever be wanting in his case. But as all of us have
learned in the intervening years—students do not know it all
and their predictions often miscarry.

Professor Dunnington was at least six feet high and
weighed one hundred and seventy pounds. His face was full,
somewhat elongated and bore a reddish moustache; complexion
of sanguine type and not very clear; nose rather
large but of good outline; hair reddish and abundant; manners
quiet, diffident, retiring, and a little awkward but
gentlemanly; voice a trifle thick yet sufficiently powerful for
ordinary lecturing purposes; step quick and firm—always
hurried.

He was an industrious, painstaking and serious worker,
never idling when there was something to do—that which to
him was always in sight. He was well equipped in the knowledge
of his department, but I did not consider him the best of
teachers—his experience then possibly having been too limited
to bring out and develop latent possibilities. Some are born
teachers—as they are great—others have to acquire one or
both, that in which no doubt Professor Dunnington has been
fortunate, overcoming long since the slight imperfections
noticeable in my day. He certainly possessed in high degree
the University spirit of teaching—making students help and
depend on self in their work—a process most valuable but not
of universal application provided best immediate results are

Professor Stephen O. Southall, LL.D., at sixty
1816-1884

See page 445

FACING 440

desired, such, however, as in the end makes a man if there be
manhood, and the scholar if there be mentality. All children
cannot be handled alike in their parental training, so likewise
in a slightly later period various methods of education might
bring to one and another greater good, but the University
system—pitch in Tucker and go it alone—prevailed, and in
spite of demanding a large consumption of time and energy
served to acquaint one early with life's serious obstacles and
the necessity of being at all times self-resourceful.