University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XXIII

Professors—Personal Characteristics and Traits

There were four professors—Boeck, Southall, Page, Price
—with whom my student course required no direct contact,
yet who were seen almost daily in one place or another, occasionally
to enjoy a few words in conversation.

Leopold Jules Boeck—This gentleman was elected professor
of "Applied Mathematics and Civil Engineering" in
1867, a new department created in the University the previous
year. He was born at Culm, Poland, in 1823, being a distinguished
Hungarian patriot, possessing beyond a mastery of
his teaching subjects a superior knowledge of many languages.
After graduating from the University of Bonn he entered the
University of Berlin where he received the Doctor of
Philosophy degree. With the zeal of early manhood he
championed the side of the nobility in the Polish revolution
of 1849, which being unsuccessful caused him to seek refuge
in Hungary, then also struggling for independence. Here
again he espoused a defeated cause, which otherwise would
have promoted him to the Secretary of State under General
Kossuth, but in reality occasioned his appointment as Envoy
Extraordinary to Turkey in the hope of securing aid. This
he was not only refused, but there imprisoned and sent to
Paris, where, becoming an intimate friend of Victor Hugo, he
advocated strongly his accession to the French throne rather
than the restoration of Louis Napoleon—that for which he
was ordered to leave the country, a dire necessity that

prompted his coming to the United States. He was just fifty
when I entered the university, but, like most of the professors,
seemed older to us youthful students than we thought those
years should indicate; weighed about one hundred and eighty
pounds and stood six feet high. His shoulders were square
and broad but bent slightly forward; hips and chest full and
large; face roundish and of good size; forehead broad and
high; hair abundant, blackish and combed loosely backward
without much of a part; chin-whiskers and moustache blackish
with some whitish strands; nose full-size and well-proportioned.
He spoke quickly in rather a high pitched voice with
a decided foreign accent, and in conversation was animated
—indeed, at times demonstrative—using many gestures and
facial expressions. He moved with rapid step, appearing always
in a hurry, and his whole make-up indicated the impulsive
nervous type—easily irritated but soon pacified. In the
eyes of the student-body he was the conversational linguist of
the Faculty—speaking at least six or eight languages—and
therefore was supposed by us to be an almost indispensable
factor. But with his own students he stood in less favor, as
they failed to appreciate his ultra frank and familiar manner,
his volatile and impetuous disposition. It is true they regarded
him as a man of great learning, in and out of his department,
yet they appreciated the fact that he fell short of
being the useful and practical teacher needed—that typified so
thoroughly the other professors. He was wanting in dignity
and that strong manly personality often very inspiring to
youth—such as stimulates emulation and best efforts. At
times he was exacting and positive, then again lenient and
conciliatory, but in spite of idiosyncrasies and short-comings
from the students' viewpoint, those that were serious could
profit greatly under his tutelage—only the laggard and indifferent
need suffer.

He was recognized to be a hard worker, seldom wasting
time or opportunity—even utilizing the Sabbath otherwise
than in attending sacred service at church or chapel. His
reply to Dr. John Staige Davis when approached—possibly
reproached—for devoting the Holy Day in secular duties was
handed along from year to year to no little mortification as
well as amusement of the students: "You know Doctor, the

Good Book sanctions helping out of the mud and mire on
Sunday the ox and the ass, and my classes contain so many of
the latter that I am kept busy rendering assistance from
morning until night—I never can have rest."

In 1872 he was appointed by President Grant a special
Commissioner to the Vienna Exposition, but by the opening
of the session that autumn he was again back at his post of
duty. This session, my first, Professor Schele spent in European
travel, so that Professor Boeck, in addition to his regular
work, assumed charge of Senior French and passed upon the
graduates—that which proved delightful to students owing to
an unusual scarcity of failures. He resigned from the
Faculty, June, 1875, under what was believed generally a request
from the Board of Visitors, but whether this was true
or false could not positively be affirmed; at the same time an
absence of denial went far towards proving its correctness.
We never heard of any specific charges against him, except
his lack in assimilating American manners and the University
spirit.

During the eight years of his professorship he organized
the Engineering Department on a high plane, and sent forth
a number of capable men who reflected credit upon the institution
and his teaching. If none other than the late lamented
Samuel Spencer, I am confident he would not have reckoned
his efforts misspent, far less a failure—no more so than would
Professor Gildersleeve for his one grateful and scholarly
product—Thomas R. Price. But there were others, even one
—like the Gessner Harrison of old, who was found worthy
to be the teacher's successor, possibly an improvement—to
whose shoulders the University had not the slightest hesitation
in transferring the honors, profiting well by the change. And
yet there was no student who knew Professor Boeck but what
regretted his departure, missed his genial smile and guttural
laugh. For years his name and personality continued to be
remembered and revered to a pleasing extent, proving that
"though absent, not forgotten." He, however, apparently
retained little affection for the University and the many
friends formed there, as in his later years neither visits nor
letters served to foster and maintain that association which
must have been delightfully pleasant in the bygone. Leaving

the University he took up residence in Philadelphia, where he
continued to live until death, in 1896.

Stephen Osborne Southall—Some weeks passed after
entering the University before this Professor was pointed out
to me. He was without family and lived with Professor
Holmes, whose tastes and sentiments were kindred—even
sharing the same lecture-room, Rotunda basement, west. This
being so near their residence required little circulation in the
outer world for the discharge of duties, consequently as Professor
Southall—more frequently called "Old South"—
seemingly preferred the seclusion of home he was not a very
familiar figure upon the street. However, after I came to
know him our lines crossed rather often and always with
pleasant recognition.

He was then fifty-five years of age, about five feet eleven
inches high, and weighed one hundred and eighty pounds.
In appearance he was extremely plain, substantial and thoughtful—of
the hardy rural type—having the face and head covered
with a good suit of beard and hair, slightly turning gray,
that obscured all delicate lines and expressions, such as may
seldom have existed owing to a serious and sober realization
of life. His forehead was well-formed and prominent; nose
of good size and shapely; eyes normal but a little heavy and
in receding sockets overshadowed by dense shaggy brows;
step firm and deliberate; voice rather deep, clear, sonorous,
well-modulated and controlled, giving him a reputation among
us students of being the most showy extemporaneous speaker
in the Faculty. Owing to this gift and accomplishment his
lectures always were well attended not only by his class members
but frequently by outsiders. Often I have stopped and
joined others at his lecture-room door, when on ajar, to enjoy
a few minutes of those masterly efforts, only each time to go
away with the same satisfactory impression and belief in his
exceptional natural powers and ability—a conviction shared
alike by all who happened thus to linger. Those under him
never ceased sounding his praise in this direction but regarded
his department and teaching inferior to Professor Minor's.

We were highly pleased whenever he was selected to make
some public announcement during the "Finals"—realizing

that it would be done well and bring to no one any disappointment.
Who can forget with what fervor and impressiveness
he awarded the Magazine medal to Mr. W. W. Thum in 1874,
in approximately these acceptable sentences? "I am deputed
by our Literary Societies to deliver the medal due to the
author of the best contribution to the Magazine during the
present session. It gives me sincere pleasure to deliver into
your hands so flattering a testimonial, because I think that
its reception should be an occasion of unalloyed delight to you
and your friends. Your success will be followed by no regrets,
as it has been achieved by no indirection. You have
pleased by manly arts. In open and generous competition,
without the aid of collateral influences and personal considerations,
you have gained the palm. As the youthful Alexander
avowed his willingness to enter the arena if he could
be confronted by royal antagonists, so you, in your degree,
may have the pleasure of knowing that you have encountered
most worthy competitors. And though you have outstripped
them all, it will greatly heighten the gratification of a liberal
and chivalrous spirit to be informed that they pressed closely
on you, and were not ingloriously defeated. They are here to
witness, and, through hearty sympathy, even to partake of
your triumph. For by a slight adaptation of a couplet of
Pope's I may add,

Your good sense will suggest to you that this early success
constrains to increased and persistent effort. Our auguries
of your future usefulness will be all disappointed should you
supinely rest contented to live on the mere memories of a
youthful triumph. Laurels are grateful to the young brow,
but to feed upon laurel-water is poisonous to the strongest
constitution. It was an ancient fancy that the laurel-wreath
protected its wearer from the thunderbolt, and it is a modern
experience that the lightnings of the public censure are
launched most unerringly at the devoted head of him who,
resting under his laurels, fails to redeem the rich promise of
his youth by the achievements of his manhood. Far, very far
from you, Sir, be the necessity of any such warning. Let us

rather hope and believe that your own high aims and faithful
endeavors will but realize the fondest expectations of your
friends, and that the light that now shines upon you will
broaden into a long day of unclouded splendor. With these
wishes gladly shaping themselves into anticipations, I deliver
this medal. Receive it with the fervent congratulations of
your friends and the general applause of the public."

Professor Southall was regarded as a model postprandial
speaker, consequently at the Alumni banquets responded more
frequently than his turn to "The Faculty," and always with a
charm of manner that delighted his hearers. One of my
student friends, Cooper, was a proverbially poor penman, and
upon sending to one of his home papers a letter concerning
his impressions of the University and its life received from
the editor a request for a translation, as it appeared to him
an effort in Chinese or some unknown tongue. With no
little warmth of feeling he showed me the letter as well as his
curt and settling reply. When it came to his examination
papers in Constitutional and International Law a similar experience
confronted him, as Professor Southall soon recognized
himself against an ugly proposition, but, being able
with some effort to make out the signature under the pledge,
eased matters by dispatching a messenger to the author with
the request that he come at an appointed hour and decipher
his chirography. After the conference my friend told me that
Professor Southall reprimanded him severely for such careless
writing, urging an effort at improvement—but without
effect as until death, a few years ago, his personal letters were
almost illegible. As he passed successfully this examination
companions jeered him not a little for taking the Professor
at such disadvantage—having had time to discuss intelligently
with others the various subjects, he could give correct answers
under the pretense of reading them from the pages.

Professor Southall entered the Faculty along with Professor
Peters, 1866, and for eighteen years remained faithful
in the discharge of his duties. In my day he was recognized
by common consent, the most popular professor in the University,
but how and why I never knew—possibly because we
were not well acquainted and exteriorly he did not appeal to
me. In his department he was regarded as much more lenient

than his senior colleague, Professor Minor, and that may have
contributed something towards assigning praise. He died
very suddenly of heart failure, November, 1884, at the Union
depot, whither he had hastened to take a train, and was laid
at rest in the University Cemetery, near the scene of his greatest
and most enduring life's work.

John Randolph Page—This gentleman had only received
his appointment as professor of "Natural History, Experimental
and Practical Agriculture" a few months previous to
my entering the University, so that practically we reached
there at the same time. He, however, had studied medicine
there two sessions, 1848-49, 1849-50, and upon receiving his
diploma in that department, 1850, went abroad for supplementary
study in Paris. He also had been chief surgeon in
the Confederate service, professor in Washington University
School of Medicine, Baltimore, and later in the Louisiana
Military Academy. He was a typical Southern gentleman, a
native of Gloucester County, Virginia, and then had just entered
his forty-third year. He was about five feet ten inches
high and weighed one hundred and sixty-five pounds, with
hair and beard abundant, of the sandy or reddish cast, the
latter being trimmed moderately short. His step was of good
length and somewhat quick which tended to make an excellent
walker; manner quiet and thoughtful, seemingly slow to
take the initiative or to advocate the new and untried. He
was more of the practical than the visionary type, and kept
always busy with his own affairs, leaving alone those of
others. He was plain in dress and taste, suggestive of that
which he taught—agriculture—although his course included
botany and zoology.

Mr. Samuel Miller of Lynchburg had bequeathed the University
one hundred thousand dollars for establishing an Agricultural
Department, and in order that this might be effective
the University set aside a number of acres west of Carr's Hill
as an "Experimental Farm," which was brought to a high
state of cultivation for growing various products. Professor
Page had supervision of this, so that between lectures and
applying theories to practice on the land he was kept busily
employed. Somehow or another the course, as similar courses

elsewhere, was not popular in my day, it having never more
than a dozen students, that which tended to place even the
professor at disadvantage, if not in discredit. One thing
certain we students did not attach as much importance to his
department, as to the others, nor did all accord to him the same
acumen, scholarly knowledge and broad culture as to the other
professors. As a matter of fact, from the students' viewpoint,
possibly due to short identification or the nature of subjects
taught, he did not then seem to affiliate heartily with the other
Faculty members, or they with him—that which may have only
been apparent and not real. No doubt after moving into one
of the pavilions—first from the Rotunda, West Lawn, just
vacated by Professor Gildersleeve—the family became a
stronger factor in the social doings and spirit of the University,
and he more closely united with everything tending towards
her progress and improvement. After occupying the
chair fifteen years and the department gathering no strength
or popularity—a period in which he added very little to the
world's knowledge of scientific and practical agriculture, and
absolutely failed to bring the University any favorable
notoriety—he resigned, 1887, and removed to Birmingham,
Alabama, where he again entered upon the practice of medicine.
Owing, however, to declining health he soon abandoned
this and returned to the pleasant scenes of his former
labor—Charlottesville and the University—there passing the
remainder of his life and dying of acute Bright's disease,
March 11, 1901. His remains were interred in the University
Cemetery by the side of many whom in life he knew well and
loved.

Thomas Randolph Price—This gentleman was called to
the University only the summer (June) preceding my last
year, consequently I saw and learned of his personality at
close range simply during the one session. A number of our
students had been taught by him, and all had heard of his
scholarly attainments as well as the distinguished ability with
which for years he presided over the department of Greek and
English at Randolph-Macon College. My next door neighbor,
Harding, had taken the Master Degree under him at that
institution, and this was his fifth year at the University in

pursuit of the same distinction coupled with legal knowledge.
It was he more than all others who expressed to me a sense
of gratification over the promotion of his former teacher, delighting
always in a modest way to sound his praise. While
we all acknowledged the loss of Professor Gildersleeve as
irreparable, yet we felt half-way reconciled that his most favorite
product was to be his successor, and had the hope that
some day, not remote, the world of letters would regard them
as equal—that which unfortunately fell short of realization.
We all, however, accepted Professor Price as the one ideal
man for the place, knowing well that he had been inspired
by the Hellenist enthusiasm of Professor Gildersleeve to seek
foreign study under the great linguistic scholar, Curtius, and
that he had spent his three years at Berlin, Kiel, Paris and
Athens with the greatest benefit and profit. We also were
mindful of the fact that he alone was recommended by Professor
Gildersleeve to be his successor, a choice in which the
Board of Visitors concurred unanimously—a condition almost
unprecedented.

Professor Price was then a young man, considering the
honors won and worn—just thirty-seven—and in physique
belonged to the medium-sized type, being about five feet ten
inches high and weighing one hundred and sixty pounds.
His head was symmetrical with high curved forehead; face
somewhat elongated, revealing a clear healthy complexion;
eyes clear and penetrating; voice rather fine—not calculated
to entertain a promiscuous audience—with a slight hesitation
or irregularity that lessened its attractiveness. He wore a
heavy brownish-black moustache, but his hair of similar color
was becoming thinnish upon the crown; manners were affable,
shrinking and retiring, never aggressive or self-centered; dress
although neat was sometimes subject to notice and comment,
especially when of light broad plaids, tightly fitting buttoned
cutaway coats, and pantaloons not as long as regulation demanded;
step quick, light, easy and rather short, indicating
to a degree the nervous temperament. His general personality
impressed the precise characteristics he possessed—seriousness,
enthusiasm, studious and business habits, such as
alone can bring the best success in any calling. His inaugural
address was delivered in the Natural Philosophy lecture-room
one afternoon shortly after the session opened, and, being

Professor John R. Page, M.D., at fifty-six
1830-1901

See page 448

FACING 450

public, was attended by professors, many students, and the
lady contingent of the University. It was a scholarly effort,
comprehending general philology, but more calculated to interest
the linguistic student than the average individual. At
any rate we regarded it able and thoroughly worthy our new
and already distinguished Professor of Greek.

For a home he was assigned the "Monroe Mansion," which
Professor Venable had just vacated, owing to his remarrying
in the summer and sharing thereafter his wife's residence in
Charlottesville, and it was not long before those quiet and
saddened halls rang with mirth and glee most attractive to
those more youthful and unoppressed by affliction. Mrs.
Price, née Triplet, was a charming hostess, delighting in social
functions, and was fortunate in having several sisters no less
gifted. These and other lady friends were not infrequent
visitors, so that their dances and larger entertainments now
and then gave joy and delight to the University atmosphere.
I distinctly recall being one of a party in the laboratory who
dyed their small gray sky-terrier on the afternoon preceding
one of these gatherings, caring well for the little fellow until
10 o'ck, that night, and, as some of the guests entered the front
door, letting in their supposed lost pet—now grotesque and,
like Joseph's coat, of many colors. The incident as intended
produced much merriment among the assemblage, as well as
great delight to the family members to whom it was a veritable
homecoming.

Professor Price proved a very acceptable substitute for his
illustrious teacher, even attracting the first year a larger number
than had studied there for years the Hellenic tongue. He
was popular with and beloved by his students, and extremely
cordial in his home where he manifested those social qualities
that made none a stranger, all his friends. He only remained
at the University six years, when he was called to Columbia
University, New York, to preside over the Department of
English—that which he particularly loved—where he remained
faithful to continuous labor twenty-one years, until
death, May 7, 1903.

William Wertenbaker—This gentleman in my day was
the only one associated with the University that connected her
then present with her remotest past, as all others had passed
away years before, except Professor George Long, the first
Professor of Ancient Languages, who, after a residence of four
years, had returned to his native country, England (whence
Mr. Jefferson had sought him) to accept the chair of Greek
in the then newly established University of London. There
he attained a far-famed reputation—possibly that of the leading
classical scholar of his time in the world—and still lived,
old and decrepit, with little interest in our country or the institution
and its founder he had served in the long ago, no doubt
forgetful of the latter's significance and bearing upon all
American interests—social, political and educational. Be
that as it may we students knew of his fame and of his sympathy
with the South in her recent struggle, for which as well
as his past affiliation with our University we revered his name.
But Mr. Wertenbaker, or "Old Wert," as we affectionately
and more frequently called him, continued "to live, move and
have his being" right among us, indeed, had been a veritable
pupil of Mr. Jefferson, imbibing his precepts and doctrines as
well as an inspiration from his personality; had received from
his hands the commission as Librarian, and, although the discrepancy
of ages precluded close intimacy, had conversed, suggested
and argued many questions with him. It is true as
Mr. Wertenbaker admitted—he was most too young at that
time to fully appreciate Mr. Jefferson's exceptional greatness,
but a growth in years and knowledge had made him an ardent
advocate of his principles and inculcated a respect for his name
kindred to profound reverence. Even Mr. Jefferson's last
visit to the University was by appointment with Mr. Wertenbaker
at the old library building—Professor Noah K. Davis'
pavilion—to classify and catalogue a new installment of books,
and in conversation this pleasant circumstance usually found
mention. Mr. Wertenbaker was about seventy-three years of
age when I first came to know him, and then seemed much
more infirm than those years often indicate—indeed, as though
his days were numbered. He was five feet eight inches high,
and weighed about one hundred and forty-five pounds, being
considered rather a small man. His face was of the diminutive

type and much wrinkled; hair thin and gray; attitude
when standing somewhat stooped, slightly nervous, palsied
or tottering; voice a trifle nervous, guttural but decisive and
often clear; gait slow, deliberate and firm—always walking
with a cane, and body leaning slightly forward; manners reserved
and positive, never familiar or obtrusive—friendly but
strictly business-like. He never seemed idle and could be
found mostly sitting at his table engaged in writing, which he
did very slowly in a cramped nervous style. Indeed, he would
often continue his work apparently unobserving your approach
until you addressed him by name. Old persons have always
appealed to me, and by being gracious, respectful and considerate
seldom fail to gain their favor and friendship. Here I
experienced no trouble, for after a short season I felt not the
slightest hesitation or restraint in talking upon all subjects, or
in interrupting him whenever my interest suggested. He had
a remarkable memory in some directions, especially for the
location of books, seldom having to look in a second place for
any given one. The Library catalogue was old and far from
complete, as most of the accessions for years had been filed
away in alcoves without special memoranda, his mind being
sufficiently reliable to carry accurately the place of each.
When you asked him for any book, pamphlet or manuscript
he referred to nothing—simply told you at once whether or
not it was in the Library, if out who had it, if in and you desired
it, unlocked the case and produced it. He was moderately
conversant with the general scope of literature, aiding
often in locating material pertaining to the many phases of
our student-work.

To him was intrusted the making up of each annual catalogue,
securing bids for printing, addressing and mailing, so
that the early months of the year found him unusually busy.
He conducted all correspondence referring to library books,
contents thereof and queries—historic and otherwise—coming
within the province of his knowledge, filled in and signed diplomas,
and the last two years of my stay used all spare time
in arranging a new catalogue of the Library's books, having
now been given in his work an assistant, Mr. Frederick W.
Page, who a few years later, 1881, assumed entire management.
In my earlier years the Library did not seem so well

patronized as it deserved, but after the various magazines and
college publications were assigned special tables, one on either
side of the entrance, increased interest was aroused, as at all
times some students could be found there profiting by the contact.
There being no assistant at first the hours were restricted
to 10 to 1 in the morning and 2 to 5 in the afternoon,
while owing to Mr. Wertenbaker's slow pace and slightly remote
home the dinner hour was sometimes prolonged. He,
however, was very conscientious in the discharge of duty and
observed time the very best physical infirmities permitted.
He appreciated his position—considered it highly honorable
—and was zealous of its included rights and powers. He belonged
to the old school, of which there are few left, endeavored
always to do right, and expected consideration as well
as respect from every one, especially those more youthful.
While we students never placed him on the same plane with
the professors, yet they appeared to look upon him as a kind
of paternal spirit deserving all honor and kindness—that
which they invariably accorded. Through this worthy example
we learned to appreciate and regard him with the full value his
position entitled, and with that he seemed perfectly satisfied.
I am confident he never received from any of us discourteous
treatment, and if that had been attempted he would have been
quite capable of taking care of himself with forceful and contemptuous
language.

Beyond the personality of Mr. Jefferson, incidents of Dabney
Carr, Presidents Madison and Monroe, along with the
early days of the University, he also enjoyed telling you,
when in the humor, something of Edgar Allan Poe, who was
a student with him at the University in 1826, when he received
his appointment as Librarian from Mr. Jefferson. As
so much had been affirmed against Poe's younger career,
especially that at the University, Mr. Wertenbaker took great
care and pride in defending it at all times and occasions
against what he was pleased to term "the wild aspersions
and vagaries of his would-be traducers."

Mr. Wertenbaker was an ardent and experienced chess
player, and often could be seen at the game with one or
another friend, usually Dr. Michie, in the back room of the
latter's drug store. Of course this was always outside of

Library hours, generally late afternoon, and served a pleasant
diversion from thoughts of physical infirmities and a monotonous
routine life. Mr. Wertenbaker remained faithful to
his post until two years after I left the University, 1879, when
he became disabled by a stroke of paralysis. Although from
this he partially recovered, yet he seldom visited the Library
thereafter, being allowed to retain nominally the position until
1881, when he was succeeded by Mr. Page. He lingered
only a short period after this event, dying in April, 1882, just
eighty-five years of age.

M. Green Peyton—This was the first gentleman I met upon
reaching the University having any official connection
therewith, and of that meeting sufficient mention has already
been made. He was then forty-four years of age with a somewhat
older appearance, being the father of grown children, the
eldest, Bernard, then one of the brightest and manliest type of
students. With Major Peyton, or "The Proctor," as he was
called indiscriminately—possibly the former more frequently
—we all had to come in contact sooner or later, some oftener
than others, as payments could be made entire or in portions
according to individual convenience and preference. Through
his hands passed all students' fees, and as in those days he had
no assistant, even in the busiest seasons, we in making our
financial arrangements and settlements sometimes drifted into
pleasant conversation. He also controlled the letting of rooms
and seemed solicitous that each secure the one preferred, even
going to extremes to make us pleased and satisfied. Likewise
the boarding houses were under his charge so far as our allotment
to them was concerned, and whenever we desired a
change to one outside of our room territory he had to be
consulted—but never in vain. He was our purveyor of coal,
although this could be purchased on the outside—that seldom
done, as we were contented perfectly with his product and
prices—and any complaint pertaining to it, or to room, room-attendance,
board and boarding house, that came to his ears
received speedy attention and correction. He was about six
feet one inch high and weighed two hundred pounds. His
temperament was sanguine and complexion florid; hair, moustache
and beard slightly sandy or reddish; voice clear, distinct,

penetrating, of moderate pitch and middle register; manners
affable and friendly—inclining to be talkative. He alone of
all identified with the management of the University enjoyed
the reputation of being a high liver—fond of good things to
drink as well as to eat—but no one stood ready to verify the
fact. So far as liquid indulgence was concerned, we understood
that he abstained always until after office hours, 3 o'ck,
P. M., when often he would be joined by Professor Southall—
spirits congenial in war and peace—to pass together pleasantly
several hours. This, however, I fancied overdrawn—simply
college talk—as it could hardly have applied to Professor
Southall, whose duties were so continuous and exacting as to
preclude a wasting of time, far less a subversion of feeling.
It did not take much of a foundation to construct a mammoth
edifice according to some students' conceptions, and here a
single trite occurrence might have given rise to what they proclaimed
innocently a continued practice. Anyway they got
the blame but no shame. I personally came into the presence
of Major Peyton many times, socially and officially, and
while his deeply flushed face was frequently an object of
notice, yet I never detected the slightest overstimulation.
Some persons can assimilate large quantities of stimulants
without visible indications by word or act, while others are
rendered talkative and voluble by small amounts, but Major
Peyton's long service in the one capacity, thirty years, and the
faithful discharge of many duties, is sufficient testimonial of
his unusual ability and correctness of habits. His was a
responsible position and only the most honorable, methodical
and self-reliable could have been intrusted with its exacting
detail.

His home, just south of the office and about the center of
East Range, was most hospitable and enjoyable to visit, where
his very affable daughter, Miss Champe, and good wife, of
like name, dispensed the entertaining menu with sufficient
grace and fullness as to attract every evening a good complement
of appreciative students. Occasionally lady friends from
far and near found a pleasant sojourn there, thus lending additional
charm and brightness to the callers. The family was
strongly Episcopalian and upon Mrs. Peyton learning that a
Mr. Davis, my close friend, had been made superintendent of

the Chapel Sunday School, she sent for him in order to impress
the necessity of instilling into the children as far as possible
the forms and services of her church. My friend
responded gallantly to the summons, and after listening
through her appeal, quietly replied: "Why, Mrs. Peyton, I
am a staunch Baptist, believing in the least possible church
form, and besides the University is known in our broad land
as being non-sectarian, consequently I would be dishonest to
my teachings and her traditions to foster the ritual and creed
of any specific church or denomination." Her great surprise
can well be imagined, as she had taken him to be a high-order
churchman until that moment. In the embarrassment,
however, he treated her gentlemanly, but upon returning
to his room, next to mine, stopped in and related the circumstance
with no little surprise and feeling. Shortly after
my day at the University the family had its share of sorrow,
as Bernard, the shining star, in the flush of manhood and a
brilliant career, as a railroad magnet, met an untimely death
in the wrecking of a train, while Miss Champe, the embodiment
of ambition and hope, did not long survive her advent
into womanhood. All four—father, mother, son and daughter
—now rest in the University Cemetery, near where in life
they contributed so much to so many enjoyable scenes. The
"Major" lived to be nearly sixty-nine years of age, dying
April 16, 1897.

Henry Martin—It would be unpardonable in these personal
enumerations not to include, at least, something concerning
this most respectful and courteous colored janitor, whom
we variously called "Henry" or "Old Henry"—Sweet Bellringer—and
whose duties for years, nay, generations, consisting
in ringing on and off the hourly recitations, taking charge
of the Rotunda fires and lecture-rooms, have been performed
most faithfully. Indeed, material is not wanting for him to
receive a very generous consideration, as his personality seems
somewhat imprinted or interwoven with nearly every student
since the day he first began tautening the pendulous rope. Each
of us could relate some pleasant episode or circumstance in
which he would creditably figure, for to all he was so friendly
—professor, student and stranger receiving alike that indiscriminating

urbanity which always commands genuine admiration
and respect, the more from it not being forced or
over-indulged. He defended the professors and never uttered
a preference for anyone, although often importuned—they all
in his sight were fine gentlemen and that was invariably his
expressed opinion. He knew his part in life and played it
well. There was no goading to duty needed, because he regarded
himself one of the wheels in the clock very essential
for the correct working of the mechanism, therefore, that he
perforce must live up to every obligation or else friction and
irregularity would ensue. He also fully recognized that he was
neither a professor, a student, nor a white man; that he did
not own the University and that she could get along satisfactorily
with some one else in his stead. Possibly above all
that commended him was his strict attention to his own business
and the non-meddling with that of the others—unless approached.
In my experience I do not recall the bell pealing
out of time, and yet that must have occurred to prove human
error and fallibility. In spite of his many duties he was always
ready to do a service, provided that be possible, and
whether the monetary compensation was forthcoming or not,
that which was less expected in those than these days, mattered
little to him—for to serve was his delight.

He has told me repeatedly, always with an evident degree
of pride, that he, an infant, was brought down from yonder
mountain, Monticello, the very year of Mr. Jefferson's death,
1826, having been born about that time a part and parcel of
that estate, so soon thereafter scattered, as by the four winds.
He was a dark mulatto with yellowish-brown skin, about six
feet two inches high and weighed one hundred and ninety
pounds. His head was well-shaped, rather large and apparently
intellectual; hair abundant, blackish and almost straight;
forehead curved but broad and high; cheek-bones prominent;
mouth large, as was also his nose, this latter being well proportioned;
eyes rather large and grayish-blue. He wore a
moustache and goatee, both thin, black and of long fiber.
For several years after leaving the University I returned to
the "Finals," always having a hand-shake and talk with
Henry, but there followed an interval of fifteen years without
seeing those classic shades save from a passing car window.

However, in 1894, my wife and myself, en route to Asheville,
N. C., decided to stop off at the University for a day and
night, and in doing so soon ran upon Henry. After a few
words of salutation I remarked: "Well, Henry, of course
you do not remember me?" To which he replied: "Yes,
I do; I cannot call your name but you are from Delaware and
you were a student here eighteen or twenty years ago." We
hear so much of retained identity and remembrance that I was
glad to have had a witness in my own experience to even this
extent of accurate memory. But to show how his mind had
weakened in three years, when in 1897, on our way to the
Hot Springs, Virginia, we spent an equal time at the University,
he had forgotten not only my personality but our former
recent visit. He then asked me if I would not like to have his
picture, and upon my thanking him for the compliment, he
expressed the intention of having some taken in the near
future when I should have one. True to his word a year
later, September, 1898, he sent the photograph which has
been reproduced in this volume. I have seen him several
times since, the last being April, 1905, when the changes
brought by age were very noticeable.

As I look back upon the record of that colored man, recalling
the various phases of his character, his uniform courtesy,
his diplomatic and inoffensive nature—never irritating even
the youthful southern blood—his manly, truthful and straightforward
manner under all times and conditions, it seems to me
he was worthy a tenement of whiter clay. Too true his type
will soon have passed away, and possibly in his color, "I shall
not look upon his like again."