University of Virginia Library

3. THE THIRD DAY

The proceedings of the third day of the Centennial consisted of
a public assembly in the Amphitheatre, with addresses by the British
Ambassador and the Professor of International Law and Diplomacy
at Columbia University; a pilgrimage to Monticello and a reception
there, with addresses on the life and teachings of Thomas Jefferson;
and a formal dinner in the Rotunda to delegates and invited guests.
It was a day of tributes to the University and its Founder by distinguished
spokesmen.

The ceremonies of the day began with the reading of a letter of
greeting from ex-President Woodrow Wilson. The President of the
University said:

As a prologue to these exercises, I take leave to read a brief letter from a
son of this University who, in a crisis of the world, embodied and expressed
the conscience and aspirations of mankind, and thus has found an enduring
place in human history.

Woodrow Wilson

It is with heartfelt regret that I find myself unable to attend the great
festival of the University.

I regard the University with genuine affection, recalling as I do with the
keenest interest and with many happy memories the profitable days I spent
on her lawns and in the stimulating class-room where we used to gather
about the great John B. Minor. He was a great teacher, and I hold myself
his permanent debtor.

May I not express the confident hope that, surrounded by her sons, the
University may take on new life?

With affectionate loyalty to the noble University;

Thursday, June 2d

 

11.00 A.M.

Centennial Exercises. The Amphitheatre

The Order of the Procession, Thursday Morning

BAND

I

THE CLASS OF 1921 IN DIVISIONS BY DEPARTMENTS

II

THE ALUMNI OF THE UNIVERSITY IN REVERSE ORDER OF
CLASS SENIORITY

III

THE PROFESSORS OF THE UNIVERSITY IN REVERSE ORDER
OF OFFICIAL SENIORITY
FORMER PROFESSORS OF THE UNIVERSITY
THE ALUMNI TRUSTEES OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA
ENDOWMENT FUND
THE TRUSTEES OF THE MILLER FUND
THE VISITORS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA
FORMER VISITORS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA
FORMER RECTORS OF THE UNIVERSITY

IV

GUESTS OF THE UNIVERSITY

V

DELEGATES FROM INSTITUTIONS IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES

DELEGATES FROM INSTITUTIONS IN THE UNITED STATES

VI

THE REVEREND HENRY WILSON BATTLE
THE RIGHT REVEREND DENNIS JOSEPH O'CONNELL
THE HONORABLE JOHN BASSETT MOORE
THE BRITISH AMBASSADOR TO THE UNITED STATES
THE RECTOR OF THE UNIVERSITY
THE GOVERNOR'S MILITARY STAFF
THE GOVERNOR OF THE COMMONWEALTH OF VIRGINIA
THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY

The Order of Exercises: The Amphitheatre

       

Invocation:	The Right Reverend Dennis Joseph O'Connell, of Richmond.
An Address:	His Excellency Sir Auckland Geddes, LL.D., British Ambassador to the United States
An Address:	The Honorable John Bassett Moore, '80, LL.D., Hamilton Fish Professor of International Law and Diplomacy, Columbia University
Benediction:	Henry Wilson Battle, D.D., of Charlottesville

Recession, The Audience standing

       

3.00 P.M.	Pilgrimage to Monticello. Commemorative Exercises in honor of the Father of the University of Virginia. The Private Life of Thomas Jefferson at Monticello, by Richard Thomas Walker Duke, Jr., '74. An Address by Archibald Cary Coolidge, Ph.D., LL.D., of Harvard University
8.00 P.M.	University Dinner to Delegates and Invited Guests.
	The Rotunda
	John Stewart Bryan, '95, A.M., LL.B., LL.D., Rector of the University of Virginia, presided. Responses by Jacob Gould Schurman, Ph.D., LL.D., former President of Cornell University; Anson Phelps Stokes, D.D., of Yale University; Harry Woodburn Chase, Ph.D., President of the University of North Carolina; Hugh Hampton Young, '94, A.M., M.D., President of the General Alumni Association; and Thomas Watt Gregory, '84, A.B., LL.B., former Attorney-General of the United States

ADDRESSES ON THE THIRD DAY

The President of the University, introducing the British Ambassador,
said:

The first speaker to-day is not unfamiliar with the teacher's task or the
University's function, for he has been the one and served the other. We,
therefore, welcome him as a scholar and fellow craftsman, but most particularly
we welcome him as the representative of the mother land of this

Commonwealth and, in a sense, of this nation. Possessing common ideals
of justice and law, similar standards of honor, habits of thought, and canons
of taste, the last catastrophe of civilization would be unfriendliness between
England and America, and the surest guarantee of peace and progress, their
continued amity and good will.

I have the honor to present His Excellency, Sir Auckland Geddes,
British Ambassador to the United States.

ADDRESS BY THE BRITISH AMBASSADOR

Sir Auckland Geddes, LL.D.

It is a great personal pleasure to me to be here to-day but it is a greater
pleasure that I should be privileged to attend your celebrations as the
representative of the British peoples and to be able to convey to you the
congratulations upon the great work which this University has performed
and is performing, as well as to express to you in words, I fear inadequate,
their sentiments of friendship and good will.

To this day as in the days of Queen Elizabeth, the word "Virginia"
stirs in the mind of the British a feeling hard in detail to define but not less
real, not less cordial, because of that difficulty. In that feeling there is
something perhaps of the spirit and mystery of adventure, something of the
idea of high-born lineage and courtly grace, something born of experience,
of the confident expectation of beauty, something of gallantry, something of
bravery, courage, loyalty and service. For reasons hard in detail to analyze
but at their spring perhaps connected with the ancient loyalty and affection
for a great Queen and the tradition of what she and the men of her spacious
days stand for in Britain's story, but added to and reinforced by the countless
tributaries of history and the record of your achievements, Virginia
and all that is hers holds in British minds and British affections a place
apart among the States of this Republic.

I know that I no more than voice the feelings of the people it is my high
privilege to represent when I say that they are with you in sympathy and
spirit to-day and throughout these days when you celebrate the completion
of a hundred years of your University life. I wish that they could have been
with me here now, to see with their own eyes the beauty and grace of your
buildings, to feel in their own souls the pulse of your academic life. That
cannot be; still it is they that extend to you through me their warmest
greetings.

Though the younger universities do not know it and by a merciful
provision of Providence cannot know it, no university comes of age and
enters into its manhood until it reaches the dawn of its second century of

The President of the University Introducing the British Ambassador

existence. It takes time for the soul of a university to evolve. Born of
many men's minds and aspirations it is at first too fluttering, too tender a
thing to hold its way untrammelled and unafraid amid the difficulties and
influences which beset it. In its early days the strong man can make or
mar the university, in its manhood the soul of the university makes or mars
the strongest man that enters its portals as a pilgrim seeking truth. Some
universities, and you are among their number, have been fortunate in that
the strong men of their beginning used their minds and souls to make not to
mar the university, but that impulse would not have persisted powerful and
effective as it has if it had not been reinforced by the minds of a generation
that again knew suffering and sacrifice, high endeavor and the glory of faithfulness
to the end. War is in itself bad, but from its badness there may flow
this good, that lessons which in any event life will teach may be learned
sooner and more clearly and may be applied by young men who can do what
old men cannot hope to perform.

Once again the world has passed through the furnace of war, once again
the horror of the battlefield, made more horrible by science, has bitten deep
into the minds of the nations. Once again for a time they yearn for peace
but as ever, the human mind is forgetful of horror. Already the memories
of the beastliness of war grow dim and the recollections of the fellowship,
the courage, the glories of the human spirit rising triumphant above the
terrors of the body, grow bright and brighter. Our minds are straying back
to the old circular path that leads men to speak of the honor of war and then
of its glory and just before they again know its horror, of its desirability.

To you as to all universities that have achieved manhood, there falls
the duty of preparing your sons to face the problems of the world, not according
to the individual fancies of a man or a small group of men, but according
to the knowledge and the experience that have made the soul of your University.
You have known war and its horrors. You have seen your sons
march out strong and lusty. You have mourned and glorified those that fell,
but mourning and glorifying you have known the pity of the mourning and
the tragedy of the glorification. I know that the hour may come to any
nation as to any individual when he has to fight or die, perhaps fight and die.
But I also know that not in every war fought by every nation was that the
choice. There have been unnecessary wars. There will be so again, unless
you and those like you who are responsible for the thought habit of your
sons consciously and actively strive to set within their minds an understanding
of peace, conceived not as the absence of war, but truthfully as the
joyful acceptation of the reign of law. I am often asked why should the
universities concern themselves actively with the problems of peace. My
answer is that they are concerned with placing truth before the minds of
their children and that the true facts of national life clamor aloud for peace.

Here let me interpolate one remark. I have noticed that when I, as
British Ambassador, speak of Peace I am usually supposed by some newspaper
reporter to dread the immediate or early outbreak of war between
your Nation and mine. May I say that I am not so silly. The continuance
indefinitely into the future of peace between our peoples is so obvious a
necessity of our national lives that I do not dream of the contingency of its
rupture. What I am concerned with is something that seems to me far
greater and far nobler. I wish to see the English-speaking peoples of the
world banded together; in leadership of all the nations, to the era of world
peace and, as a first step, to the era in which the wars which even now we
can recognize as futile and unnecessary, are done with for ever.

I do not wish at this time to speak so much of the higher motives that
impel to peace. I have spoken of them before and others more able than I
have poured forth their eloquence to raise man's mind to a contemplation
of their excellence. I abate no jot or tittle of what I have said in the past
but abating nothing I think it no derogation to speak of the gross folly of
war and to beg of this great University that it will see that its sons and
daughters, ere they go forth to their appointed places in the higher or the
subordinate leadership of their nation know clearly what is the cost of war.

That phrase that I have just used "the cost of war" connotes something
much more than the expenditure of money and the loss of trade. It
connotes mental costs and physical costs hard to be borne by the warring
generations. It also connotes burdens on their posterity that are grievous
to bear but often overlooked. It was your own Benjamin Franklin who said:
"Wars are not paid for in war time; the bill comes later." That is profoundly
true and the bill that comes in is a bill for national vigour and
physique, for health and strength and the happiness that is the portion of
the hale and hearty.

Many have believed that there is good in war—that it toughens the
natural fibre and purges the body politic of slothful ease. My fellow countryman
Ruskin it was who taught that war was a stimulant and "the foundation
of all the high virtues and faculties of men." The best answer to that
false doctrine known to me is that of an American, Professor Starr Jordan,
when he roundly declares that there is precisely as much reason for and
sense in the assertion that fire "is the builder of the forest" since "only in
the flame of destruction do we realize the warmth and strength that lie in
the heart of oak." That expresses exactly what war does. It burns up stores
of good will, of high resolve, of unselfish impulse not only, it also burns up
the physical strength and fitness of the people.

The biological effect of war upon a people is a subject of study that
surpasses in interest and I believe in ultimate importance the whole of war's
economic effects which are themselves of such interest and importance.

There is of course close connection and much action and reaction between
the two, still they are in reality as sharply defined the one from the other, as
are the problems of the mental and moral effects of war from either.

Let us look for a few moments at this biological problem and as preliminary
let me recall to your minds three biological laws:—The first, that
any pair male and female, human, animal or vegetable, which are themselves
of the same kind, tend to have, that is on the average do have, offspring like
unto themselves. That is, like tends to beget like; the second, the law of
filial regression formulated by Galton which I shall enter into a little more
fully in a moment, and the third, that any race of living things can be
modified in either direction by stringent selection to the limits of the normal
variation of the race and can with certainty be maintained at that level so
long as the stringency of selection is maintained.

I spoke a moment ago of the law of filial regression. It is a statistical
generalization which is certainly true when large numbers of living things
of one kind are considered. It has no bearing on and cannot be used for
prognostigation in individual cases. It is known to be true for the inheritance
by human beings of stature, arm span, eye color and mental faculties
but to apply it, it has to be assumed that the people under examination have
been made homogeneous by intermarriage. Put very simply it reads that
the children of unusual parents will be less unusual than their parents. For
example, if the parents are unusually tall or short the children will be less
unusually tall or short; in other words, the children digress towards the level
of mediocrity which is the level of their average ancestor. Consider the
ancestors you must have had twenty-five generations ago if in your family
trees there is no intermarriage of cousins within the 25th degree of consanguinity.
Two parents, four grandparents and so on gives sixteen million
great great ancestors at or about 1066, the year of the Norman Conquest of
England. To find anything like a fifth of that number we who are of blood
drawn from the British Isles would have to derive something in our origin
alike from kings and haughty peers, from pot boys and kitchen maids, from
the houses of the religious, from the stews and sinks of the medieval cities.
Similarly for all others of European stock. We are all without exception the
descendants of an absolutely average ancestral pair, average in their physique,
their manners, their morals and their customs and it is toward this
average man and woman that the children of the unusual tend to regress.

Many who meet with the law of Filial Regression for the first time find
difficulty in understanding how, if it be true, the whole population is not of
precisely the same height and intelligence. As a matter of fact it does not
even suggest that the population should be uniform. It merely indicates
that in a homogeneous population, favorable variations, for example good
stature or intelligence, are not to be looked for in any special social clique

or class but may occur anywhere over the whole range of the homogeneous
population. But though this is true it does not mean that the children of
the good stocks and the children of the bad will be on the average of equal
excellence or worthlessness. The children of the gifted members of a poor
stock may be individually equal to the children of two poor members of a
gifted stock, but of the children's children those of the former will tend to
regress to the mean of their stock, that is to be less gifted, whereas those of
the latter will tend to regress to the mean of their stock, that is to be more
gifted. The reason for this is that the nearer the ancestor the more he or she
contributes on the average to the total of an individual's characteristics.
The statistically determined proportion gives the parents one half of the
total heritage of an individual, the four grandparents, one quarter, the eight
grandparents, one eighth and so on. All this simply means that though the
sons of short men may be tall and the sons of stupid men clever, the average
grandchild will be short or stupid, though less short or less stupid than their
grandparents were, whereas the sons of tall men may be short and of clever
men stupid, yet the grandchildren will pull up the average again, though
they will not be so exceptional as their grandparents.

Now to gain a good idea of the effect that war will have on the physical
and mental attributes of a population all that the biologist needs to know
besides these laws is, how are the national armies raised, what are their
casualties, and over what period were they spread. Does the whole manhood
of the nation of certain ages fight regardless of physique, intelligence or
of any other quality—or is there some form of selection? Are some of the
men of military age taken and others left? Or are some of the men put into
fighting units and others into noncombatant on some basis of selection
other than pure chance?

So far we have considered a homogeneous population involved in war.
What if it be heterogeneous? Does it for example consist of two races;
one in reality ruling, the other in reality subject? Or is the population
broken up into strata, degenerates in the slums of great cities, stunted clerks
and healthy countrymen? Or is there a great class cleavage on the one side
of which there is light and air and freedom to grow and develop, on the other
insufficient clothing, early toil, lack of food, filth and squalor. Then the
questions are:

How from such a population is the army raised? In the one case does
the ruling caste take the burden of warfare on its own shoulders, in the
others is there selective conscription, real universal service, or is there a small
standing army recruited voluntarily and depending for its expansion in time
of war on the patriotism of volunteers?

Obviously in an address of this character I cannot deal with each of
these possibilities of military and national organization. Let us take one or

The British Ambassador Speaking in the Amphitheatre

two examples and examine them. Let us consider first the nation in which
there is a ruling caste which perforce assumes the burden of warfare and see
what happens in an extreme case.

Generation by generation let us suppose the healthy virile men are
required for the army and leave a proportion of their numbers upon the
battlefields. When a young healthy man dies the nation loses not only an
individual but a potential line of healthy men, for each is, in posse, the
founder of a virile stock. True these soldier men may leave descendants but
many of them will not be in the old homesteads. Too often a majority of
their offspring are found on the frontiers of their nation, learning an alien
mother's tongue and hatreds and an alien mother's creed. The true sons of a
ruling caste are often taught to be its bitterest foes, while in the old homesteads
those unfit for the army rule in their dead brothers' places and father
the next generation. By the law of filial regression their sons will be more fit
than they and these will be the recruits of the next generation and their less
fit brothers the fathers of the one to follow. So on the process goes from
generation to generation, the average ancestor tumbling down and down
the physical scale until in the end defeat and destruction overtake the
nation.

Rome is the great historical example of the Empire that fell because its
ruling caste was wasted in war. For centuries she relied upon the healthy
yeoman farmers of the Apennines to form the backbone of her army but she
squandered her capital of manhood. Professor Seechs calculates that "Out
of every hundred thousand of her strong men, eighty thousand were slain;
out of every hundred thousand of her weaklings ninety to ninety-five thousand
were left to survive." Even if these figures be only approximately
correct, they show how war wore out Rome, not so much economically as in
physical strength and energy. She debased her average ancestor and forced
the law of filial regression to work against her. But you may say, that is old
and long ago and far away. As a matter of fact biologically it is fairly recent,
but here is another example more recent still. France in the days of Napoleon
raised her armies by conscription with a special eye on the tall men
whom she required to fill the regiments of the guard. Napoleon as we all
know was a great general; his victories cost France two million lives. Those
gallant Frenchmen died practically without issue in French homes and they
were the best, the tallest, the straightest that France could bring. The result
was that the average Frenchman of 1910 was two inches shorter in stature
than the average Frenchman of 1810. Doubtless the law of filial regression
was carrying French stature back to its old mean but the time was short
and the less fit ancestors of a hundred years ago were too much in the foreground
for much of the loss to have made up. I speak only of stature but
doubtless there were other losses not dissimilar in kind in those that Rome

suffered. We know how numerically stagnant France's population was
when this century opened. That was to be expected. And France has
again been bled white. It is too soon to say what the biological effects
of that will be, but that years are necessary to her biological recovery is
certain.

Time forbids that I go on with these examples. My point is this:
"War has to be paid for in physical ill-being through generation after generation."
Nations cannot squander their best and maintain the standard
of their stock. Children tend to be like the parents that the nation lets
them have; generation after generation the stock may try to get back to its
ancestral type but the stringent selection of war such as Rome used will in
the end hold the population at the level to which selection modifies it.

Nor need we fear that peace will rot the vitals of a nation. After two
centuries in which she knew no war Japan proved her courage on the battlefields
of Manchuria. That is what we should expect. As Professor Starr
Jordan has well said: "In time of peace there is no slaughter of the strong,
no sacrifice of the courageous. In the peaceful struggle for existence there
is a premium placed on the virtues. The virile and the brave survive; the
idle weak and dissipated go to the wall." It is the selection of peace not the
selection of war that makes a national stock grow strong.

I have left on one side the economic effects of war, more intense to-day
as the result of the industrialization of the nations than ever before. I have
not spoken of the shattered towns and broken cities, the ruined mills, the
flooded pits. I have said nothing of the moral and mental devastation that
war causes. Of these I have not spoken nor of the outrage that war is to all
that is best within our souls. The indictment against war can be made so
strong that none who is not perverse and foolish can gainsay it. I believe
most profoundly that it is the duty of every university to plant, in the minds
of its intellectual children, a true understanding of the cost of war so that
never light-heartedly will they let their nation turn to the dread arbitrament
of arms. I have acknowledged that in the world as it is, the choice for a
nation may be to fight or die but I believe that now is the time for the
English-speaking peoples with their great and peculiar advantages to resolve,
that never again will they permit this fair world to be devastated by unnecessary
war if by standing firmly together they can prevent it.

What is to hinder their coöperation to this great end? Nothing that I
know of but ignorance of each other's ideals and aspirations and the suspicion
that is the child of ignorance.

May I say this to you the University of Virginia—Great is your record
and great are your achievements. Add blessedness to your greatness and
send forth your sons and daughters burning with a high resolve to be numbered
among the Peacemakers.

Introducing the next speaker, the President of the University said:

The finest thing any University can do in this world is to train a man
who seeks the truth and finds it and makes it known to his fellows. We call
such a man a scholar. Our next speaker is such a scholar who has enlarged
the boundaries of knowledge in his field, given his spirit unselfishly to youth
and served his country with fidelity and devotion.

I present John Bassett Moore, Class of '80, Professor of International
Law and Diplomacy, Columbia University.

IMMORTAL YOUTH

By John Bassett Moore, LL.D., of Columbia University

We celebrate to-day the first hundred years of the immortal youth of
the University of Virginia. While a university may gather years, it should
never grow old. Neither with its name nor with its work should the thought
of death or of feebleness be associated. So far as it is subject to the influence
of mortality, the things that pass away should be regarded not as lost but
merely as fructifying the soil for a richer and more abundant harvest. Thus
it is that in the highest sense death is swallowed up in victory, and that, so
far as concerns the university, we should conceive of the flight of years as a
perpetual resurrection to a new, a higher and more useful existence.

Approaching the hundredth anniversary of the University of Virginia
in this spirit, we look not only to the numbered past but also to the boundless
future. As we halt for retrospection, our minds are filled with fond and
grateful recollections; and if we say, in the words of a great orator, that the
past at least is secure, we repeat his words in no spirit of despondency. On
the contrary, surveying what has gone before, we feel the spell of the immortality
which we ascribe to our Alma Mater. We think of the devoted men
who in our youth sought to light us along the path of life and to point us
toward the high destiny which by our own efforts we might achieve. They
loom before us as the sages, the wise and pious mentors, of our earlier years,
who explored the past in order that they might furnish us with the lessons
of its experience. We recall them as men of ripe learning, of exemplary
character and of lofty purpose, who lived not in order that they might glorify
themselves but in order that the world might be better for their having
lived in it.

Nor, when we recur to recollections such as these, are we stirred merely
by the associations of sentiment. We are concerned with the very substance
of things, with the vital essence of the university's life and power. To-day
we witness the widespread appropriation, by many and varied non-academic
vocations, of the professorial title; but, although this may be regarded as a

recognition of the title's past renown, it does not contribute to its present
prestige. Meanwhile, in the promiscuous strut of titular distinctions, which,
by enabling the wearer perchance to gain an undeserved credit, may occasionally
serve even as a cloak for imposture, the bewildered public is too
prone to lose sight of the dignity and importance of the function of the
teacher. Who should not be proud to think of himself simply in this character?
To be a teacher of men not only is one of the noblest, but is one of
the most responsible and most sacred of all callings. For the teacher may
justly feel that, while he lives for the present, the knowledge he imparts,
and the principles which he inculcates, are the things by which the future of
the world is to be shaped.

Therefore, while I have spoken of the masters who filled the chairs of
this university in my own youth, I wish also to pay my tribute to the devoted
men who are upholding the traditions and carrying forward the task
of the university to-day. Their lot has not been an easy one. It may,
indeed, be said that the quick changes and wide fluctuations in our later
economic life have been felt in the universities with special severity. Moreover,
the spirit of competition has invaded even the academic sphere. Methods
formerly adequate have had to yield to new demands. Changes in
organization have proved to be requisite; and fortunate was the University
of Virginia, when, the easy democracy of its earlier administration succumbing
to the exigencies of the times, it secured, as its executive head, one who
combined, in so large a measure as its first president has done, the qualities
of character, patience, wise foresight and real eloquence. He and the loyal
men gathered about him have borne their burden and performed their task
in a manner worthy of their predecessors, and in a devout spirit of self-forgetfulness
that entitles them to the eternal gratitude of the commonwealth.
No provision that could be made, for them and for their successors
in office, either by the state or by private benefaction, could exceed
the measure of their merit or the just reward of their efforts to maintain,
to perpetuate and to advance the cause of sound learning and public
service.

I have referred to the life of the university as one of immortal youth.
This necessarily implies that the university must be progressive. No man,
no state, no nation can stand still and maintain its place in the world; nor
does any man, any state or any nation deserve to hold its place in the world
that is content with what has been achieved. Mere contentment with the
past, no matter where we find it, means decay; the so-called happiness that
springs from placid satisfaction with things as they are, or with exaggerated
worship of things as they have been, is essentially spurious and is not a
blessing but an evil. Man was born to labor. For this purpose he possesses
his faculties, and if he hides them or permits them to remain unused he justly

incurs the sentence cast upon the unfaithful steward who lost not only the
opportunity for profit but even his original store.

As perpetual vigilance is the price of liberty, so perpetual struggle for
higher and better things is the price that must be paid for the immortality
of the university. But, in striving for immortality, what are the things for
which the university should stand before the world?

I have mentioned the word "liberty." Like all things else, this is a
relative concept. All mundane things are subject to human conditions; and,
in spite of all efforts to formulate precise definitions, we are never able to
find one that is permanently satisfactory. Nevertheless, there is such a thing
as liberty, of the absence of which, if we lack it, we very quickly become
conscious. In its essence, liberty means freedom of self-development, and
this freedom is to be allowed as far as the absolute safety of society will
permit individuals to determine for themselves what they will or will not do.
The university should, therefore, stand for liberty, meaning the widest
possible freedom of thought and of action. By no statesman or philosopher
has this principle been more luminously expounded or more clearly exemplified
than by the founder of the University of Virginia. Perhaps one may
say that if he had been called upon to designate the one great principle to
the inculcation of which the institution which he had founded should
through all future time be devoted, he would have designated the principle
of human liberty.

This necessarily leads us to another thought, and that is the principle
of toleration. To-day we are living in a world still racked by the passions
resulting from a great war. Human beings, instead of loving one another,
have been fighting and killing one another. This is a condition into which
the world, as long as we have known it, has from time to time fallen; and at
such junctures, confidence being supplanted with suspicion, there is a tendency
to regard differences of opinion as a menace and as something to be
suppressed. We should ever be on our guard against this tendency, alike in
society, in politics and in religion. To-day our eyes and ears are constantly
assailed with wholesale attacks upon persons of a particular faith or a
particular creed, attacks which, if not inspired by passionate excitement,
would be regarded as purely wanton. Such things can only be deplored as
manifestations of human traits which fortunately are manifested chiefly
under abnormal conditions.

In antithesis to the principle of toleration, I venture to mention another
word which has come to be characterized by base associations. I refer to
what is now popularly known as "propaganda" signifying in effect the
systematic dissemination of falsehoods or perversions for political, commercial
or other selfish purposes. The world is to-day rife with this sort of
activity, which is by no means confined to the perpetuation of bitterness by

and between nations that lately were enemies. Stimulated by the war into
abnormal activity, and now practiced more or less by all against all, it seeks,
with frenzied and unscrupulous zeal, in an atmosphere of universal suspicion,
to permeate all the relations of life and to create and foster ill-will
among all nations, including even those supposed to be friendly. Scarcely
can one attend to-day a gathering for the discussion of public questions,
without being treated to the pernicious productions of this vicious system,
which, finding their way into the press and into books ostensibly genuine, are
glibly rehearsed by persons whose position and profession should cause them
to exhibit a greater sense of care and of responsibility.

A university, as a seat of learning, should set its face against such
methods. One of the chief glories of the university is the fact that it is a
place devoted to the search for truth. A great philosopher, whom I read in
my student days, declared that, if the truth were placed on the one hand and
the search for truth on the other, and he were asked to choose between them,
he would take the search for truth as the sublime quest of his life. Such is
the spirit of aspiration, such the insatiate longing for what is true, beautiful
and sincere, that must animate the university, if it is to justify the attribution
to it of the thought of immortality.

The word propaganda has, however, been associated in times past with
a type of thought and of action altogether different from that which has
lately made it repulsive. Some years ago, in the city of Buenos Aires, I saw
a volume which one could not touch without feeling deeply moved. It was
a copy of a translation of the Bible, into a dialect of the Misiones territory,
by some of the fathers, agents of the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, who
bore Christianity to the aborigines of that them remote and almost impenetrable
region. Not only did they make the translation, but they printed it
in the wilderness at a place even the site of which is to-day unknown. This
they did to save men. In their holy zeal to carry salvation, according to
their belief, to unknown lands, they shrank neither from peril nor from
sacrifice. As we think of their helpless separation from the haunts of civilized
life, of their self-denial and their days and nights of solitary toil, we are
lost in admiration of the men who wrought such a token of their faith and of
their love for their fellow-beings. Could there be a more inspiring example
for those who accept a teacher's sacred trust?

There is still another thought that rises in the mind in connection with
the University of Virginia and its future. We are accustomed to think, and
are, as I believe, justified in thinking of the University of Virginia as the
first real American university; but it cannot be affirmed that this claim has
been universally conceded; and it is proper to say that the claim rested not so
much upon assumed superiority of instruction as upon the exemplification
in the university's curriculum of the principle of freedom of individual

choice and the pursuit of studies along the lines of one's individual preferences
and aptitudes. Up to a comparatively recent time, however, the
University of Virginia was universally admitted to be the first university of
the South. This position it can hardly expect to hold in the future in the
same uncontested sense as in the past. Other universities have sprung up
in the South, and, receiving generous support from public and from private
benefaction, have developed an active and robust life and have come to
figure as vigorous rivals.

Nevertheless, the University of Virginia to-day educates within its
halls students from all quarters of the globe, and I love to think of it not only
as a State institution but as an institution which is to fill a distinctive place
in the life of the nation and of the world. For the discharge of this exalted
function it needs vastly increased resources; but it also possesses an inestimable
advantage which mere material accessions cannot give, and that is the
influence of its memories and traditions, and of its association with the name
and fame of its founder, the great apostle of modern democracy.

On an occasion such as this, when we bring to the shrine of our Alma
Mater our inmost thoughts, an expression of personal feeling may not be
out of place. In my childhood there were two names which I was taught
peculiarly to revere. These were the names of Washington and Jefferson;
one the author of the Declaration of Independence, and the other the chief
architect of the nation. Subsequently it fell to my lot for a number of years
to occupy a public office from which, whenever I looked out of the window, I
saw the Washington monument and the ever-moving current of the Potomac;
and as I gazed upon the silent memorial pointing to the sky, and
dwelt upon the character, the wisdom, the self-control of the first President
of the first American republic, I wondered whether the time might not come
when the world, recalling, in the words of Poe, "the glory that was Greece
and the grandeur that was Rome," might say that in the nation whose independence
Jefferson declared and Washington established that glory and
that grandeur were combined and magnified. And then, as I gazed upon the
ever-moving, ever-widening stream, under the everchanging skies, it seemed
to typify the endless flow of the life of the nation, finding its way to the ocean
and permeating the farthest reaches of the boundless sea of human endeavor.
So let us think of the immortal youth of the University of Virginia, ever
flowing on, ever broadening, and permeating the intellectual and moral life
of the world.

In the ceaseless, endless flow of its intellectual and moral influence, the
university both conserves and creates. Tennyson spoke of his generation as
"the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time." In a sense no saying
could be more fallacious or more misleading. As he who would be first in the
Kingdom of Heaven must become the servant of all, so the first requisite of

knowledge is a spirit of humility, such as renders us willing to learn. The
potentialities of heirship are severely limited by human conditions. We all
begin life in the same helpless way, dependent on others for existence and
physically and mentally groping about. But, as we grow older, and become
more self-conscious, we are perhaps not over-respectful of the wisdom of the
aged. Indeed, even if it be liberally conceded that we know the causes that
previously produced certain ill-effects, we are disposed to believe that their
similar operation may be averted in the present instance; and, obedient to
our possibly uninstructed impulses, we proceed to try our own conceptions
of what is wise and expedient. The assumption, then, that we are the heirs
of all the ages, representing the farthest human advance, should not be
unduly encouraged. Such an attitude is essentially hazardous, and, if inadvertently
indulged, tends recurrently to subject the world to the loss of a
large part of its garnered treasures.

For the prevention of such loss, we look to our seats of learning. While
the university conserves the teachings of the past, it also uses them for the
profit of posterity. In its quiet halls of study and reflection, overconfidence
is chastened, so that uninformed aggressiveness may neither mar the present
nor embarrass the future. The impulses of youth are refined and wisely
directed. The mind is fertilized. Ideals are raised. Ambition is stimulated;
and in endless train there issues from the gates the eager procession of intelligent
builders by whom institutions are competently fashioned. Society
and the state are the gainers; life itself is dignified and ennobled. Rejoicing,
then, in our university as the perpetual dispenser of priceless benefits, let us
strive to maintain and strengthen it with all the resources at our command,
placing above its portals the words, "Conserver of the Past, Creator of the
Future."

ADDRESSES AT MONTICELLO

THE PRIVATE LIFE OF THOMAS JEFFERSON

By Judge Richard Thomas Walker Duke, Jr., of Charlottesville, Va.

I deem myself peculiarly fortunate in being asked to speak at this time
and at this place and in this presence upon "The Private Life of Thomas
Jefferson."

We are "atmosphered"—to use Goethe's word—during these days with
the thoughts of this great man's work in the founding of the Institution
whose hundredth anniversary we are celebrating. We forget for the moment
the wonderful brilliancy of his statesmanship, the breadth of his philosophy,
the depth of his marvelous intellect. We think of him to-day as the Father
of the University of Virginia.

But I wish to speak to you of him as the tender and solicitous father of
most affectionate children; as the devoted and loving husband; the generous
neighbor; the good citizen; the faithful zealous, kind master of many slaves.
The place where we stand suggests all these things. In plain sight from yon
eastern portico we look down upon his birthplace—upon the fields "where
once his happy childhood played." Here stands the house he builded—
carefully watched over and preserved by its hospitable and patriotic owner.
Everything suggests the man. It is the man of whom I would speak. In the
august presence of the distinguished visitors who face me I am no less fortunate—representing,
as they do, so many peoples and countries. They
may—doubtless will—keep in no long memory the words I may speak, but I
wish them to remember the facts I briefly relate, so that they may be able to
recall those facts and know that, great as he was, Jefferson was no less great
in the beautiful characteristics which make up pure and noble manhood, and
that his private life should deserve the plaudits of mankind no less than his
public career.

And I do this because no man was ever so foully belied; no man more
wilfully and falsely attacked. Some of us believe that the ugly vituperation
of greatness—the besmirching of private character for political purposes—
has well-nigh reached the zenith in these later days; but compared to the
attacks made on Jefferson during his lifetime they are but zephyrs compared
to a whirlwind. His bitter political opponents—and they were of the bitterest
kind—slandered him in every possible way. His domestic life, his relations
with his slaves, were made the target for the slings and arrows of contemptible
penny-a-liners and paltry politicians. These creatures seem to
have had in mind what Sidney Smith was to say at a future period: "Select
for your attack a place where there can be no reply and an opponent who
cannot retaliate and you may slander at will." For Jefferson disdained to
notice the barking of these wretched curs. He was always repugnant to
"provings and fendings of personal character" and, too great to reply, too
highminded to attempt to retaliate, he stood firm in the knowledge that
those who knew him best—his friends, his neighbors, those who loved him—
knew him, and before them he needed no defense. Even when Tommy
Moore—the "Little" man, the licentious verses of whose youth were the
shame of his old age—sang of him in vulgar strains, it is said that when the
lines were read to him he smiled and murmured, "What a pity poetry could
not always be truth and truth ever poetical."

Standing upon this mountain top, the purity of whose air is no purer
than Jefferson's private life, I recall the beginning of his married life, when
in a dark and snowy winter night he brought his young and beautiful bride
to this place. At Blenheim, a few miles away to the southwest, the deep
snow compelled the young couple to abandon their carriage and they rode

eight miles to Monticello. They arrived late at night. The servants had
retired, the fires were out. Too kindly and thoughtful to awaken the sleeping
servants, they went to yonder little office on my left, and soon a fire of
oak and hickory was blazing on the hearth; a bottle of old Madeira was
found on a shelf behind some books; the beloved violin was taken down, and
with song and merry laughter they passed the night until daylight gleamed
through the lattices. Here commenced a romance that ended only when, in
the room just behind me to my left, in the mansion, a pure and gentle spirit
took its flight and a bereaved widower lay fainting by the bedside where lay
the inanimate form of the only woman he ever loved, with a devotion as
holy as it was passionate, and as strong as it was pure.

It was my good fortune to know well that grand old gentleman, Thomas
Jefferson Randolph, Mr. Jefferson's grandson and the staff of his old age,
as he called him. With him I once roamed over this mountainside and went
in every room of this house. Space will not permit me to tell you of the
anecdote after anecdote that this venerable man poured into my all-willing
ears. Standing within a few feet of where I now stand he pointed out the
office of which I have told you and related to me the instance I have just
related. Then in a burst of indignation he remarked to me, "You have
heard the miserable lies the dirty politicians and political enemies have told
of my grandfather, Mr. Jefferson. Let me tell you no better, purer man ever
lived. Neither I nor any one else ever heard him utter an oath, tell a story
he could not have told in the presence of the most refined women, or use a
vulgar expression. He loved but one woman and clave to her and her
memory all his long life, and no father in all the world was more loving or
beloved, more solicitous or careful of his children."

He told me then of the book his daughter—my dear friend, Sarah N.
Randolph—was preparing, to show the beautiful private life of her sire's
grandsire—The Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson. The copy of this book
he gave my honored father is one of the most prized books in my library.
It should be re-published.

No one can read this book without being convinced of the peculiar
sweetness and beauty of Mr. Jefferson's private life. No man but of the
noblest character could have written those letters contained in this volume,
to his children and friends, and as incident after incident is related in it we
recognize that it reveals indeed a man

It is very pleasant for me to say that all of these slanders against Mr.
Jefferson came from a distance. His neighbors—and some of them were his
bitterest political opponents—never repeated them—never believed any of
them. I have known in my lifetime more than a dozen men who knew Mr.

Jefferson personally. Two men I knew who saw Jefferson and Lafayette
embrace one another at the foot of this lawn. Every one of them said that
no neighbor of Mr. Jefferson believed one word of the vile stories told of
him, but that he was beloved, respected and admired as a high-minded
gentleman, a pure and upright man.

His daughters worshipped him. The grandson of whom I have spoken
could not mention his name save with a reverence as remarkable as it was
touching. When he lay a-dying at Edge Hill, down yonder a mile or two
away, he bade them roll his bed into the drawing-room, through whose
windows Monticello could be plainly seen, and his last earthly gaze was
upon this "Little Mountain," where beside his great ancestor's ashes his
own were soon to rest.

It cannot be amiss at this time to say something of the house in front of
which we now stand and of Mr. Jefferson's life here. The house was commenced
in 1764. It then faced to the east and was very much on the order
of the average Virginia residence. But after Mr. Jefferson's visit to France,
where he was very much struck with the architecture of that country, he remodeled
the house in the style in which we now see it. It has really never
been entirely completed. In his lifetime it was filled with works of art,
paintings, engravings and statuary, and contained the largest private library
in the United States.

Mr. Jefferson's life here was that of the simple Virginia farmer. He
arose early; a book always lay upon the mantelpiece in the dining room, and
if the meals were not on the table he read from this book until called to the
meal. He generally rode over the plantation every fair day, looking carefully
after the overseer as well as the hands. He kept a minute diary of all
the work day by day upon the plantation, and in it records of the direction
of the wind, the thermometer and barometer were carefully set down; the
budding of every plant and tree, the first appearance of any vegetable upon
the table, and a thousand minutiæ which fill us with amazement to note
how a man of his multitudinous affairs could take such minute pains over
things most men would consider trifles. In the afternoon he attended to his
various and varied correspondence. Many of his letters were written with
his left hand, as his right was seriously injured whilst abroad, the wrist being
broken. He had an ingenious arrangement by which the light of the candles
was shed upon his book or paper and shaded from his eyes. His voluminous
correspondence shows that he could never have wasted a single moment,
but that his long life was filled with an industry seldom surpassed. He was
very moderate in his food and drink. He very seldom touched ardent spirits
but was fond of good French wines and had them always on his table, though
he partook of them very sparingly. He was a moderate man in everything
except in that which related to the welfare of the people. To advance that

he was perfectly willing to be called "Radical" or almost any other name
which political opponents chose to give him. He was a man of wonderful
self-restraint, seldom if ever replying to any attack upon him in any way in
the public print, and here at this place which he loved more than any other
place upon earth, he spent the happiest and as he says, the best years of his
life.

As a neighbor Mr. Jefferson was most kind and generous: Always ready
with counsel and often more material aid, his advice was sought by all the
countryside, and freely given. He planned homes, he suggested improvements
in husbandry, and whenever his superbly groomed horse was seen
bearing him through what was then the little hamlet of Charlottesville his
course was often checked by those who wanted to ask his advice or benefit
by his wonderful knowledge.

As a citizen he took part—when at home—in everything that related
to the welfare of the county and State, giving to their small affairs the same
thought and attention he gave to the Nation. He was always on the lookout
for improvements in agriculture. You know he invented the mould
board of the plow—a greater service to humanity, I believe, than even the
great Declaration. He imported rare plants and seeds; he brought the first
seed-rice into America. Nothing was too great for the range of his mind—
nothing too small to be considered, if any good could be found in it.

Of his religious life we can only say that his faith was of the Unitarian
order, though he was never a member of any church. But he contributed
to the building of the first Episcopal Church in Charlottesville, and when
the rector thereof was building himself a house he sent him a handsome
contribution, with a playful letter. He never professed—he lived. The
Searcher of all hearts alone knows what that meant. But surely the faith of
that man is not in vain whose last words were "Lord, now let Thy servant
depart in peace."

He was the soul of hospitality. Colonel Randolph told me that he had
seen as many as sixty horses of visitors in the stables at Monticello at one
time. He was literally eaten out of house and home.

He recognized the evils of slavery, but also its benefits. He desired to
emancipate as far as possible his slaves. As a master he was firm but kindly
and considerate, and his servants loved him with that devotion which the
oldtime slave ever showed to the master who treated him well.

I must hasten to a close. In the time allotted to me I could but briefly
outline the main characteristics of the private life of this great man. I said in
the outset I deemed myself peculiarly fortunate in being asked to do this.
For never more than in this hour of the world's great changes is pure and
upright character more needed in statesmen—and men of private life as well.
Only good men can give us good government; for government is of men.

And never was the force of good example needed more. And after all, the
private virtues are those which are of the Immortals. Kingdoms rise and
fall; governments perish with the peoples that made them; philosophies
change, and the belief of to-day is the mockery of to-morrow. But virtue
and truth and purity; benevolence, integrity and the love of God and of
fellow men—these things are alike of yesterday and of to-morrow—of the
years of the past, the æons of the future; they alone survive when all else
perishes. Of them and through them comes the health of the nations—the
salvation of the world. They have their origin and their destiny alike in the
home of our Father and the bosom of our God.

JEFFERSON AND THE PROBLEMS OF TO-DAY

By Archibald Cary Coolidge, Ph.D., LL.D., of Harvard University

This spot and this occasion recall to the minds of all of us memories
of the man in whose honor we have made this pilgrimage. We are here at
the place that was dearest to him, at the home from which the influence of
his wisdom and his benign presence radiated for so many years over his
fellow countrymen. You have just heard the description of his daily life.
It is, indeed, here that his figure is most distinct to us, that we think of him
in his kindliest aspect, an object of affection as well as of admiration to
millions then and since. It was here that he planned and dreamed and
brought into being the University of Virginia. To us this visit to Monticello
is in itself a source of inspiration. It brings us once more under the
spell of a lofty character and master mind whose influence has not been
confined to one party, but has extended over the whole people and has been
felt even by those who opposed him most, and it has not been effaced by the
lapse of time. Thomas Jefferson still holds his place as one of the guides of
our republican ideals and citizenship. His words are still quoted and the
truths that he expressed are still held sacred.

And if this be so, is it not natural for us when we feel ourselves in the
shadow of his presence to turn to him for counsel and help in dealing with
some of the momentous problems which beset our paths as American citizens?
May we not obtain guidance from his wisdom even under circumstances
which he himself never could have foreseen? At least one may
speculate as to what he would have thought of them, and such fancy need
not be idle. It is true there are dangers in such a course. We must be careful
how we apply any one concrete pronouncement on the part of Jefferson
to an altered situation; what was a wise decision under former conditions is
not necessarily the one that he would now make.

We know, too, that like every mortal he was not always consistent;
that in his long career he was deeply involved in the strife of his times and

that he used terms and expressed opinions which reflect rather the passions
or the prejudices of the moment than the mature judgments of his riper
thought.

Nevertheless, while making all such allowances, we may feel that Jefferson
entertained certain ideals, certain visions, certain fundamental beliefs,
to which we may turn and apply the inspiration we drew from them to
problems of our own times.

Let us look at some of these beliefs.

Would it not be fair to say that the first and foremost article in Jefferson's
political creed was his unshakable faith in democracy and particularly
in American democracy?

We may quibble as we please over the exact meaning of the term
"democracy" but no one can deny that Thomas Jefferson was a democrat
in the best sense of the word and we may well rejoice at the extent that his
ideals have prevailed and are prevailing far and wide.

Rank and title mean little enough to-day. Universal suffrage has been
broadened to include those whom it has always been the privilege of man to
love and to protect but to whom he has never before admitted a right to rule
equal to his own.

Has then democracy triumphed so that we have no fears for the future
save such as may arise from its own excesses?

No one should assert this. Here as elsewhere there is still a long gap
between theory and practice. The power of wealth, inherited and acquired,
still counts for much in the world, the conscienceless capitalist too often is
the successor of the robber baron, and modern economic development with
its tremendous accumulation of capital, its infinite ramifications and its
necessary concentration of authority has seemed to threaten us with a
servitude as real as any which has existed under crown or aristocracy. But
this peril is not new, and provided we maintain our honesty, we can achieve
the new freedom as well as the old. Vigilant as we must be to defend our
heritage against the insidious power of corporate wealth, it is not from that
quarter that the ideals of Jeffersonian democracy are most undermined at
the present moment. Our liberties may be imperilled but the menace has
taken on new forms. For instance we can see that society is in danger of
becoming the slave of its own development. In the endless meshes of the
modern state and of modern industrial and economic conditions the individual
can hardly aspire to be as free as were his ancestors. The "sum of
good government" has increased in a formidable manner since the days
when Jefferson was at the helm of the state. It looks almost as if in the
future the existence of the American citizen from the cradle to the grave will
be regulated by prescriptions. They are perhaps necessary for the welfare
of our wondrously organized system. But we are in danger of paying a

heavy price in the sacrifice of the freedom of the individual citizen which
Jefferson regarded as one of the highest privileges of mankind. If the march
of civilization appears to demand that sacrifice, let us at least trust that it
may not be too complete and refuse to make it save when there is real
necessity. We shall do well to remember that in creating the most perfect
machine, when its parts are human beings, the more scope we can safely
give to each to think, act, and even make mistakes for himself, the more we
do to preserve what has been one of the best characteristics of the American.
Even efficiency may be bought at too high a price.

But slavery to the machine which we ourselves have helped to create
is not the only menace to our liberties. The democracies of free people are
now being compelled to face the threat of a new despotism. Just when it
has seemed that the idea of equal opportunity to all and the right of the
majority to prevail were becoming the acknowledged basis of society for the
whole civilized world, we have witnessed a sudden reaction towards a new
oligarchy. The claim of one class to dominate regardless of the rest has been
set forth from a new quarter in startling form. The red apostles of communism
have declared ruthless war against the whole conception of true democracy
and in order to secure their sectarian triumph they are prepared to shed
torrents of blood and if need be to stamp out civilization itself. They have
established their rule in the largest continuous empire in the world and by
terror they hold to-day under their control a hundred million of their fellow
beings. They have sent their emissaries abroad and they have their followers
in all lands, even in our own, appealing by every argument to the
ignorant, to the dreamer, and to the discontented, to all indeed who have
suffered under our present system of society and can be deluded into imagining
that its overthrow would bring about a millennium.

In combating the infection of such ideas the strong and healthy democratic
beliefs of Jefferson, his confidence in the essential goodness of human
nature if given a free chance to develop, his doctrine of the utmost liberty to
the individual compatible with the welfare of the state, and of the safety
with which error may be tolerated when reason is left free to combat it, offer
us the best grounds on which to take our stand. It is true that society must
defend itself when attacked, that we cannot allow conspiracies to be hatched
in our midst against all we hold most dear, that the right to poison the public
mind is not a God given one. But though alien and sedition bills may be
more necessary now than they were in the early days of the republic, it is
not by blind repression alone any more than it was then that perils can be
conjured. We must avoid panic and reaction and all that savors of persecution
unless we wish to give to whatever revolutionary spirit there is in our
midst a moral force which now it lacks. Against the perils of revolutionary
propaganda and discontent, it is not enough to fall back on mere measures

of repression. The counsels of terror are seldom wise, and the ultra conservative
breeds the revolutionary. While striving to right the many evils that
exist in our own as in every other social system, we must have faith not only
in the virtue of our institutions but in their strength and in the spirit which
they are meant to express. The calm broad vision of the sage of Monticello
is often sadly lacking among us. The excesses and horrors that accompanied
the French Revolution did not shake his trust in popular government
and the progress of humanity. Those of the Russian one would not do so
were he alive to-day.

Turning from our domestic situation to our foreign one, where the
difficulties if of less fundamental magnitude are even more pressing, what
lessons has Jefferson to teach us there? A famous passage from his first
inaugural address comes to our minds: "peace, commerce, and honest friendship
with all nations—entangling alliances with none." Surely, we say, a
wise principle, one well tested in the history of this country and one that it
would be folly to abandon now. But are we so certain of what should be its
present interpretation? Has it been in no way modified or broadened by the
enormous changes that for good and for ill have brought all parts of the
globe so infinitely nearer to one another than they were a century ago? Do
we even know what we mean by "entangling alliances?" Is not an international
convention of any kind, whether it deals with commerce or patents,
or with rules relating to the Red Cross, an entanglement in the sense that it
is a limitation to our complete freedom of isolated action? Has not the
whole development of the last hundred years tended to emphasize the
necessity of coöperation in all good works between nations as well as between
individuals? Is there any reason in the nature of things why such cooperation
should not be beneficial in political affairs as well as in economic
or in sanitary ones, and is an alliance anything but a promise of mutual
coöperation? All these considerations are not to be lightly dismissed in
favor of a literal interpretation of a maxim enunciated in a very different
world.

To many of his contemporaries, Thomas Jefferson seemed what today
would be called a pacifist. At one time he appeared to submit with
tameness to buffets at the hands of both England and France. But he was a
statesman not a mere theorist. His conduct of this country's disputes at
that juncture may not be a brilliant page in his career, but under extreme
difficulties he made no sacrifice of principle and each year that he preserved
peace the country gained in strength. He showed more than once in his
career that when the moment came for decisive action he could be resolute,
and he did not shrink from the gravest responsibilities. As the last resort he
was ready to take up arms if the honor of his country demanded it. Even
expeditions overseas had no terrors for him. By dispatching an American

fleet to wage war on Tripoli he set Christian Europe an example of how to
put an end to the shameful tribute it had been the custom to pay to a nest of
pirates in order to be spared from their depredations.

Everything we know of the character and views of Jefferson makes us
confident that if he had been alive at the time of the Great War he would
have approved of the sending of our soldiers to lay down their lives for their
country and its cause on the battlefields of France. The sympathy which
he felt for the first French republic would have gone out in far larger measure
to the present one and none would have felt more than he that the liberties
of mankind would be menaced by the triumph of military imperialism. He
would have known, too, that our task would not be finished or our burden
be lifted by the close of hostilities, but that we must and shall share in the
vast work of the reconstruction of the world. Duty like charity begins at
home, it does not end there.

We may perhaps doubt just what form of league or association or
brotherhood of peoples Thomas Jefferson would now wish to see established,
a brotherhood in which this country of ours should hold its proper place.
But we cannot doubt that with his whole heart and soul he would have been
devoted to some such ideal of fraternity. The "Parliament of man," the
"federation of the world" would be for him no mere empty phrase. Undismayed
by the cataclysms which we have just witnessed and are still
witnessing, he would put his faith in his fellow creatures, and particularly
in his fellow countrymen. He would believe it to be their proud privilege
to lead rather than to follow in all movements for the common welfare.
While condemning visionary crusades or neglect of our own problems he
would recognize our obligations to struggling humanity at home or abroad.
We who honor his name, let us live true to his spirit. We have proved as a
nation that we could fight for our ideals. Now that peace has come we must
beware "lest we forget, lest we forget."

SPEECHES AT THE DINNER TO DELEGATES

RESPONSE BY JACOB GOULD SCHURMAN, PH.D., LL.D., FORMER PRESIDENT OF
CORNELL UNIVERSITY

This splendid dinner, so characteristic of the generous hospitality of the
South, marks the close of three of the four days set apart for your Centennial
Celebration.

It is difficult to imagine what remains for you to do to-morrow. Certainly
the past three days have been for us all days of noble and elevated
joy. We have been genuinely conscious of a fraternal communion and interchange

of spirit and sentiment. Not only the speakers, but the great company
of delegates and visitors have joined in the well-merited congratulations
and cordial good wishes which the speakers brought you on behalf of
sister institutions.

Have the triumphs of truth and reason in this University been eloquently
set forth? The silent auditors, as you might have recognized from
many signs of approval, make those eloquent tributes their own. Has the
influence of this University in molding the religious life of the Nation been
justly assessed? The audience joins you in the testimony that man lives
not by bread alone—nor yet by bread and science together. Have you set up
memorials to your heroic dead? In the presence of your tears, in the hearing
of your prayers, we bow our heads and devoutly give thanks that the
University of Virginia has been so preëminent in the training of men for the
service of the Republic.

Not only oratory, you have invoked also music and art and pageantry
to give worthy expression to the spirit of this occasion. And the spirit seems
to me as manifold as the media of its expression are varied. No doubt the
primary note is the exaltation of the scientific and scholarly mind, for the
formation of which universities were called into being and after the lapse of
so many centuries still continue to exist and flourish. But life is more than
intellect. And the university is in close and friendly alliance with the
church, the state, and every other institution which makes for the improvement
and advancement of mankind. Thus, most appropriately, you have
made your high celebration a means not alone of stimulating intellect, but
also of awakening historical imagination, of quickening patriotism, and of
deepening the sense of the religious significance of life.

All this might have been done, nay, all this I have seen done, by other
universities at home and abroad. But there is one feature of your Celebration
which is absolutely unique. No other historic university could have
arranged to make a pilgrimage to the home of its founder and under the very
roof where he spent his mortal days pay honor to his memory as we this
afternoon at Monticello all-hailed the Father of the University of Virginia.

There is often a contrast, which may amount even to contradiction,
between the founders and benefactors of colleges and universities and the
proper ideals of the institutions which they have called into existence. The
things which give them pleasure, the objects they pursue from day to day,
the literature they read, the thoughts which make the furniture of their
minds, may be entirely alien to the life of the devoted scholar or scientist.
And their conception of his function, and of the ways and means of performing
it, are likely to differ entirely from his. Here lies the possibility of fatal
collisions! The millionaire benefactor, apart from his benefaction, has
seldom been an object of enthusiasm either on the part of teachers or

students. Nor can I imagine that Henry VIII or even Wolsey was ever
regarded as an exemplar for the young gentleman of Christ Church. It was
not merely cynicism that inspired Goldwin Smith's bon mot that the proper
place for a Founder was in marble effigy in the College chapel!

The University of Virginia is in this regard fortunate in her Founder.
No doubt Jefferson's thorough-going democracy predisposed him in some
matters to defer too much to popular opinion; and the principle of vox populi
vox dei is fatal to the life of a university. But it was only in politics that he
would determine truth by counting noses. In other spheres he insisted on
evidence, and if evidence were lacking he suspended judgment. In this
respect he was the very embodiment of scientific method. Indeed, all things
considered and all necessary abatements made, you will find a remarkable
harmony between the mental postulates, operations, and outlook of Jefferson
and the spirit of a genuine university. Here and now I can signalize only
one or two of these features.

In the first place, Jefferson was above everything else an idealist.
Those who would disparage him called him an impractical visionary. Certainly
he was ready to theorize on any subject which engaged his thought.
The force of his penetrating intelligence could not be restrained by any
convention, however respectable, or by any tradition, however venerable.
He was a thinker who must see and understand for himself. The dread of
new ideas, which is a universal characteristic of mankind, had no place in the
composition of that daring spirit. On the contrary, the fact that a theory
was new commended it to one who, like Jefferson, ardently believed in
progress and zealously strove for the advancement of mankind. He did not
mind being branded as a radical or a revolutionist. His sanguine taste for
novelty was exhibited in all his activities—in agriculture, in which he was all
his life an enthusiast, as well as in politics, in which for forty years he was an
unrivaled leader. And no consequences deterred him from following the
principles he had embraced to their logical conclusions. If the "rights of
man" signified to his mind an almost entire absence of governmental control
he did not hesitate to declare that "a little rebellion now and then is a good
thing."

Now this hospitality to new ideas, even to the extent of being enamoured
by their novelty, and this readiness to follow new ideas whithersoever
they lead—till they eventually proved themselves true or false—is the
animating spirit of a genuine university. On this more than anything else
whatever the intellectual progress of mankind depends. Has not Darwin,
indeed, taught us that the evolution of life, from lower to higher forms, is due
to the survival of characteristics which on their first appearance can only be
described as "sports" or freaks? And, in the realm of mind it is just by
means of the "freakish" ideas of dreamers and visionaries that successive

steps of progress are effected. In the highest conception of it a university
is an organ for the creation, development and dissemination of new ideas.

I do not recall any time when this high and vital function of the university
stood in need of greater emphasis. We are to-day living in one of
those periods of reaction which invariably follow war. The exhibition of
physical power which for four and a half years convulsed the world still
dominates our habit of thought. The invisible world of ideas seems weak
and insignificant beside that colossal empire of all-compelling might. And
if the two come, or appear to come, into conflict men invoke force to suppress
new theories, which can always be branded as dangerous, if not also
disloyal. But vis consili expers mole ruit sua.

Now the university is the nursery of new ideas. Its members are, in the
fine phrase of Heine, "knights of the holy spirit"—the holy spirit of truth
and culture. I trust that a fresh dedication to that noble service may be one
of the results of this celebration of the Centennial of the University founded
by Jefferson.

There is a second service rendered by Jefferson to this University which
you will perhaps grant me the time briefly to mention. I can describe it
best by contrast. All institutions tend to lose themselves in their own instrumentalities.
A university has buildings to care for and funds to invest
and enlarge and routine business to administer. But a university is a spiritual
institution. It has to do with mind, and exists for mind. The danger
to-day is that the real university shall be submerged by its "plant" and
"business."

Are not universities corporations? And should they not be conducted
like financial or manufacturing corporations? Nay, should not heads for
them be found in the offices of Wall Street or the factories of Pittsburg?
These are the questions we hear in the marts and markets to-day.

In contrast with the implications of these questions, stands Jefferson's
just and noble conception of a university. He clearly perceived that it was
the Faculty that made the University. And that the Faculty might not be
dislodged from the high place that naturally belonged to it, he would have
no president at all but leave the administration of the institution in their
hands.

I think Jefferson sacrificed to this fine idea the obvious means of administrative
efficiency. And I argued that thesis in a long letter fifteen or
twenty years ago when your Trustees did me the honor of soliciting my
opinion regarding the creation of the presidential office in this University.
Undoubtedly the course of university development in the United States
had made such an office a necessity. But even that reform would have been
purchased too dearly, if it had involved the abandonment of Jefferson's
conception in respect of the supremacy rightfully belonging to the Faculty.

Nothing whatever can change the fact that in relation to the teachers and
investigators, not only all material appliances, but also all governing and
administrative officials—even the highest—exist solely that they may do
their work in quiet and freedom and utter devotion with the minimum of
distraction and the maximum of efficiency.

Happily the University of Virginia found the right man for the new
office. We join you in rejoicing over the success of President Alderman's
administration! Long may he continue to go in and out among you as your
intellectual leader and the worthy exponent of your spirit.

But though methods of administration vary, Jefferson's conception of
the place and function of the Faculty is so true and precious that the University
can never afford to part with it. It is through the eminence of its
professors that the University of Virginia has attained the great influence
and the high standing which it to-day enjoys. May their tribe continue and
increase! So shall the noble University which they serve and of which all
America is proud fulfill the universal heart's desire: Semper Floreat!

RESPONSE OF REVEREND ANSON PHELPS STOKES, D.D., OF YALE UNIVERSITY

I hardly recognize myself in the highly colored picture which the Toastmaster
has so generously painted of my character and work. His estimate
was evidently not shared by the officers of a publication in Chicago with
some such title as "Distinguished Young Americans" who recently wrote
me enclosing a sketch of my life from Who's Who and added, "you are not
quite up to our standard, but if you will forward $10 we will include sketch
of your life!" However, a local undertaker in my home town thinks better
of me, for he recently asked me to join the Coöperative Burial Association.
I told him that I did not feel so inclined, but would like to know the conditions.
He replied that if I would pay $10 down and $5 a year they would
guarantee to give me and every member of my family a $100 funeral. He
added: "I know, Mr. Stokes, that this is not a financial necessity for you,
but the fact of the matter is that if we can bury you and a few other people
of local prominence we will gain much prestige!"

Your Chairman, in writing to me and the other speakers, courteously
suggested a ten minute limit. I had not supposed before that the South
cared anything about time. But you are even stricter in your requirements
than we in the College Chapel at Yale, where President Hadley is reported
to have answered a preacher's inquiries by saying, "We have no time limit
at Yale, but few souls are saved after twenty minutes!" What, only ten
minutes to pay my respects to Thomas Jefferson, to President Alderman, to

Charlottesville, the State of Virginia, the South and this great University,
and in addition to say something about University ideals! It seems like a
sheer impossibility, but I will do my best.

First, as to Thomas Jefferson. No man can speak here without paying
his tribute to the sage of Monticello. Although a Northerner and a New
England man, I was brought up by my father to have great respect for the
political teachings of Thomas Jefferson, and I do not regret this. I am
proud that my University was among the first in this country to honor him
by giving him in 1786 the degree of LL.D. I remember that when Jefferson
visited New Haven two years previously and was introduced by Roger
Sherman to Ezra Stiles, the latter, then President of Yale University, put
in his diary: "The Governor is a most ingenious Naturalist and Philosopher
—a truly scientific and learned man—in every way excellent"—an admirable
tribute to which most of us are glad to give assent. I know of no place in
America which is so dominated by the personality of one man as this place
has been by that of Thomas Jefferson. One has to go to Europe for its counterpart.
At Eisenach you breathe the spirit of Martin Luther. At Assisi
you feel the very presence of St. Francis. So is it here with the "father of
the University." The beautiful pageant yesterday evening showed "the
shadow of the founder." May it never grow less, but may it stand for all
time as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night to hold this institution,
this Commonwealth and this Nation up to the high educational
and political ideals for which he stood.

And now as to President Alderman. I often wondered why the University
of Virginia went for eighty years without a President. I realize now
that it was largely because it took this length of time before the spirit of
Jefferson was reincarnated in someone who could carry out his educational
ideals here. As a political philosopher, as an eloquent speaker, as a man of
broad culture and of high conceptions of a University, President Alderman
may in many ways be considered the living representative of the founder, the
one on whom the mantle of Elijah has fallen. We have had at my University
during the past twenty years many of the most distinguished
speakers from America and abroad. Theodore Roosevelt gave his first
public address as President of the United States at Yale's Bicentennial.
Woodrow Wilson delivered at Yale his great address on Scholarship, before
the Phi Beta Kappa. Many other orators have made a profound impression
upon Yale audiences, but no one has made a speech which created a more
profound impression than that delivered by President Alderman at a Yale
commencement a decade ago when we gave him our highest honor, the
Doctor of Laws degree. As a colleague of your President's for many years
on the General Education Board I have gained a deep respect and affection
for him. I know of no one in this country who interprets all that is best in

the South to the North, and all that is best in the North to the South, with
more unfailing insight and a better spirit than he, and it would be hard to
render a larger public service than this to the nation.

And now as to the University. There are many reasons why the University
of Virginia should make a profound appeal to all thoughtful Americans.
I have time to mention but four.

It stands for beauty. There is no academic group in America of more
simple charm and dignity than that which Jefferson designed about the
Lawn here. Virginia is the only American university that has passed through
the Victorian period without being saddled with some architectural monstrosity.
I hear some of you complain of your Geology Museum, but it
would pass among the best buildings at some of our educational institutions!
I can only hope that you will continue your policy of developing a consistent
architectural plan in one style. If a donor should come along and offer you
a million dollars for some much-needed building with the understanding
that he could choose his architect without reference to the University's
plan, I hope that the Board of Visitors may have the courage to decline the
offer. You have escaped all "early North German Lloyd" and "late
Hamburg-American" here, and you must maintain your precious
heritage!

It stands for breadth. Here was developed under Jefferson's guidance
the first real university ideal in America, for Jefferson's system included
medicine, and law, and the fine arts, and statesmanship, and engineering,
and mental and natural philosophy, and almost all the other departments
which universities have developed in the past half century. He had a broad
plan, and he showed his breadth by instituting here at an early day what was
virtually the elective system in the different schools of study. This breadth
has been well maintained, and it is seen to-day not only in the curriculum,
but in the fact that students come here not only from the Commonwealth
of Virginia, but from all the States of the South, from many States of the
North, and from foreign countries.

It stands for idealism. The incident of the carved marble column
about which so much was made last evening has its profound significance.
Jefferson and his successors have had high ideals. The starting here of the
honor system, which has meant so much to American universities, was a
good example of this. So is your Chapel, a building, I regret to say, not
always found in state universities; so is the record of your great scholars
Gildersleeve, Sylvester, Moore and many others.

It stands for public service. Founded by one President of the United
States, guided by two others, it has nurtured a fourth, and has trained at
least as large a proportion of men for the highest public service of the nation
as any American university.

And now as to the future. A university like the University of Virginia
has many functions. In its College it will train men as leaders in citizenship;
in its professional departments it will continue to give men the highest preparation
as lawyers, doctors, engineers, teachers; in its Graduate School it
will extend the boundaries of the world's knowledge, and, perhaps most
important of all, as a University it will hand down through all its schools
and departments the culture and traditions of the past. This last is a matter
of vital importance in our changing democracy. All is in flux. We have not
in this country many of the institutions such as an established church, or a
royal family, or great buildings like Westminster Abbey bearing memorials
of many centuries, which hand down and focus attention on national traditions.
For some of these lacks we are thankful. For others we express
regret; but the fact remains that there are few American institutions which
sum up so much history and are so well fitted to transmit the heritage of the
past to future generations as our historic universities. For these reasons I
say with you most heartily to-night "Diu floreat Alma Mater Virginiensis."

RESPONSE OF PRESIDENT HARRY WOODBURN CHASE, PH.D., OF THE UNIVERSITY
OF NORTH CAROLINA

The ties of friendship and affection which link the University of Virginia
with the institution that I am privileged to represent to-night are so
close, so intimate, that no formal words of congratulation on my part could
possibly convey the warmth and heartiness of the greetings which I bring
you from the University of North Carolina. Both of us are children of that
far-visioned Southern statesmanship which so soon saw that democracy
must make public provision for the training of its leaders; we have known
common sorrow and mutual joy; we have learned each other's temper at
work and at play; we claim, equally with you, him who at this hour presides
over your destinies—our own alumnus, teacher, and president, whose Alma
Mater greets him and rejoices with him at this birthday feast.

On an occasion such as this, one is torn inevitably between the mood
of the historian and the mood of the prophet. A milestone has been reached
in the history of a great public, a great national, institution. It marks the
completion of a century of distinguished achievement; a century spent in the
growing of men whose careers are a more lasting memorial than bronze to the
magnitude of the service of this University. But it is, I know, your temper,
as it is the temper of America, to conceive of anniversaries not merely as
memorials, but as points of departure. The mind kindles not only with the
memory of that rich and glorious past which is yours, but in no less measure
with the vision of the splendid promise which lies ahead.

Thus it seems to me of happy significance that we should celebrate with
you your centennial, with all its joy in work well done, at the moment when
you and your sister universities of the South are called to the performance of
a task, certainly of greater magnitude, perhaps of greater difficulty, than
any that lies behind. For it is very clear that the South is even now beginning
the writing of a great new chapter in her history, whose theme is to
be the final and full release of her splendid material and human resources.
There is no braver story in history than the story of the last half-century in
the South; the story of her struggle for reëstablishment and for liberation
from poverty and from ignorance, which was its sequel. I cannot think it
without significance that the men who had the courage and the vision to
make that fight have been men of the stock and the blood that made
America, children, almost without exception, of the colonists, the pioneer,
the builders of our country, they are making a new civilization where
their fathers made a new nation.

Such is the blood which flows in the veins of the youth of the Southland.
Who can fail to see what promise their liberation holds for the South and
for America!

This is the South's appointed hour. Out of the hearts and minds of her
sons then shall surely proceed—is even now proceeding—a new, a greater
and a higher order. Thus the task of the Southern university of our generation
must be, in the full sense of the word, constructive. Men must be
trained for full participation in the difficult and complex responsibilities of a
swiftly developing new civilization, fitted to live happy and productive lives
in an environment that shifts and alters even as we view it. And it is, I
think, no less the task of the universities of the South to guide, to focus, to
interpret to themselves and to the world this great forward, upward movement
of democracy, to do their utmost to see to it that it becomes, not
merely a great national expansion, but a steady enrichment of life in all its
higher reaches.

The task of the Southern State universities is then to-day in a very real
sense a pioneering task, as in the days of their foundation. Their journey is
again by unknown, untried ways.

To you, University of Virginia, born of the spirit of the pioneer, to you
who played so bravely your part in the making of your State and your
country, beloved by us all, hallowed by memories that cluster about you—
to you we bid Godspeed as your second century begins, in confident assurance
that your contribution to the future South will be as free, as splendid,
as enduring, as has been the service of the century you have passed. The
new South, the new day, is here. May you go forward, under skies that
brighten more and more, with steps that falter not, and a vision that never
shall grow dim.

RESPONSE BY THE HONORABLE THOMAS WATT GREGORY, FORMER ATTORNEY-GENERAL
OF THE UNITED STATES

The experience of the ages has demonstrated that liars are divided into
three ascending grades—the liar, the damn liar, and the old Alumnus. It
is astonishing how, on an occasion like this, the fossil representative of a
former generation of students magnifies and manufactures the Homeric
deeds of his youth. He likes to think that in the old days he was a distinct
menace to society, that the faculty quailed when he went on the rampage,
and that the police of Charlottesville took to the Ragged Mountains when
his voice was heard in the land. He may have been the mildest sheep in the
entire flock, but he will bow his back and purr like a cat on hearing his son
whisper that "Dad was a devil in his day." Few people believe these
stories of the old timer any more than the story-teller himself believes them.

I claim no monopoly of veracity, but it does no harm to tell the truth
occasionally, and besides it sometimes pays. I recall a citizen of my native
State of Mississippi who was elected to Congress and remained there twenty
years, largely because he openly proclaimed that he had been a private
soldier in the Confederate Army. The great body of privates, who were
masquerading as captains, and majors, and colonels, voted for this man
because they had a sneaking admiration for his honesty and were unwilling
to see his grade become extinct. He developed into a national character
known as "John Allen, the only surviving private soldier of the Confederacy."

With deep humiliation I confess that when I attended the University of
Virginia during seven months of the collegiate years of 1883-4 I was "a
grind." I trust that this candid confession will be remembered in my favor
at the judgment day, if not sooner. I did not belong to the German Club
or the Eli Bananas; I did not take calico even in homeopathic doses; I did
not have more than two pairs of pants at any time, and only one pair during
much of the time. For me it was a period of grinding labor, with few
friendships, interspersed with little of lighter vein. I was a part of the
wreckage of a stricken South. I was born just after the first battle of Manassas.
My father died in the Confederate Army. A widowed mother, with
painful toil, accumulated the small fund which enabled me to enjoy for a
few months the best instruction the South afforded. I came to sit at the
feet of John B. Minor and Stephen O. Southall, to breathe an atmosphere
sanctified by Monticello and the grave of its builder, to gather inspiration
from the best that was left of the old South by contact with its loftiest minds.
Almost forty years have passed and "the old grind" comes back, and will
tell you why he comes back.

Those were the most valuable seven months of my life, and looking
backward I can clearly see what made them so.

Loyalty is the finest word in any language; as long as you have it you
will be young in heart and worth associating with, and when you lose it
your years will be of little value to anyone, least of all to yourself. I have the
most profound sympathy for former students of this Institution who are
absent on this occasion without good excuse. They remind me of the unhappy
Scotchman who said he found no more pleasure in smoking, that
when he was smoking his own tobacco he was thinking of how much it cost
him, and when he was smoking the other fellow's tobacco he packed his pipe
so tight it wouldn't draw. In contemplating the indifference of those who
show no appreciation of past associations and the high ideals which bring
us here I recall the words of Stevenson when he heard of the death
of Matthew Arnold: "I am sorry for poor Arnold, he will not like God."

Like most of you, I have long since forgotten most of what I learned in
the classroom of "The Old Annex," though God knows John B. tried hard
enough to teach me the distinction between an executory devise and a
contingent remainder. I have never been an enthusiastic admirer of the
mere scholar, and recall with malignant pleasure that John Randolph of
Roanoke once said of a very erudite opponent that "the gentleman reminded
him of the soil of Virginia,—poor by nature and worn out by cultivation."

What then is the tie that binds? What is the mark set upon the brow
of the student of that long past day? What did he take away from here
which he has not forgotten? It was the teachings of Thomas Jefferson, and
the personal example of the men who constituted the Faculty of the University
during the years immediately following the Civil War.

In those days the spirit and influence of Jefferson brooded over this
Institution like the wings of a mother bird. If asked to state his doctrine in
few words I would say it was the principle of individual liberty and a corresponding
individual responsibility. He was not so much interested in
protecting the rights of the States against the powers of the National Government,
as he was in protecting the rights of the individual against the
encroachments of all authority. Out of this fundamental belief of Jefferson
grew, among other things, your original faculty organization, your honor
system which has spread over all the land, the right of the student to select
his courses, the freedom of the student from restraint outside of the classroom,
and the trial by an organized student body of all infractions of a high
code of personal integrity. Well might he dictate for an inscription upon his
marble sentinel—not that he was Minister to France, not that he was
Secretary of State, not that he was Governor of Virginia, not that he was
Vice-President of the United States, not that he was President of the United

States—but that he was the "Father of the University of Virginia." And as
long as the old Arcades, planned by the Master's hand, shall stand, as long
as her sons shall bear her honored name to every section of this Republic,
so long shall the University of Virginia be counted no unworthy monument
to her mighty founder.

To the memory of the Faculty of that day I bow in humble reverence.
They were a Spartan band, but old age had crept upon them. They had
toiled for a third of a century in making the University of Virginia the
Mecca of learning for all the South, and had established here a standard of
scholarship probably unequaled on this continent. They had lived through
war and defeat. Finally the tempest of reconstruction had swept over them,
carrying away for the moment every landmark of social status and political
faith, and leaving these men standing, with folded arms and undaunted
courage, amid the flotsam and jetsam of creeds which were knit into every
fiber of their beings and ancestral traditions which had become a part of their
daily lives. Their attitude carried no craven apology for the past and no
unseemly defiance of the future.

Speaking of the typical Southern leader of that day, Daniel H. Chamberlain,
the reconstruction ruler of South Carolina, said:

"I consider him a distinct and really noble growth of our American soil.
For, if fortitude under good and under evil fortune, if endurance without
complaint of what comes in the tide of human affairs, if a grim clinging to
ideals once charming, if vigor and resiliency of character and spirit under
defeat and poverty and distress, if a steady love of learning and letters when
libraries were lost in flames and the wreckage of war, if self-restraint when
the long-delayed relief at last came; if, I say, all these qualities are parts of
real heroism, if these qualities can vivify and ennoble a man or a people,
then our own South may lay claim to an honored place among the differing
types of our great common race."

Such was the matured judgment of the Massachusetts Governor of
South Carolina during the reconstruction period in regard to men of this
type, and there is nothing I would wish to add to it except this—that when
we of the South forget the precept and example of these men, when we forget
that from them there has come down to us a heritage of loyalty, of manhood
and of courage such as the world has seldom known, when we forget these
things then God, in His infinite justice, should forget us.

The "old grind" has not forgotten. He is here to-night to renew his
allegiance to these men and what they stood for, and to reconsecrate himself
to the faith that was theirs.