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LORD AMHERST.
^N AMHERST BOOK.
TK COLLECTION Or STORIES, POEHS,
SONGS, SKETCHES TWD HISTORICAL
ARTICLES BY ALUHNI 7WD UNDER-
GRADUATES or AH H ERST COLLEGE.
EDITED BY
HERBERT E. RILEY,
CLASS OF '96.
ILLUSTRATED.
NEW YORK:
THE REPUBLIC PRESS,
MDCCCXCVI.
(^
Copj-right, tSgf), by
Herbert E. Rii.ky.
UCSB LIBRARY.
TO
TXriHCRST
—OLD ?XND NEW—
THIS WORK or HER LOYT^L SONS
IS
T^rPECTIONTTTELY DEDIC?n"ED
And eastward still, upon the last green step
From which the Angel of the Morning Light
Leaps to the meadow-lands, fair Amherst sat.
Capped by her many-windowed colleges.
f. G. HOLLAND.
IMTRODUCTIOM.
As long as Thomas Hughes lived, Rugby and
Oxford could count on the presence and appre-
ciative sympathy of an " old boy " at all those
games and great occasions so dear to the under-
graduate heart. He was a link between their
youthful world and the larger sphere that was
before them; for while his distinction and great-
ness among men lived in common report, the
sight of his familiar grey head and the glance at
his still flashing eye were visible proof that he
had never outgrown the associations of his first
and freshest interest.
It is in the confidence that Rugby and Oxford
are not exceptional in this regard, that the ed-
itor of the present volume has undertaken to
give to the alumni and undergraduate public
these unpretending memorials of Amherst. There
must be a goodly number in that broad world of
profession and business to whom the scenes and
associations, the pursuits and pleasures, of their
mind's early home are not mere outworn boyish-
ness or " matter for a flying smile," but a seed-
plot of pleasant memories, a genial conservator
of youth and strength even in oncoming age.
vi INTKODUC TION.
And the volume contains the earnest of this in a
proof more tangible than a mere trust. Alumni
and undergraduates have generously placed at
his disposal graceful sketches, poems, and music,
with which he has been enabled to enrich his
book by names not only cherished by the college,
but already well known in the world's affairs.
None of the writers here represented would
want these sketches to be regarded as specimens
of what they can do. They are simply the
means taken for members of the great Amherst
family, part still residing in these venerable walls,
part growing young in the memory and influ-
ence of Alma Mater, to chat together on some
of the things that form a common stock of inter-
est, to bring up the place in picture, to raise now
and then a song. If " An Amherst Book " may
prove in some degree a means of fostering unity
and cordiality of spirit between the older and the
younger sons of Amherst its object will be ful-
filled.
John F. Genung.
EDITOR'S PRErACE.
The kind introduction given this little volume
by one who, though not an alumnus, is emi-
nently worthy of adoption by our Alma Mater,
leaves to the editor but a brief prefatory word.
To all the loyal sons and friends of Amherst who
have contributed to or assisted in the preparation
of the book the editor extends his sincere thanks ;
especially to Professor John F. Genung and Pro-
fessor H. Humphrey Neill, whose literary taste
and critical judgment have been an invaluable
aid; and to Mr. William S. Rossiter, '84, for his
kindly interest and advice in the typographical
preparation. Prof. Tyler's History of the Col-
lege and President Hitchcock's " Reminiscences "
are gratefully acknowledged as sources of infor-
mation and illustration in the compilation of the
historical articles. While not intended for the pur-
pose, " An Amherst Book " may fitly serve as a
souvenir of Amherst's seventy-fifth birthday an-
niversary, which will be quietly celebrated dur-
ing Commencement week. The volume is sub-
mitted to Amherst men with the hope that they
will find in the perusal of its pages as much pleas-
ure as its preparation has afiforded the editor.
Herbert E. Riley.
Amherst, Mass.,
May, 1896.
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page.
Lord Amherst, Frontispiece.
The Common, 6
Pelham Hills, 13
College Hill in 1821, 20
P ( President's House, Library, College Hall, ) .
uroup ^ cjjapei and Dormitories f ^
College Hill in 1S24, . . . . . . .30
Bust of Noah Webster, 38
Chapel Row in 1828, . , 44
Freshman River, 51
The College Well, 56
The College Grove. 70
Chapel Row in 1856 8r
T7^„f^^„;f„ (-^^„^ ^ Alpha Delta Phi, Psi Upsilon, ) 0,
Fraternity Group j ^^^^^ ^^^^^ Y.i^s\on, . .\ ^^
Old Uncle, 92
Barrett Gymnasium and East College, . . . q6
Amherst College in i860, 98
Professor Charlie, 103
^ j Walker Hall, College Church, Pratt )
'^^^"P I Gymnasium, Williston Hall, ]' ' "°
Sabrina, 118
College Hill in 1875, 126
Julius Hawley Seelye, 130
Peanut John, 135
Pratt Field, 140
T7^„4.^^„;<. r"^^,,^ S Delta Upsilon, Chi Psi, )
Fraternity Group j chi Phi, Beta ThetaPii [ • "^45
To Hamp, 152
Fraternity ( Theta Delta Chi, Phi Delta Theta, )
Group, . I Phi Gamma Delta, Phi Kappa Psi, ) • ^=9
f> J Hitchcock Hall, The Octagon, | f,
Lrroup -j Laboratories, Appleton Cabinet, ( " • ^^
College Hill To-day, 170
The Avenue of Maples 177
OldBridge At "The Orient," 184
COMTCMT5.
Page.
Hail, Alma Mater, John F. Genung, . . . i
Amherst : Town and College, Hebert B. Adams, '72, 2
On Pelham Hills, Le Roy Phillips, '92, . . .12
The First Milestone, Dwight W. Morrow, '95, . 14
The True Alumnus, William L. Corbin, '96, . . 19
Amherst College in 1821, Edward Clark Hood, '97, 21
A Quatrain, Clyde Fitch, '86, 25
A Discovery, Le Roy Phillips, '92, . . .27
Amherst in 1824, Edward Clark Hood, '97, . . 29
Old Amherst, Frank D. Blodgett, '93, . . .32
Deceitful Appearances, John C. Duryea Kitchen, '91, 33
To a Rose, Seymour Ransom, '92, . . . .36
Noah Webster at Amherst, H. Humphrey Neill, '66 37
Unlocked, Clyde Fitch, '86 43
The College Buildings in 1S28,
Edward Clark Hood, '97, 45
Senate Politics, Alfred Roelker, Jr., '95, . . 49
The College Well, Herbert A. Jump, '96, . . 57
Amherst Fifty Years Ago, William J. Rolfe, '49, . 60
In Memoriam, Henry Wickes Goodrich, '80, . . 65
An Amherst Legend, Frederick H. Law, '95, . . 66
Fair Amherst, Frederick W. Raymond, '99, . . 69
Amherst Commencements Fifty Years Ago,
Edward Hitchcock, '49, 71
On Reading Kennan's Siberian Papers,
Allen E. Cross, '86, 75
Memory Song to Amherst, John F. Genung, . 76
The Glee, L. C. Stone, '96 78
Amherst Forty Years Ago, E. G. Cobb, '57, . . 79
Frazar Augustus Stearns, Seymour Ransom, '92, . 84
Initiated, Frederick H. Law, '95, . . .85
X CONTENTS.
Old Uncle, Herman Babson, '93 93
Poirot, Robert Porter St. John, '93, . . .95
Inscription on the South Wall of Barrett Gymna-
sium, ......... 97
The College in i860. Edward Clark Hood, '97, . 99
Professor Charlie, Roberts Walker, '96, . . . 102
Dreams, W. S. Rossiter, '84, . . . . 106
An Unfinished Story, Charles Amos Andrews, '95. 107
Amherst Serenade, Tod B. Galloway, '85, . .114
Sabrina, Charles J. Staples, '96
and John F. Genung, 117
The Monument of Right, William L. Corbin, '96, . 125
Amherst in 1875, Edward Clark Hood, . . . 127
Julius Hawley Seelye, Talcott Williams, '73, . 131
Peanut John, Archibald L. Bouton, '96, . . 134
Her Light Guitar, L C. Stone, '96, .... 138
The Measure of a Man .
Worthington C. Holman, '96, 139
Within Her Kiss, Robert P. St. John, '93, . .151
Across the River, Frank Edgerton Harkness. . 153
My Lady, George Breed Zug, '93, . . . .157
Jean Benoit, Herman Babson, '93, .... 158
The Amherst of To-day, Edward Clark Hood, '97, 171
In Cap and Gown, George Breed Zug. '93, . . 175
Song of the Sea Flight,
Worthington C. Holman, '96, 176
Misunderstood, Ernest Merrill Bartlett, '94, . 178
Amherst Good-Bye Song, John F. Genung, . . 188
AN AMHERST BOOK.
HAIL, ALMA MATER.
Hail, Alma Mater, old Amherst the true,
Queen on thy living throne;
Thine be the homage to wise empire due,
Thine be our hearts alone,
Great in the past
Standest thou fast,
Thou art worthy; reign, be strong unto the last-
Hail!
Hail, Alma Mater, old Amherst the true,
Thine be our hearts alone.
John F. Genung.
AMHEP5T: TOWN AND COLLEGE.
What's in a name? Oftentimes a good bit of
history. The name Amherst, appHed to Town
and College, was originally given in 1759 in hon-
or of General Amherst, the hero of Louisbourg.
He was the commanding officer at that famous
siege in 1758, when the French stronghold on
Cape Breton Island was captured by the British
forces. The student voyager to those northern
seas may still find in a land-locked harbor the
ruins of the ancient citadel. They were once a
mile and a half in extent, and enclosed an area
of 120 acres. Louisbourg was considered impreg-
nable. It was the French Gibraltar. After a
two months' siege, conducted by Generals Am-
herst and Wolfe, with an army of 11,000 men,
supported by a great fleet, the fortress was taken
July 26, 1758. It was a glorious victory. The
whole northern coast was now dominated by the
British. Throughout the colonies, men thanked
God and took courage. England went wild with
joy. The flags captured at Louisbourg were
carried in triumph through the streets of London,
and were placed as trophies in the cathedral of
St. Paul. In recognition of his distinguished serv-
ices. General Amherst was made commander-in-
AMHERST: TOWN AND COLLEGE. 3
chief of the king's forces in America, and his
name was honored throughout the English-
speaking world. In 1759 he took Ticonderoga
and Crown Point. The following year he capt-
ured Montreal and the French army. Thus
ended the French and Indian war. Amherst
had won all Canada for Great Britain
From the beginning of recorded history towns
have been named after illustrious men. Amherst
and Amherst College are living monuments to
the hero of Louisbourg, — the final conqueror of
Canada. When the inhabitants of East Hadley
applied to the provincial legislature of Massa-
chusetts for incorporation as a district, it was
suggested by Thomas Pownal, the Royal Gov-
ernor at Boston, that the noble name of Amherst
be given to the new and enterprising commu-
nity. In the Acts and Resolves of the Province
of Massachusetts Bay, (Vol. IV., 173,) under
the date of February 13, 1759, will be found the
Act of Incorporation:
" Whereas, the inhabitants of the second pre-
cinct in the town of Hadley, in the County of
Hampshire, have petitioned this court, setting
forth sundry difficulties they labour under by
means of their not being a district, and praying
they may be so erected; be it therefore enacted
by the Governor, Council, and House of Rep-
resentatives: Sect. I. That the said second
precinct in Hadley, according to its present
known bounds, be and hereby is erected into a
4 AN' A MHERS T BOOK.
separate and distinct district by the name of Am-
herst; and that the inhabitants thereof do the
duties that are required, and enjoy all privileges
that towns do, or by law ought to, enjoy in this
province, that of sending a representative to the
general assembly only excepted."
This is a fundamental act in the constitution
and naming of the town of Amherst; but there
is something even more fundamental in the or-
igin of the name and in the planting of the town.
The name itself is old English. It was first ap-
plied to a landed estate in the parish of Pembury,
in the County of Kent. Early forms of the name
were Hemhurste and Hemmehurst, compound
word.s, formed by prefixing the Saxon Hem,
meaning a border, to the Saxon Hurst, meaning
a wood. Amherst, therefore, probably signifies
the border of a forest, or Edgewood. It may
possibly be derived from Hamhurst or Home-
wood. The Amherst family derived its name
from the situation of its land. Gilbertus de
Hemmehurst is on record as early as 1215. The
family occupied its Amherst estate for over five
centuries, but now lives at a country seat called
" Montreal House," near Seven Oaks, Kent.
The present owner is Earl Amherst, w^ho signs
his name simply " Amherst." His father and
grandfather before him w^ere earls, but the man
in honor of whom the town of Amherst, Massa-
chusetts, was named in 1759 was, at that time.
Major General Jeflfery Amherst.
AMHERST: TOWN AND COLLEGE. 5
The beginnings of Amherst, Massachusetts,
may be traced back to the first years of the eight-
eenth century. The student of Amherst local
history who wishes to see the earhest monuments
of this town should notice three historical land-
marks :
East and West Streets, those long parallel
highways which, in 1703, first divided the terri-
tory called East Hadley into three long divisions,
extending north and south, and connected by
Main street, running east and west. This road
system is the most fundamental fact in the his-
tory of Amherst. It marked off the division in
which future settlers were to have their allot-
ments of land. It laid the basis for those beau-
tiful commons which mark the direction of East
and West Streets, but which are by no means as
broad to-day as when originally laid out, forty
rods wide, in imitation of the West Street of
Hadley. In the year 1754 the West Street of
East Hadley was reduced to twenty rods in
width, and the East Street to twelve rods.
Next to these highways, the oldest historical
landmark is the burying-ground on the east side
of what is now called Pleasant Street. The
town of Hadley voted January 5, 1730, to set
apart an acre of ground for a cemetery for the
"East Inhabitants," who then numbered eight-
een families. Among them were such familiar
names as Dickinson, Chauneey, Ingram, Kel-
logg, Cowles, Hawley, Boltwood, Smith, and
AMHERST: TOWN AND COLLEGE. 7
Nash. Probably some of the oldest stone mon-
uments of the little farming community are still
above ground in that God's acre, where " the
rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." Some of
the inscriptions on tliose weather-beaten stones,
just beyond the entrance from Pleasant Street,
can no longer be deciphered. Any son of Am-
herst who wishes to know something of its
founders and pioneers should wander through
this ancient graveyard where the continuity of
old family names may be easily followed from
generation to generation.
College Hill is the most conspicuous and his-
torically interesting landmark in the whole town
of Amherst. The place where the College Ob-
servatory now stands was once the Moot Hill,
or meeting place of the original parish, which
became in 1759 the District, and afterwards, in
1775, the Town of Amherst. It was on this hill
that the first parish church was erected, in com-
pliance with the requirements of Hadley and the
General Court of Massachusetts. The East In-
habitants were allowed by provincial law, in
1734, to become the "Third Precinct" of Had-
ley on the condition of settling a " learned ortho-
dox minister " and erecting a meeting-house.
The local records of Amherst begin in 1735.
The first vote after the election of precinct of-
ficers was " to hire a Minester " and " to Build
a Meating House," forty-five by thirty feet in
dimensions. That little meeting-house, " set up-
8 AN AMHERST BOOK.
on the Hill," was really a Temple of Victory for
local and independent government by the East
Inhabitants of Hadley. The building served for
civic as well as religious purposes. The chief
business of the precinct for many years centred
on that Moot Hill, where such questions were
settled as election of town officers, the amount
of salary and firewood for the minister, the seat-
ing of families in the meeting-house " by Estates
Age & Qualifications," appropriations " for
scooling," for highways and bridges, for building
a pound, for hiring persons " to blow ye Kunk
& sweep ye Meeting House." That conch-shell
is still kept by Dr. Hitchcock on College Hill,
where the sound of horns or bells has called to-
gether the men of Amherst for many genera-
tions.
The founding of Amherst College is insepar-
ably connected with that old meeting place
where two parish churches were successively
built. It was the religious spirit fostered there
which gave rise to Amherst Academy and to
those generous subscriptions of money, labor,
and materials which made the building of South
College possible. Colonel Elijah Dickinson, i
townsman, gave the original six acres of land
for the site of Amherst Collegiate Institute. For
many years the " meeting-house " on the Hill
was the place where morning and evening pray-
ers, Sunday services, and public exercises were
attended by college students. Among the ar-
AMHERST: TOWN AND COLLEGE. 9
gnments of the trustees of Amherst Academy
for the estabUshment of a central college in Am-
herst were the following:
(i) " The hill in the centre of the west road
in Amherst on which the Church stands " is with-
in about two miles of the geographical centre
of the counties of Berkshire, Hampshire, Hamp-
den, Franklin, and Worcester.
(2) The hill is equally central between the
limits of the commonwealth on the north and
south.
(3) It is almost equally distant from the Uni-
versity of Cambridge, the College in Providence,
and the College in New Haven. In each case
the distance is about eighty-five miles.
(4) As a College site the hill is further recom-
mended for its elevation, salubrity, and beauty.
It comprehends " thirty towns in three counties
within a single view, from twenty-seven of which
it is said that the church in the first parish in
Amherst may be seen."
The founders of Town and College had vision,
without which the people perish. College Hill,
the natural acropolis of Amherst, has been a de-
termining constitutional factor in the history of
this academic village. That Moot-Hill, where
the Observatory still stands, was the original seat
of town and parish life. The village grew
along the hillsides. The meeting-house was for
the Puritan townsmen of East Hadley, or Am-
herst, what hill forts, citadels, castles, temples.
lo A A' AMIfERST BOOK.
or churches were for the city builders of the
ancient and mediaeval world. Sightliness,
health, and beauty of situation characterized the
towns of ancient Palestine, Greece, and Italy.
" A city set on a hill cannot be hid." The little
parish church of East Hadley, 45x30 feet square,
was the institutional cornerstone of Amherst
schools, Amherst Academy, and Amherst Col-
lege.
Although new parishes rose to the east, to
the north, and to the south of College Hill, and
one by one seceded from the mother church; al-
though for a time town meetings were held in the
old meeting-house on East Street Common ; and
although the first postofifice was m that section
of the town, nevertheless the College finally re-
stored the lost balance of power to the village
and determined the future development and
prosperity of Amherst. It is still a hill town,
overlooking beautiful valleys on every side, but
it is not as other hill towns in this part of Mas-
sachusetts. Amherst is, and always will be, a
college town. Its towers will be seen from
afar by ambitious youth in adjoining counties.
Like the acropolis of Athens, Amherst is
crowned by a Parthenon.
Old Amherst still resembles the original Sax-
on Hcmhurst or Edgewood. The forest still
fringes the northern and eastern borders, like a
primitive Germanic Mark. And yet, by the en-
terprise of townsmen, the village communitv of
AMHERST: TOWN AND COLLEGE. ii
Amherst is well connected with the outside
world. It was an opening day for Amherst
when, in 1767, the enterprising Simeon Nash be-
gan to drive his freight wagon to Boston and
back, once a week, by the old Bay Path. It was
a greater triumph of enterprise when the treas-
urer of Amherst College, Squire Dickinson, by
his indomitable will power, dragged up toward
College Hill and his own residence the Amherst
and Belchertown Railway, built by the aid of
Amherst capital. But the greatest of all open-
ings from our hill-top to the sea was made in
1888 by the Central Massachusetts Railroad.
The near view from College Hill, across those
iron ways of modern travel, is more lovely than
ever; but the vision of Amherst men has widened
since that Collegiate Institute was founded. New
missions and new ministries are opening on
every side for her alumni. Her sons are in con-
gress and in many branches of the public service;
in church, state, and university; on the press^
the stage, and platform; in various arts and kinds
of business. All fields of honest labor, from
those of the Puritan farmers, who founded the
College on this upland pasture, to those of the
ministerial reformer, the busy editor, the lawyer,
the doctor, the teacher, and the social worker in
our great cities, are seen to be equally honorable
and divine. Every man's true work in this
world is inspired like that of the plowman men-
tioned in Isaiah (28:24-29): " For his God doth
12 AN AMHERST BL OK.
instruct him aright, and doth teach him. . . This
also Cometh forth from the Lord of hosts, which
is wonderful in counsel, and excellent in wis-
dom." For the opened eyes and for the larger
vision let Young Amherst be grateful to Old
Amherst. Everywhere her children rise up and
call her blessed Alma Mater.
" Give her of the fruit of her hands;
And let her works praise her in the gates."
Herbert B. Adams, '72.
ON PELHAM HILL5.
On Pelham Hills some tinted ray
Now rests awhile, then fades away
In shifting blue or purple glow.
Whose changing shadows seem to show
The brilliant splendor of the day.
Not always decked in glad array,
Ofttimes a garb of sombre gray
Is Nature's pleasure to bestow
On Pelham Hills.
Kind, sympathizing friends are they.
Who feel our changing moods — now gav,
Or now in sadness bathed; and so
When joys and sorrows come or go.
We read sweet Nature's sympathy
On Pelham Hills.
Le Roy Phillips, '92.
_; o
-J H
; THE riRST MILESTONE.
He was only fifteen when the young lawyer
began calling on his sister. She had just passed
nineteen, but the four years difference in their
ages had never seemed so great as it did now.
He could remember, clear back to the time when
he was four, how he had looked up to that sister
and considered her judgment infallible, and every
year since then had but emphasized those early
impressions. She was the eldest of the family,
and every little gprievance had been carried to her.
She had been the uncrowned queen of the house-
hold since that day when she had started bravely
forth to the public school, and had come back
with wonderful stories of that strange world,
which still seemed at such a distance from the
rest of them. And her sway had not been less
potent because she had always carefully con-
cealed her sceptre and had made no show of the
unlimited power which the one small hand con-
tained. When, in a fit of passion, he had
clenched his fist and struck his little sister, the
deep feeling of shame that had come over him
when that older sister turned scornfully from
him and called him a coward, still brought the
hot blushes to his temples. And when he and
his brother had quarrelled, and his brother came
in from the street with his head all bleeding from
THE FIRST MILESTONE. 15
the stone which his murderous hand had thrown,
he had envied that brother — yes, envied him,
even with the ugly gash across his white fore-
head, when she was kissing away the tears and
sorrowfully binding up the wound.
When he had grown older it was his sister
who had stirred his ambition and excited his
dreams. He had studied for her sake, that she
might be proud of him. He remembered how,
during a certain stage in his career, he had given
up his desire to be a fireman or a street-car con-
ductor, when she told him of higher things and
pointed out nobler deeds. From her lips he
could believe that there were occupations even
more honorable than standing on top of a burn-
ing building directing a great stream of water,
while thousands of envious boys crowded the
street below and cheered his bright uniform.
Thus, little by little, she had shaped his char-
acter.
When she had gone away to school he had
broken the one inflexible rule of his young life
and had written letters to her. He remembered
how he copied the first one several times, until
the great improvement he had made in writing
during the few days she had been away could
not fail to impress her. When the weekly notes
came from her he had read them with delight,
and had tried to analyze their charm. They didn't
seem to be in just the proper form. They were
different from the ones in the Standard Letter
ifi AN AMHERST BOOK.
Writer, which he had studied so carefully and
tried to copy. His sister always seemed to talk
on paper rather than write a real letter. Then he
remembered how, when it came time for vacation,
he had always gone to the station to meet her.
He recalled especially that vacation when he had
stood by her side and found that his eyes came
higher than hers, and she had looked up into
them and dubbed him her young knight.
But somehow all these things seemed a little
different after the young lawyer began to call.
And he liked the young lawyer, too. He was the
first real live college man who had ever come
distinctly within his narrow horizon, and in those
days, when he was dreaming of college life, he
v.as eager to welcome and admire anyone who
had come fresh from that foreign country. He
used to watch the young lawyer carefully, and he
tried to imitate him. He tried to get into the
habit of biting his lips thoughtfully when a hard
question was asked him, and he tried to look
grave and knit his brow and choose his words
carefully when he wanted to impress his play-
mates. Then the young lawyer had a way of
carrying things with a rush that pleased the boy.
He liked eager, impulsive, fearless men, and the
young lawyer had such pronounced views, and
expressed them so boldly, that from the first the
boy was his staunch adherent. But much as he
liked and admired the newcomer, he always
looked upon him as a sort of interloper.
THE FIRST MILESTONE. 17
Finally, one winter evening, when the boy —
all flushed with violent exercise — had rushed
noisily into the house, he read, or thought he
read, on his sister's face a different story than
he had ever seen there before. She came for-
ward to meet him with a joyous light in her
eyes, her face all covered with pretty laughing
blushes. Then she timidly held out to him the
back of her left hand, half conceaHng it with the
other, as though hesitating to disclose her se-
cret; but the boy's quick eye caught the sparkle
of the diamond. He never forgot that picture.
Even he was old enough to see that his sister
had changed from girlhood into womanhood,
and the solemn thought suddenly came to him
that if his sister was a woman, he was a man.
The thought had never come to him with such
force before. Manhood had always seemed a
great, vague, indefinite field, which would not
be reached for years. He had never dreaded its
coming. He had always looked forward to
meeting the world on equal terms and manfully
offering it battle. Now, for the first time, he
had caught sight of the foe. Childhood was
passed. His sister had become a woman, and
that single step of hers had carried him forward
into a new region.
Now this boy was not what is usually known
as a home boy. He was not extraordinarily
imaginative. On the contrary, his friends had
always called him practical and prosaic. So he
i8 AN AMHERST BOOK.
didn't do anything that might seem fooUsh on
this occasion. He laughingly kissed the blush-
ing face of his sister and examined the diamond
ring with critical care. Then he exhausted his
small vocabulary in extravagant praise of the
young lawyer. But that night, before he went
to sleep, his head tossed uneasily on his pillow,
for the first seed of unrest had been planted in
his soul, and the first burning desire for mighty
deeds of emprise had seized upon his mind.
The boy grew into a young man. He went
away to college, and along with many other
changing views he learned that his sister was
no less an aid and an inspiration to him because
she was pointing out to another man the path
to success. He went out into the world. He
met the enemy for whom he had longed, and to
his great surprise, the lance, which had seemed
so well tempered, had broken into pieces against
the rounded shield of his foe. He dragged his
battered armor to his sister's feet, and the wealth
of affection which she was then bestowing upon
her children had only increased her loyalty to
her first subject. The hurrying years mended
his old wounds and brought new ones in their
place, but through them all he carried the re-
membrance of that first experience. He grew
to love another girl, the only girl who had ever
reminded him of his sister. He read in her
eyes that story, which came to him like a dream
of the past, and he was happy.
THE TRUE ALUMNUS. 19
He passed on into full manhood. He founded
a happy home, and in the soft glow of his fire-
side he forgot the wild dreams of fame that had
once been his. The day came when, even
through his glasses and tear-dimmed eyes, he
read the same story; this time on the face of his
daughter; and again it came to him like a vision
of the past. The story never grew old to the
man. Every time he read it he loved it; but at
no time did it make so deep an impression upon
his character as it did at that first milestone.
DWiGHT W. Morrow, '95.
THE TRUE ALUMNUS.
Loyal to his Alma Mater,
Prized in friendship's length'ning chain,
Let him to the reef of wisdom
Add at least one coraled grain.
William L. Corbin, '96,
AMHERST COLLEGE IN 1521.
A person acquainted with the Amherst of to-
day will see just one familiar feature in the
cut on the opposite page — the unmistakable
outlines of one of the College dormitories. All
the rest the finger of time, together with the
more impatient hand of man, has changed be-
yond recognition. The church on the crest of
the hill is the old First Congregational IMeeting-
house, which stood from 1788 until 1828 upon
the spot where the Observatory is now located.
The building on the left is old South College,
the first edifice of the Amherst 'Collegiate Insti-
tution.
Just here a few words in reference to the early
history of the college will be in place, for one
cannot understand the story of these first col-
lege buildings without knowing something of
the circumstances under which they were ac-
quired. Throughout the opening years of the
century there was a growing need of a college
in the central part of Massachusetts. Everybody
felt it, the churches most of all, and now and
then they said so in their assemblies. Accord-
ingly, when the trustees of Amherst Academy,
encouraged by the remarkable success of that
institution, determined in 1818 to start on the
22 AN AMHERST BOOK.
larger venture of a collegiate institution, they
had with them not only the goodwill, but the en-
thusiasm and active support of the counties of
Central ^Massachusetts. But this did not mean
unlimited wealth for the College, for the people
at that time were poor, and what they were able
to do in a benevolent way was claimed by the
home churches. It is interesting to know
that the council representing the churches of
this part of the state, which met in September,
1818, to hear the plans of the trustees, came
very near locating the College in Northampton.
But the eloquent arguments of two loyal citizens
of Amherst turned the vote, and Northampton
was left for another institution of learning.
After the plans for the startirg of the College
had been matured, the trustees were compelled
to wait nearly two years, until the question of
removing Williams College — at that time suffer-
ing greatly from its isolated situation-^to some
central part of the state could be settled. As
soon as the State Legislature decided that Wil-
liams College should femain in Williamstown,
the trustees of Amherst Academy took immedi-
ate steps towards the erection of a suitable build-
ing for the new collegiate institution. They
secured ten acres of land on the hill where the
]>arish meeting-house stood, and proceeded to
break the ground for a building thirty feet wide,
one hundred feet long, and four stories high.
The town of Amherst will never again work
AMHERST COLLEGE IN 1821. 23
itself lip to such a pitch of excitement as it
reached over the erection of this first college
building. The people gave all the money they
could spare, and then donated material, labor,
teams, and provisions for the workmen. The
cornerstone was laid August 9, 1820. Dr. Noah
Webster, then celebrated for his famous spelling-
book, and who was one of the most energetic of
the founders of Amherst College, delivered the
oration. Before September 18, 1821, the day set
for the inauguration of President Moore, and for
the dedication of the first building, the structure
was not only complete, but about half its rooms
were furnished, ready for occupation by the stu-
dents. The building was constructed on a sim-
ple plan, but an excellent one for its purpose.
A transverse partition through the middle divides
it into two " entries," between which there is no
communication, except through the loft. The
rooms were originally large and square, and each
was intended to be used as study and bedroom
for two students. Not until twenty-five years
later were bedrooms partitioned ofif from some of
the studies.
The lithograph gives a good idea, in the main,
of the appearance of the college grounds at that
time. It is correct in showing the old church on
higher ground than the dormitory ; the knoll was
graded some ten years later to its present level.
But the idea it gives should be modified in some
of the details. The hill upon which the two
24 AN AMHERST BOOK.
buildings stood was more of an eminence than
appears in the picture, and the five trees repre-
sented are more artistic than true to fact, for the
grounds were in their original rude state, and
destitute of anything like trees or shrubs. In the
rear of the college grounds the primeval forest
began and stretched away, unbroken, to the east-
ward over the Pelham hills. The main highway
ran along the brow of the hill, some distance in
front ot the buildings. About a hundred feet to
the northeast of the dormitory was dug the fa-
mous College well.
During the first year and a half of its exist-
ence the whole College lived and recited in the
one building, though morning and evening pray-
ers were held in the church ; and there, occupying
the seats in the gallery, the students worshipped
on Sunday with the townspeople.
If the rooms in the old dormitory could only
speak, what stories they would have to tell ! Take
number thirty, for example, known later by the
rhythmical name of " South College, South En-
try, Fourth Story, Front Corner," — or " Ultima
Thulc," for short. There the first Senior class
studied and slept and recited, but was not crowd-
ed, for at that time the Senior class consisted
of Messrs. Field and Snell. There the Psi Upsi-
lon fraternity used to hold its meetings, and
there was the centre of the famous squirt-gun
riot. The Sophomore class of '6i had laid out
in state " S. Gunn, ex-member of the class of
A QUATRAIN. 25
'60," in this room, preparatory to a formal burial
in token of cessation of hostilities with the Fresh-
men. It happened that S. Gunn had been stolen
from the Juniors, and they naturally objected to
the cool appropriation of their property. Ac-
cordingly, while the Sophomores were at dinner,
the Juniors marched up in a body and besieged
the room. Before many minutes the Sopho-
mores learned of the invasion and came running
up the stairs. Then followed a battle royal. The
Juniors demolished the garret stairs and used the
pieces to pound the Sophomores' heads. They
broke through the ceiling of the room, and
through the double doors, but a pistol in the
hands of the Soph who stood guard inside per-
suaded them not to enter. Just as the Sopho-
mores were getting the upper hand the President
appeared upon the field, and the settlement of the
matter was completed by arbitration. That after-
noon the Sophomores buried S. Gunn with elab-
orate ceremony.
Edward Clakk Hood, "97.
A QUATRAIN.
I'd rather lose and break my heart,
Than keep it whole forever,
And live my life from you apart.
And see, and know you, never.
Clyde Fitch, '86.
A DISCOVERY.
One morning, wiiile rummaging about amon^"
the stacks of old newspapers which abound on
the lower floor of tl e library building, I hap-
pened upon a copy of the Pelham Herald, h.-ir-
ing date Fel). 29, 1827. As this was the issue of
the day following the dedication of the old chapel
— then known as the Johnson Chapel — it con-
tained a detailed account of the dedicatory exer-
cises, together with a description of t!.c building.
The latter I copied. It j^m as follows:
" To the Amherst College student there is no
elevation so grand as the summit of College Hill,
and the erection of the Johnson Chapel upon this
spot marks the culminating point in the history
of the College. The building, with the excep-
tion of a square tower over the entrance, is an
exact reproduction of tlie Athenian Parthenon,
and those who have seen the two say that a sim-
ilar tov.er would have also added much to the
grandeur of the latter. 3,Iounting high above the
cluster of smaller buildings, it can be seen for
miles around, and charms the observer with its
fine architectural proportions. A tower above
an entrance certainly gives prominence and im-
pressiveness, and makes a fitting approach to a
great bv.ilding. The Parthenon was built in the
28 AN AMHERST BOOK.
best period of Greek architecture, and under the
inspiration of the greatest genius in art — Phidias.
It is fortunate that the students will have so fine
a model of his great work constantly before their
eyes, and it must needs give them great inspira-
tion in the study of Greek art. The observer of
the Johnson Chapel gains a conception of the
purity and exquisite grace of ancient art that
can be obtained nowhere else in America. The
broad steps, massive Doric pillars, surmounted
by proportionate capitals, the frieze, and the
severity of geometrical forms, take us back to
the age of Pericles, and College Hill becomes
the Athenian Acropolis. As simplicity and
grandeur, boldness and originality in design
made the Parthenon the pride of Athens, so the
Johnson Chapel will ever be a wonder, a pride,
and a glory to Amherst College."
As I was copying these last Hues the recita-
tion-bell rang in the tower which would have
been such an addition to the Parthenon; and 1
liastened to attend class beneath its " prominence
raid impressiveness."
Le Roy Phillips, '92.
/AMHERST IN 1524.
The infant College grew rapidly, as infants
will, and soon became altogether too large to be
contained in the single building. Accordingly,
in the fall of 1822, another dormitory was
erected, and was ready for use by the opening
of the winter term in 1823. It was uniform in
size and plan with the other, except that the
fourth floor of the south entry was reserved for
public uses, the space now occupied by the two
corner rooms and hall being left without par-
tition and used as chapel and lecture-room. The
two inner rooms were used, one for the College
Hbrary, and the other as a cabinet for chemical
apparatus.
It was in this hall in the upper part of the old
dormitory that the famous goose episode oc-
curred. Just before morning prayers some
waggish student had tied a goose in the Presi-
dent's chair. The President stood up during
the exercise that morning, but otherwise no
notice was taken of the intruder. During the
day, however, the more decorous of the students
worked up considerable feeling over the matter
and proposed to hold an indignation meeting of
the College. At prayers that evening President
Humphrey found it necessary to make some
reference to the matter. He both relieved those
students who were indignant, and got more than
AMHERST IN 1824. 31
even with the perpetrator of the deed by saying,
in a perfectly iininipassioned manner: *' Gen-
tlemen, the trustees have intended to provide
competent instructors in all the departments, so
as to meet the capacity of every student. But
it seems that one student was overlooked, and I
am sure they will be glad to learn that he has
promptly supplied the deficiency by choosing a
goose for his tutor. Par nobile fratnnn" The
humor may seem just a little heavy at this dis-
tance, but at that time it came in perfectly pat,
and the students went down the stairs laughing
and shouting: " Who is brother to the goose? "
There is another feature in the lithograph of
1824 that must not be overlooked — the old bell-
tower. The College had been regularly waked
up and called to prayers by the bell in the steeple
of the meeting-house, vmtil some benevolent per-
son considerately donated a bell to the College,
doubtless thinking that if the College only had a
bell it would straightway build a chapel to go
with it. The College did the best it could at the
time, and set up a rude tower at the north end
of North College. There the new bell wagged
its deafening iron tongue for about a year, until
the students — either because of the unsightliness
of the tower, or because the brazen mouth of the
bell was altogether too near their bedroom win-
dows— assembled one pleasant evening, and
playfully tipped the whole thing over.
Edward Clark Hood, '97.
OLD AMHERST.
Old Amherst! thy sons, wherever they roam,
All unite in their words of thy praise;
Our pride thou hast been through the years that
are gone,
Thy glories, thy honors we'll raise.
Thy sons are all true, they are loyal to thee;
All are one when thy honor's at stake.
Thou art dearer to us than our words can ex-
press ;
We ever will toil for thy sake.
From the North, from the South, from the East,
from the West,
The hearts of thy sons turn to thee;
We dream of thy precepts, we trust in thy
strength,
Thy glory before us we see.
Our breasts throb with joy when we think of
thy halls,
Our eyes dim with thoughts of the past;
And mem'ries come thronging of days that are
gone.
That in fancy forever shall last.
Then here's to thy future! Thy past is secure;
Thy glories, thy triumphs are ours:
Thy honor, thy name, thy position, thy fame,
Will increase by the use of our powers,
^lay thy sons be a glory, an honor, a strength!
May success crown, our tasks and bring cheer!
May thy teachings illumine the paths of our
lives.
Alma Mater! Old Amherst, so dear!
Frank D. Blodgett, '93.
DECEUrUL APPEARANCES.
It was the day after the Prom., and I found
myself inclined to devote an hour or so to the
charms of Morpheus. Spurning the hospitality
of my old friend — the window-seat — and ridding
myself of certain outer garments, I retired to the
inner sanctum, where I was soon sleeping a
sweet sleep, with an accompaniment of dreams,
in which were mingled most tunefully the strains
of a waltz and visions of a decidedly pretty face.
After an indefinite period of this enjoyment I
started up with the dim consciousness of voices
in our study, and also the murmur of animated
conversation in Ned's room adjoining. I could
distinguish Dick's musical tones — remarkably
subdued in this case — and I was about to hallo
lazily to him for the time of day, but finally
found courage enough to get up and pull aside
the portierre. I pulled it back with considerable
haste. Dick was snugly ensconced in the win-
dow-seat, with the curtain carelessly drawn, and
a girl! I peeked cautiously out. No, they
hadn't seen me. I manfu'iy blessed the Hebe
who had seen fit to clear up the study, and as
quickly poured forth malediction on her head
for putting my things away carefully in my study
closet, as far beyond my reach as if they were
34 AN AMHERST BOOK.
in the next house. And to crown all, I remem-
bered that the key which unlocked the second
exit from my bedroom was lost. A pretty state
of things, truly!
Just then Dick's voice began to rise, and be-
fore I knew it his lips uttered words that I could
not fail to hear and appreciate, though at the
same time I was mightily shocked at their im-
port.
" And now," he began, " now that we are
alone, may I say something to you — something
that I have been longing to say, but for which
tim.e and corrage have hitherto been w'anting.
May — may I speak ? "
" Yes," came the almost inaudible reply ; the
while I raged inwardly at being obliged to listen,
and cursed Dick for having chosen such an in-
opportune occasion, and reviled his disregard
for the proprieties.
" I scarcely know how to express my
thoughts," Dick continued, his voice strained
with emotion. " But you cannot have misun-
derstood my intentions. Miss Agnes — I love
you!" The young rascal was making a pro-
posal for marriage.
" This ' is all so sudden ! — I had no idea of
such a thing! I never thought," — the reply
came, in tremulous tones.
" But you do now — you love me — ah, how
happy we shall be ! " There was a delighted
little laugh. I entertained a wild thought of
DECEITFUL APPEARANCES. 35
enveloping myself in my bathrobe and fleeing,
when the talking in Ned's room suddenly grew
louder, and presently sounded in the hall. The
window-seat heard it, too.
" Hush," said Dick, " they are coming! Don'i
breathe a word of this — they will know all about
it soon enough ! " The words were scarcely said
before the rest crow^ded in, four of them — I
could tell by their voices — all buzzmg like a
swarm of bees.
" Where have you been all the while? " asked
one.
" We thought you were lost ! " chimed in an-
other.
" It was highly improper, especially for you! "
added a third, reprovingly, with a glance at the
window-seat. I mentally seconded this senti-
ment. Then followed the usual list of pleasant
things said about the room, arid they departed,
Dick excusing himself and promising to be at
the train.
They were scarcely gone when I stuck my
head between the curtains.
" Dick," I said, " youVe a villain! "
"Hello!" he replied, coolly. "Have you just
waked up?"
" No trifling! " I said, sternly. " What do you
mean by violating the Platonic sacredness of our
window-seat by oflfering yourself in marriage?"
" What! " he exclaimed, and threw himself on
the cushions. I thought he was going to have
36 AN AMHERST BOOK.
a fit. Finally he gasped out between the con-
vulsions: "Oh! — pity 3^ou're a Senior! — next
year's Olio ! — Oh ! " At last he came to himself
to explain.
" Merely the chaperon of Ned's party, my dear
boy, rehearsing my part in the Senior dramatics
with me, that's all," and he turned over the
prompt-book. I read the love scene, line for
line.
But if Dick does as well as that at Commence-
ment— well, he ought to take to the stage.
John C. Duryea Kitchen, '91.
TO A POSE.
Found on the lapel of afi old dress coat.
Crimson-colored, fresh and fragrant were thy
leaves long years ago.
When a maiden lightly whispered that the little
Jacqueminot
Held within its ruby petals all the love-warmth
of her heart.
While I gently kissed her temple, saying sadly,
" We must part."
Now thy lone leaves, brown and crumpled, faint-
ly-odored, faded lie,
Breathing softly, "List thou, lover! Love i&
rose-like. It must die ! "
Seymour Ransom, '92.
NOAH WEBSTEP AT AMHERST.
When Amherst College remodelled and en-
larged her library building, like a wise mother,
she had respect to the future. The book-stack
was made large enough for years to come, and
the two upper stories are still devoted to miscel-
laneous uses. The white walls, enclosing the
white and empty shelves, made more staring and
ghastly by the light that streams over them from
the uncurtained" skylight, all make a sort of se-
pulchre in which are entombed old portraits of
the faculty, old pictures of the town and of the
college buildings, and other similar lumber
which just escapes being rubbish because of the
memories that hang about the motley collection.
Among these objects of forgotten worth is the
bust of Xoah Webster, which is represented on
the following page. There could hardly be any-
thing more typical of the sad obscurity that
seems to have shrouded the memorj'^ of Noah
Webster's life in Amherst. Few of the students
in the College know that he ever lived in the vil-
lage at all. Many of the townsfolk are unaware
that he was once one of Amherst's most loyal
and active citizens. His personality seems to
have been lost in the expanse of the Dictionary,
and the changes and revisions of the book have
BUST OF NOAH WEBSTER.
NOAH WEBSTER AT AMHERST. 39
blurred the fame of the first American lexicog-
rapher. Mr. Scudder's interesting " Life of Xoah
Webster" was published in 1883, but according
to the record of the College librarian, I was the
first one to call for the book, and even this call
is dated April, 1896, thirteen years after the
biography was printed.
Still, the book called " Webster's Dictionary "
perpetuates in a general and somewhat indefinite
way the fame of its first author, and Amherst is
proud of the fact that tnis famous scholar has
intimate relation to the village and to the College.
He came here in 181 2, nine years before the Col-
lege was founded, bought a house with several
acres of land about it, and settled down to com-
plete his great book. His house stood where Kel-
logg's Block is now situated, and there were no
houses east of that in the same neighborhood. He
planted a large apple orchard immediately about
his dwelling, and the land beyond remained as
meadow. Some of the trees which he planted
are still standing back of Mr. E. F. Cook's house,
and the scythe still cuts its swath over the fields
which he mowed.
He came to Amherst from Xew Haven, where
he had spent six years in such devoted labor on
the Dictionary that his purse had run low in
proportion to the height of his enthusiasm. He
was nominally a lawyer, but the law had been
neglected. Dr. Trumbull of Hartford, speaking
of this neglect, said: "I fear he will breakfast
40 AN AMHERST BOOK.
Upon Institutes, dine upon Dissertations, and
go supperless to bed." He had one source of
support, so far as it went. His Spelling Book,
then of great reputation, and soon after of na-
tional renown, yielded him half a cent a copy,
and was in so great demand as to produce a
small income. He came to Amherst because he
found the village to be of such primitive manners
and refined society as suited his means and his
tastes. As a writer says in the Amherst Rec-
ord of September 24, 1879. " On the profits of
the Spelling Book he supported the family in
the orchard while he made the Dictionary and
planned for the foundation of Amherst College.
But before all this he had married a pretty wife,
and this beautiful wife and his attractive daugh-
ters took the lead in the refined society of the
town. He mowed the little hay crop of his
grounds and his daughters raked the hay and
afterwards married the most elegant scholars of
the country." For ten years he thus lived and
worked in Amherst; then leaving his family in
New Haven, he went to Europe, and in Cam-
bridge, England, wrote the last word of his book,
in 1825. His life's work was done, and in a let-
ter to Dr. Miner he says : " When I arrived at
the last word I was seized with a tremor that
made it difficult to proceed. I, however, sum-
moned up strength to finish the work, and then,
walking about the room, I soon recovered."
On his return home he published at his own
NOAH WEBSTER A T AMHERST. 41
expense, in 1828, the first quarto edition, which
was sold by subscription. In 1840-41 he pub-
Hshed a second edition, which contained revis-
ions and corrections. Three thousand copies
were printed, and at the time of his death fifteen
hundred were still unsold. After his death, in
1843, Messrs. J. S. & C. Adams, publishers and
booksellers in Amherst, bought the remaining
copies and the right to publish during the re-
mainder of the unexpired copyright period.
They printed no more, and soon sold all their
interest to G. & C. Merriam, the predecessors of
the present G. & C. Merriam Company. In more
than one way, therefore, Amherst was related to
the Dictionary, and in her beauty, quiet, refine-
ment and simplicity was the fit environment for
the scholar and his book.
But Noah Webster was more than a secluded
resident of the town. He was unusually alive
to all the interests of the village, prominent in
her public life, in the care of her educational in-
stitutions, and in personal labor for the church.
He was one of the trustees of the Amherst Acad-
emy, and was foremost in influence as well as in
earnestness in establishing Amherst College on
the foundation of the old Academy. Indeed,
among all those who labored for the foundation
of our Alma Mater, there was probably at that
time no one so widely known as Noah Webster,
through his philological writing and extensive
lecturing. Indeed, the others were comparative-
42 AN AMHERST BOOK'.
ly unknown, so the writer already quoted is not
far from right when he says: " It is probable
that if that great dictionary had not been made
in Amherst, the College would never have been
built." With nice appropriateness, therefore,
Noah Webster gave one of the two addresses at
the laying of the cornerstone of the first college
building.
Let us, therefore, brush the dust from ofT the
almost forgotten bust while we proudly remem-
ber that Amherst village and Amherst College
are intimately associated with the memory and
renown of the first great American lexicograph-
er.
H. Humphrey Neill, '66.
UNLOCKED.
I could not speak what yet I often wished to say ;
A pretty compliment I'd think, but — puff, away
It flew on wings, before I gave it breath, the
while
Another's graceful words had won the longed-
for smile.
Then lo, a miracle — no warning, forth there
rushed
All that I e'er had thought of grace, and Hps had
hushed.
Devotion, adoration, nothing left to seek.
At last love opened wide my lips and let me
speak.
Clyde Fitch, '86.
THE COLLEGE BUILDINGS IN lo25.
" And now the old Chapel, built when the
College was struggling for its charter, and em-
bodying something of the idea — just behold it
from its western front — meekly looking up,
bravely looking out, patiently waiting for what-
ever may betide, there it stands between those
two old domitories like Moses between Aaron
and Hur, the day that he fought the Amale-
kites." President Stearns in his address of wel-
come at the fiftieth anniversary has described
the old Chapel very happily, and very much as it
must always appear to Amherst men. The pic-
ture fails to give it quite the right expression,
for it stands guard with a good deal of dignity,
as if conscious of a grave responsibility. It
seems to have a dim suspicion, too, that it is all
out of style, but it is rather proud of the fact
than otherwise.
Like all the earlier buildings of the College,
the Chapel was erected because such a building
became absolutely indispensable. The hall in
the fourth story of North College was hopelessly
inadequate as a chapel, and the College was suf-
fering for lack of recitation rooms. In view of
the . financial condition of the institution, the
legacy of Adam Johnson, of Pelham, came like
46 ^A' AMHERST BOOK.
a gcdsend; for though it covered only a part of
the expense of the building, it warranted the
trustees in attempting to raise enough to com-
plete the work.
The original arrangement of rooms was very
much as it is at present. On the first floor were
recitation rooms for Greek and Latin, and two
for mathematics. On the second floor, besides
the chapel proper, were the theological and
rhetorical rooms, since throw'n together to form
the small chapel. The room on the third floor
was used for the College library, which was
moved over from its former place in North Col-
lege, and for the libraries of the Alexandrian
and Athenian Societies.
In the early days morning prayers were held
at daybreak. To the tune of the relentless Chapel
bell the poor fellows used to turn out in the cold,
gray dawm of a winter's morning — how reluctant-
ly, we who hate to get up at eight o'clock can
well imagine — and rush up those Chapel stairs
" half dressed and less than half aw-ake," just as
the three sharp clangs announced that the last
minute of grace had expired. After chapel they
would lag, still breakfastless, to the first recita-
tion, with an appetite, we surmise, for something
besides learning.
It must have been this mode of life that made
the students play such unaccountable pranks.
For instance, by way of doing something orig-
inal, or else merelv for the sake of a little diver-
THE COLLEGE BUILDINGS IiV 1828. 47
sion, a number of students from one of the
classes in the thirties lugged a calf up to the top
of the Chapel tower, left him to enjoy the view,
and went to morning prayers. The calf soon
wearied of the landscape, and began in his vig-
orous bovine way to proclaim the fact to the
neighborhood. To make the story short, the
College janitor and two assistants spent a good
part of the morning in getting the beast down.
The view from the Chapel tower is one of the
rare perquisites of the student at Amherst. The
green Connecticut valley stretches out like a
great garden in every direction from the foot of
College Hill — itself a garden — and is hedged in
on the four sides by those great hills that are so
essential a part of Amherst, and seem to be the
special property of Amherst College. The hills
are jagged and picturesque on the south; round
and rolling on the east; on the north, tall and
majestic; and the Hampshire hills across the
broad valley, with the faint blue Berkshires be-
hind them, seem to mark the western boundary
of the world.
Old North College — old in distinction from
the present North College, which was known a&
Middle College while (^Id North was standing —
was completed in the winter of 1828. It was
pleasanter and more convenient than the others,
except the rooms on the north side, where the
sun never came. The erection of this building
started the movement for grading the College
48 AN AMHERST BOOK.
grounds. In the poverty of the College the stu-
dents took hold of this work with a will, as op-
portunity ofiFered, and sometimes the College in
a body devoted a half or whole day to the work.
The terraces in front of South College were
made almost entirely by the students. This same
spirit manifested by the students was also re-
sponsible, at about this time, for an improvised
gymnasium in the College grove, and for the
College band, which performed on all suitable
occasions. The accompanying cut does not rep-
resent the improvements in the way of grading,
because it is taken from a somewhat fanciful
sketch, made before old North College was built,
and intended to show how the " Chapel Row "
would look when completed as first planned.
This accounts for the presence of the dormitory
on the right, which was never erected. Some
years afterwards, however, Appleton Cabinet was
built on that spot, and carried out the original
conception of a symmetrical college row of five
buildings. The little cabin at the extreme left,
on the site of the present Hitchcock Hall, was
occupied by a family of negroes until about 1840.
Edward Clark Hood, '97.
SENATE POLITICS.
Harper had come back to visit his Alma Mater.
He had experienced all the delights of seeing
again his old haunts; had strengthened him-
self with a draught from the College well; had
climbed the Chapel tower to look once more at
the fair valley of the Connecticut and its setting
of green hills, as it stretches in every direction
around the knoll from which Amherst's sons
" terras irradient; " then had mounted the three
flights of stairs that led to the rooms at the top
of the " Old South " dormitory, where he and
" Reggie " Thompson had lived as mates ; and
now sat there surrounded by a circle of under-
graduates.
The talk had turned to the stand of the faculty
on the Senate question, the boys being highly in-
dignant at W'hat they characterized as the arbi-
trary measures that had been taken.
Similar discussions of his college days came
back in memory to the alumnus. He thought es-
pecially of those long and bitter conferences held
in this same room at the time of what they had
afterwards titled '' Reggie's escapade." And
soon the boys were listening to the story.
" It happened my Sophomore year. My room-
mate, Reginald Thompson, also of my class, fell
under suspicion of being concerned in a hazing
so AN AMHERST BOOK.
scrape. This was the way it came about. There
was a Freshman — unbearably green — -as there al-
ways is. There were also Sophomores anxious
to remedy the evil, who waylaid him one night
and put him through some pretty stiff paddling.
Having been seized from behind he had caught
a glimpse of but one of his tormentors, and this
one he afterwards asserted was Reginald Thomp-
son. Now, in the midst of the fun, the night-
watchman, attracted by Freshie's yells, appeared
on the scene. The Sophs fled, and as they hur-
ried over Chapel Hill the watchman saw them
brush past some one, with bag in hand, hurry-
ing toward the train.
" The Freshman reported the hazing, and Reg-
gie was accused of being the ringleader. Of
course he denied the charge ; but he had been out
somewhere that night and could not prove an
alibi, so his case indeed looked hopeless.
" I remember, as if it were yesterday, the con-
ference we held up here at that time, trying to
devise some method of exonerating him. The
Senate was then in full working order, and we
had carefully sounded each member, only to find
that, when Reggie should come before that body,
the chances were for a close vote, and we feared
against him. One senator from our own class,
however, was still to be chosen. It remained foi
us to put in a friend.
■' ' Townsend is our man,' decided MacMas-
ter, the class president. ' Now you fellows just
52 AN AMHERST BOOK.
hustle round and get votes. Fraternity deals are
poor tactics, but don't you stop for anything this
time. We ought to get the Theta Epsilons and
the Beta Gammas in a body, and a good share of
the Oudens. That man Borden is expecting to
run, and if he is elected, Reggie here might as
well " pack up and git " right away.'
'''Amen,' chimed in Reggie; 'Borden and I
are no chums.'
" Next day came the class meeting. Not a
member was absent, excepting Reggie. The fel-
lows disapproved of the hazing, and they meant
to vote as they believed justice required. Bor-
den managed to come in late, just as MacMas-
ter was calling for order, and some of his ad-
herents started a little boom for him by way of
applause. He was a man of striking appearance
— square-shouldered, with a large head, deep-set
eyes, and a continual smirk about his mouth.
He was leader of a certain set in the class, and
had considerable influence. We knew he was
no weak opponent. :
' The election was very close. Only Town-^:^
send and Borden were nominated. The prelim-
inary ballot was two or three votes in our favor. _,
A motion that it be declared formal was lost. '
And then, when the formal vote was cast, some
of our adherents had gone over, and Borden was .
elected. Oh, we were mad ! Yet there was noth-
ing left us but to wait for the result of the Senate
miceting.
SENATE POLITICS. 53
" That was held in the evening, and I was pres-
ent as a witness. No new facts were brought out.
So they went into secret session, and we were
requested to remain outside.
" Now, some men in Reggie's circumstances
would have shown a boastful indifiference in the
attempt to prove their manliness. But he was
sensitive, and dreaded his father's disappointment
and reproach. He was patient, however, and
after a tedious wait the door of the President's
office was opened by Borden, who, with an un-
usual smirk, said : ' The culprit is summoned to
reappear.'
" We followed him in, Reggie compressing his
lips in the effort at composure as he faced the
President, who stood at the further end of the
long table.
" 'Mr. Thompson, the Senate has decided that
you shall suffer the penalty of expulsion for the
hazing of which you have been accused. You
are forbidden to attend further exercises or reci-
tations of the College. I shall be glad to see you
privately at my house in half an hour.'
" That was all. Reggie turned to go, when a
loud knock stopped him, and immediately our
class president entered, followed by an upper-
classman. MacMaster was almost bubbling over
with something new, and as soon as he had the
President's attention he asked if fresh evidence
might be introduced.
" ' Certainly, if it has important bearing upon
54 AN AMHERST BOOK.
the case,' replied the President; then adding:
* Mr. Thompson, you will wait a minute, please/
" The upper-classman then stepped forward
and explained how he had just returned to town
and learned of the hazing; that he had left Am-
herst on the night it occurred; that he was, in
fact, the man with the bag, whom the culprits
had nearly stumbled on as they ran from the
watchman.
" ' I recognized but one of the men,' he con-
cluded. ' However, I have known Mr. Thomp-
son by sight, and I feel certain that he was not
among them.'
" You can imagine how we grasped at this new
testimony. Even the President and senators
looked relieved, for Reggie was a popular man,
and they had assumed the responsibility of ex-
pelling him on mere circumstantial evidence. As
I glanced around the table to see the result of
this unexpected turn, I caught a fierce gleam in
Borden's eyes. The smirk had disappeared.
" The President then began to question the
new witness. ' You have said that Mr. Thomp-
son was not among the men who passed you that
night, but that you did recognize one of the
party. Will you give us his name?'
" ' The man is fortunately present to contra-
dict me if my accusation is false;' and, with a
gesture, ' It was — '
" ' Quiet, you fool! ' yelled Borden, leaping to
his feet. ' Gentlemen, allow me! It was your
SENA TE POLITICS. 55
most humble servant! And, that the ends of
justice may more quickly be attained, I shall
sever my connection with Amherst College with-
out requiring the formality of any mandate from
this most illustrious and august body. For I
feel that, representing— as you do — nothing but
an impracticable theory, I have now the honor
of addressing the most farcical body that ever
pretended to administer the balm of justice —
gentlemen of the Amherst College Senate! ' "
His story done, Harper settled back into his
chair and relit his cigar.
" You know," he finally broke the silence,
" there have been several pessimists among Am-
herst's alumni, who, when I have recounted those
words of Borden's, have openly agreed with him.
They have maintained that the Senate — all very
nice as a theor)- — was yet impracticable and ab-
surd. But you see that sun setting behind the
Berkshire hills; you see the peaceful valley
spread out below; and above, the quarter-moon,
promising a perfect night! The idea of the Am-
herst Senate sprang from a mind tuned to har-
monies such as these, and they remain to prove
that the ideal has its influence on our lives, how-
ever intangible be its immediate results."
Alfred Roelker, Jr., '95.
THE COLLEGE WELL.
" And David longed and said, Oh that one would
give me drink of the water of the well. * * * II.
Samuel, 23:15.
The writer has been unable to secure evidence
that David ever played harp for an Amherst
musical organization, or indeed thaV he ever
walked our halls as a student of cube and Greek
roots, and yet he has thus expressed what has
frequently been the yearning of Amherst grads.
in moments of reverie and reminiscence.
The well? Yes, for us it is the well; just as for
Italians Rome was the city; and for terrestrials
the blazing ball that makes day, rather than some
of the more distant orbs, is the sun. As regards
well-worship we are eternally, relentlessly mono-
theistic, and cry out with true Ephesian vehe-
mence, " There shall be no other wells before
It! " If there is an assertion whose absolute cer-
tainty we are willing to champion against the
scoffings of skeptics and the loud-mouthed bray-
ings of meddlesome science, it is that the water
of the College well forms for us the sweetest com-
pound of hydrogen and oxygen that evei
touched human lips. Does some hard-hearted
chemist discover that it fairly wriggles with bac-
teria? We care not, and will defend the discov-
58 AjV AMHERST BOOK.
ered brand of bacteria as the fattest, juiciest and
most palatable on the market. It is not for tlv:
wholesomeness, or quantity, or purity, or frigid-
ity of the water from the College well that we are
contending, but solely for its incomparable
sweetness. We freely admit that much of this
sweetness may be subjective sensation. The gist
of the matter is, we are in love with the well, and
whoever heard of Romeo's discoursing with ju-
dicial impartiaHty upon the curve of Juliet's chin?
The love which a grad. holds for the old well is
but the apotheosis of undergraduate friendship.
If, as Burton says, " a friend is a medicine for
misery," surely the well has a strong lien upon
that title. After a tongue-parching tramp along
the Holyoke range with botanic malice afore-
thought, or a rock-smashing expedition to Pel-
ham, or a search after the elusive arbutus among
the thickets of Pizgah, what liquid satisfaction we
have gulped down beneath that peaked roof,
reading the while inscriptions commerical, ath-
letic, and personal! How enjoyably the wind-
lass squeaked and the chain clanked as we
coaxed the bucket downward into the rippling
coolness! How the distant gurgling soothed us
as we waited for the tightening of the chain,
which told that all was ready for the up-trip!
And when with spasmodic bursts of speed the
bucket finally appeared from the gloomy depths,
meanwhile dripping of its burden — for the great-
hearted old pail always tried to bring up more
THE COLLEGE WELL. 59
than it could carry — when with a satisfied bump
the stone settled down on the floor, and there
before us,
" With beaded bubbles winking at tlie brim,"
was a bucket of refreshment worthy of the
Olympians themselves, how we have longed for a
poet to celebrate our old well in grateful song!
Unhappily a college curriculum is not productive
of Pindars and Horaces, else we could say to our
fount what the Sabine farmer said to his famous
Fons Bandusiae:
" Fies nobilium tu quoque fontium."
Whether thou findest thy Horace or not, dear
old well, have no fear. In our memory's temple
thou shalt have a shrine by no means the least.
Often the cry of David will voice itself in our
hearts; and if a draught of thy waters were ob-
tainable at no less a price, who shall say but that
we would undergo even the sacrifice that Odin
made for a drink of Mimir's well beneath the ash
tree, Igdrasil?
Herbert A. Jump, '96.
AMHEI^ST rirTY YEARS AGO.
Amherst in 1845, when I entered college, was
very different from the Amherst of to-day. It
was no less beautiful for situation, and its ram-
part of mountains was a perpetual delight to the
eye, as now; but the town was an ordinary coun-
try village, the streets poorly kept, the green un-
graded and uncared for, no churches or other
public buildings that were not eyesores — a mem-
ber of the faculty described the Congregational
Church as " a cross between a dog-kennel and
a cotton factory," — and few private houses except
of the plainest New England type. In the spring,
when the frost was coming out of the ground,
the student had to wade through mud ankle-deep
in going from the College to his meals. We used
to talk of " excavating our boots " after a tramp
in that mud.
The nearest railroad station was at Northamp-
ton, whither daily coaches ran, as also to Palmer
and Brookfield. The College buildings were the
old chapel, with south, middle (now north), and
north dormitories.
The fortunes of the College were then at their
lowest ebb. The whole number of students in
1845-46 was 118, the smallest since 1822-23, the
second year of its history. In 1846-47 the num-
AMHERST FIFTY YEARS AGO. 6i
ber was 120. During these two years there were
only nine persons in the facuky. How poorly
they were paid Professor Tyler has told us in his
History, But they worked with no less zeal and
l>aticnce early and late — literally early, for in
those days we had morning pray^ers and an hour's
lecitation before breakfast, which came at half
past seven.
Discipline was sufiliciently strict. For a stu-
dent to take a quiet walk on a Sunday out of
church hours might be winked at, but one must
not be seen driving for recreation between the
sunsets of Saturday and Sunday, the limits of
holy time in college reckoning.
Hazing, however, seemed to be regarded by
the authorities as a necessary evil. I do not
know that any effort was made to punish or sup-
press it. It was generally of a harmless sort, but
sometimes a Freshman who forgot his proper
position — from a Sophomoric point of view* —
was treated with exceptional severity. For my-
self, I lived in constant dread of hazing, but was
the victim of it only twice. I roomed on the
ground floor of South College, northeast cor-
ner, and while engaged in study one evening was
hit in the back of the neck by a two-quart jug
which came crashing through the w-indow. If its
trajectory had varied a few inches I doubt
whether my skull would have stood the blow.
On the other occasion 1 suffered in company
with the entire class. The Freshmen had been
62 A.V AMHERST BOOK.
invited to an evening reception at the Presi-
dent's house, and when we returned to our rooms
wc found every keyhole plugged with wood.
Thereby hangs a tale. It was the first year of
President Hitchcock's administration. His pred-
ecessor in office had given receptions to the
Seniors, possibly to the Juniors — I am not sure
about that — but never to the lower classes. Pres-
ident Hitchcock began with the Seniors, and the
next week he entertained the Juniors. They ex-
ulted in the honor done them, and told their So-
phomore friends that perhaps another year they
could go to a " Prex's party." But the Sopho-
mores had to wait only a week before they were
asked to the Presidential mansion. Here every-
body supposed the series of entertainments would
end, and the Sophs plumed themselves accord-
ingly. Of course they were disgusted when the
Freshmen were similarly honored a week later,
and they wreaked their spite upon us by the key-
hole trick.
In 1845 there were but two secret societies at
Amherst — Alpha Delta Phi and Psi Upsilon.
Delta Kappa Epsilon was introduced in 1846,
and Delta Upsilon in 1847. The non-society men
were in the majority, and in 1846 they formed
an anti-secret society, whose motto was "Oiiden
addon " (nothing secret). A Psi Upsilon man
wittily perverted this, by a slight metathesis, into
" Oudena delon,'" which he rendered in the ver-
nacular as " evidentlv nobodv." The members of
AMHERST FIFTY YEARS AGO. 63
this society were familiarly known as " Oiidcns."
Tiiere were many non-society men who did not
sympathize with them, but the " Oudens " occa-
sionally managed to carry an election of officers
in one of the two general literary societies to
which all the students belonged. Seelye was
President of Academia (one of these societies),
and when his term of office expired one of the
poorest scholars in the class was elected in his
place. Seelye was so indignant that he declined
to give the customary " Ex-Presidential " ad-
dress, which he had prepared. A certain Psi Up-
silon man remarked that " from Seelye to
was a veritable dcscensits Avcrni." " Yes,'' said
another, with a free translation of the Latin, " a
h — of a descent, indeed I "
What were our amusements? Few and simple,
as a rule. The only gymnasium we had was the
grove behind Middle College, where was a swing,
a vaulting horse, a set of parallel bars, and a
track for foot-racing round the edge of the grove.
A kind of cricket known as " wicket " was played,
and " loggerheads," a game which I never saw
anywhere else, but which was identical with
Shakespeare's " loggats " (Hamlet, v., i, 100).
Baseball had not been developed out of the ju-
venile " round-ball," nor had tennis been revived
after centuries of desuetude. Tramps to Hol-
yoke, Northampton, Sugarloaf, and elsewhere in
the vicinity, were favorite recreations with most
of us. Requests for leave to go to South Hadley
64 AN AM HERS T BOOK.
were viewed with suspicion by the faculty. A
friend in one of the upper classes was engaged
to a girl in the Seminary there whose name was
Mann. When he asked leave to go thither the
professor inquired whether he was going to visit
a young lady. " I am going to see a Mann,'' was
the reply, but the capital and the extra conson-
ant were of course indistinguishable to the of-
ficial ear, and permission was granted at once.
Student pranks were not unknown in those
days, but they were generally harmless practical
jokes; like enticing a calf up stairs in a dormi-
tory and tying the beast to a tutor's door-knob,
or leading a stray horse into a recitation-room
just before the professor was to arrive. Raids on
neighboring orchards sometimes occurred, and
poultry not bought of the regular dealer now and
then furnished forth a feast in a student's room.
I was once invited to such a supper by one of the
best scholars in the class, who afterwards became
a clergyman. He said he found the turkey " run-
ning wild " in a barnyard at North Amherst.
Festive entertainments of this kind, however,
were rare among the students. This was the
only one at which I personally " assisted." The
unconventional method of obtaining the main
dish for the supper was regarded then, as before
and since in the collegiate code of morals, as a
venial offense.
Aside from such amusements and irregularities
as I have mentioned, hard work, little play, and
IN MEMORIAM. 65
no dissipation worthy the name, were the rule
at Amherst in my college clays. Hazing was the
one disgrace, compared with which the pranks
and fooleries I have referred to were, to my
thinking, " pure innocence."
William J. Rolfe, Litt. D., 49.
IN MEMOPlAi^.
A Puritan was dead when Seelye died.
A Puritan, indeed, of gentler mould.
Of broader mind and heart than those of old;
Serene, self-poised, unshaken by the tide
Of passion or of faction. Not untried
By his own feet the pathway long and bold
He bade men climb. There lay his strength:
what told
Was not his words, but he behind them. Wide
The river is and strong from such a source:
The mingling streams grow purer in its
course :
The cities on its banks are noble, free.
Thy sway. New England, through this mighty
land.
So long as sons like him are born of thee.
Shall be maintained with firm, unerring hand?
Henry Wickes Goodrich, '80.
AN AMHERST LEGEND.
Once upon a time there was an Indian wizard,
who Uved in a hut where Amherst now stands;
and he sold his soul to the devil and perished, as
did Faust. But before he died he, through his
godfather, the Devil, did many wicked things,
and one at least which wrought two changes in
the scenery near Amherst.
THE STORY OF MOUNT WARNER.
Many, many hundred moons ago, before a tree
had been felled at Hadley, or even before Boston
Bay had seen a white man's ship, an Indian girl
lived in a beautiful spot on the top of Sugarloaf;
and from her dwelling she could look at all the
broad valley and the river sparkling and danc-
ing on its way to the sea. And the Indian girl
was as pretty as the scene at which she looked —
she was the fairest of the valley, of all the great
valley hemmed in by the mountains. She had a
lover who was strong and handsome, and the
son of a chief; and she had another lover — the
old Indian wizard who had sold his soul to the
Devil.
Now Neanita — for that was her name — loved
the land where she lived, and she loved to sit for
hours on the mountain, looking at the valley.
In the morning she saw it grow bright and rosy
AN AMHERST LEGEND. Oy
under the sunrise, and sometimes sparkle with
dew, as though it were a valley of diamonds. At
noon she watched the broad river roll along in its
slow way, and at evening with the son of the
chief she would sit and see the moonlight bathe
the land in white and pearl. And the valley was
alwa3^s brighter when Neanita looked at it; so
that even now, when a sunbeam comes down
through a dark day, people say that it is Nean-
ita's smile. But she did not love the old wizard,
and she never smiled on him; so in those days,
when the sky grew black and the mountains rum-y
bled with thunder, the people knew that the old
wizard was angry at her, and they trembled in
their skin tents. But the Great Manitou looked
down and smiled on it all, for he knew that good
would win.
Every evening the young chief came from his
hunting to talk with Neanita on the edge of the
cliff, and to look at the valley. And he came
from the north, for he lived beyond the moun-
tains. One evening Neanita sat alone on the
clifif, and before her was the valley in the moon-
light. She waited long, but there was no wel-
come sound of moccasins on the grass behind
her. The moon began to drop in the sky and it
grew late. The stars twinkled down and laughed
to see themselves in the river, but they pitied
Neanita. Far behind her in the woods she heard
a grinding noise; she thought she heard the
death song, and she listened. And while she
68 AN AMHERST BOOK.
listened the sky grew dark for a moment, as
though some great bird flew over. The stars and
the moon were hidden, and Xeanita was afraid.
Then all was bright again, and down in the broad
meadows before her was sometliing she had
never seen before. There, right in the center of
the valley, lay a mountain as round as though
it were some great warrior's death - pile. And
she did not know what it was, but we call it
Mount Warner.
That day the wizard had been angry, and the
mountains had rumbled much, for Neanita had
told him to go, because she loved the young
chief. The wizard sought his godfather, the
Devil, and that evening, as the son of the chief
was climbing the long ascent of Sugarloaf and
looking at the stars above him, he was lifted in the
air and with him a great piece taken from the
mountain. The old wizard and his godfather,
the Devil, in this way made the Xotch in Sugar-
loaf; and they put the piece down in the center
of the valley, and under it they buried the young
chief.
And if you now visit Mount Warner you will
find a beautiful purple flower that grows on the
very summit, and people say that its roots are in
the heart of the young chief. The Notch is still
in Sugarloaf. The place that they call " Philip's
Seat " is not the seat of the great chief, but where
Xeanita sat night after night looking at the val-
ley and waiting for that lover whom she saw
FAIR AMHERST. 69
no more. And if at midnight you sit in that lofty
nook you will see a star directly above you. That
star is the soul of Neanita, and it looks forever
at the purple flower of Warner.
Frederick Houk Law, '95.
rAIR AMHERST.
Fairest of all the fair,
Pride of each glorious sun.
Nobler each passing year,
Amherst her race doth run.
Richest of all the rich
In Nature's bovmteous gifts;
Throned on her glorious hill,
She many a storm-cloud lifts.
Proudest of all the proud
From sacred learning's halls
Are the sons whom thou hast borne,
Proud of thy classic walls!
Fair Amherst, of thee we sing!
Rich Amherst — in Nature's store !
Proud Amherst, thy praise shall ring
Till time shall be no more!
Frederick W. Raymond, '99.
AMHEPST COMMENCEMENT EIETY
YEARS AGO.
During the first decade of Amherst's history
the public literary exercises of the students were
confined to Commencement, prize speaking, and
an annual society exhibition. Of these the Com-
mencement exercises have continued, with some
modification and melioration, up to the present
time. The Kellogg prize speaking began in 1825,
the chartered year of the College, and, with one
exception, has been held annually since. The
society exhibitions maintained a nomadic exist-
ence until about ten years ago.
It was a most welcome custom, during the '30s,
'40s and '50s to briug in on Tuesday of Com-
mencement week one or two of the most eminent
orators the country could aflford. Edward Ever-
ett, Henry Ward Beecher (who himself was grad-
uated from Amherst in '34), John B. Gough,
Charles Sumner, Tayler Lewis, Dr. Hickok, Dr.
Richard Salter Storrs, class of '39. and Dr. A. P.
Peabody were among those who honored our
stage. The orators were invited in turn by the
literary societies — Athenae, Alexandria and So-
72 AjV AMHERST BOOK.
cial Union. The offices of president and marshal
of the occasion were the honors of the Senior
class, and sharp political work was done to se-
cure these positions.
The great ambition of nearly every man in Col-
lege was to win an " appointment " at Com-
mencement, and it did stimulate hard and suc-
cessful study. But, oh! the heart-burnings and
destruction of hopes when the standing was an-
nounced! No one but the valedictorian was sat-
isfied that the right thing had been done, and
each man thought he should have been placed a
little higher on the scale. More than one grad-
uate was never seen again on the Campus after
that day, because of dissatisfaction with his stand-
ing in class.
The whole community manifested a deep in-
terest in these exercises, crowding the church —
now College Hall — to every corner, and listening
attentively to a programme which rarely occupied
less than five hours, and that, too, in the early
part of August. The only light and diverting
feature of these exercises was occasionally a
" Colloquy," with costumes and scenic fixtures.
Music, indoors and out, was furnished by a brass
band. There was no alumni dinner then, but
for many years it was the custom to serve a cold
lunch in the basement of College Hall. Never-
theless, there was a whole-hearted interest in
these occasions which has not been manifested
in later years. Every student stayed through all
COMMENCEMENT FIFTY YEARS AGO. 73
the exercises, packed up after the festivities of
Commencement night, and left town next morn-
ing by early or extra stage.
One imposing spectacle of Commencement day
was the procession about town and to the church.
At 9 o'clock the students gathered on the Chapel
steps and soon formed in line behind the band,
the Freshmen leading. The procession marched
down Main street to the Amherst House, then
turned " column right " toward East street.
W^hen the rear end had reached the hotel a halt
was made to give the band a chance for breath
and to receive the Governor of the Common-
wealth, the President, trustees, faculty, the orator
of the day, distinguished guests and the alumni —
all led by the high sheriflf of the county in his
blue coat and brass buttons. Then the combined
procession moved along the east side of the Com-
mon, until " column right " turned the line across
the Common and up to the front of the church,
where the head of the procession was met by a
dozen constables, carrying black staves about six
feet long. Then the Freshn;en made open order,
marched " closed up " to the middle door, took
" inward face," and shoulder to shoulder uncov-
ered; the Sophomores, Juniors and Seniors ex-
ecuting the same movements in order. Then the
high sheriff led the distinguished persons up be-
tween the lines into the church. The Seniors
followed and took reserved seats. After them the
Juniors closed in, and many secured good places.
74 AN AMHERST BOOK'.
The Sophomores and Freshmen made the same
attempt, but several were sure to find only stand-
ing-room left. The galleries were " reserved ex-
pressly for ladies," and no women were allowed
in the body of the house. The galleries were al-
ways full, however, and no men were allowed
there, save the ushers and " skeddies," who dis-
tributed the schedules ; for the programme of the
exercises was kept a secret until the President
proclaimed "Schaemae distribuantur," immedi-
ately after the opening prayer.
Meantime, outside the church, a motley crowd
was making a pretense to gain an entrance, but
more evidently enjoying a friendly push and
scramble with the constables and their black
poles. After the services had fairly commenced,
the outside crowd, numbering nearly a thousand
people, from Pelham, Shutesbury, Hadley and
other neighboring towns, repaired to the Com-
mon. Here, during the previous night, tents and
booths had been set up, where were offered for
sale whips and other trinkets, oysters, sweet cider,
candy, gingerbread and other edible and drink-
able articles, especially " mead," a drink now
superseded by soda and vichy. The day seldom
closed without a " ring," in which was to be
found a wrestling match; and sometimes a small
" mill " was formed, when two fellows got mad
over some trifle, and could not be satisfied until
they had pounded each other for a few minutes
SIBERIAN PAPERS. 75
before the black poles of the constables separated
them.
All this Commencement crowd vanished about
i860, when cattle shows and county fairs were in-
stituted, and one of the salient features of Am-
herst Commencement became a matter of history.
Edward Hitchcock, '49.
ON READING KENNAN'5 SIBERIAN
PAPERS.
I caught a cry across the waters flung,
So proud and piteous (as if Despair
Held forth a people's heart and laid it bare
For all the world to gaze on), that it stung
My helpless heart to pity. Then I clung
Close to God's judgment bar in silent prayer.
As though the heart of mercy, throned there.
Might heed that cry of pain from Russia wrung.
But soon my silence broke, and there upwelled.
Hot, bold, and passionate, " Our Father's God,
Free Thou these Russian hearts, in fetters held!
Nerve Thou these Russian hands to wield Thy
rod
And scourge the oppressor, till, bv Freedom
felled.
The tyrant's throne be crumbled to the sod! "
Allen Eastman Cross, '86.
From " The Critic!' February, 1890.
MEMORY SONG TO AMHERST.
Very slowlu, tvith breadth. Mozart. Arr. by W. P. Bigelow, 'C9.
Fair - er far tliaii pi> - et's vis - ion. Or tlie fa - bled
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MEMOR Y SONG TO AMHERST. 77
II.
Here, in toil and stress of trial,
Here, in sturdy self-denial,
Wrought, to found these hoary walls,
Men whose life-long consecration,
Rich in sacred inspiration.
Us to high endeavor calls, —
Truth and high endeavor calls.
III.
From these halls to action's glory.
Deeds unsung or famed in story,
Pitching tent on many a strand.
Forth have gone the alumni, wearing
Amherst's seal, and nobly bearing
Amherst's name to every land,
Honoring her in every land.
IV.
Nature's bounteous wealth surrounding,
Friendship's, learning's joys abounding.
Crown these youthful college days;
Yes, her loyal sons remember,
Down to life's austere December,
Dear old Amherst's worthy praise : —
Never die sweet Amherst's praise !
John F. Genung.
THE GLEE.
When night enshrouds old Amherst,
And starry darkness falls
O'er all the town and campus,
Veiling chapel, church and halls;
Through open windows softly
Comes stealing in to me
The sound of students' voices,
As they sing some jolly glee.
When sad thoughts crowd upon me,
And my path seems dark and drear.
And days drag on so slowly —
A week seems as a year;
When I think of the past I've wasted,
What the future is to be ;
Why, some way things look brighter
When the fellows sing the glee.
When years shall leave me weary,
And age shall bow my head,
I'll falter back to Amherst
When the leaves are turning red ;
I'll seek the same old window,
And sinking on my knee,
My heart will echo softly
As the fellows sing the glee.
L. C. Stone, '96.
Ai^HEPST rORTY YEAP5 AGO.
It was the third of July, 1855, towards mid-
night, in an upper room in old North College,
where Williston Hall now stands. I was reading
" Dream Life," and being thirsty, went out to
the well and brought in a brimming pail of water.
Some Seniors who roomed down town had ar-
rayed themselves in white duck suits, silk hats
and patent leather shoes, obtained a supply of
fire crackers, and came into the east entry to
bang them under the doors and through the key-
holes in anticipation of the Fourth. My room
was the last, and as soon as they started down I
seized my pail of water, went to the front hall
window, and as they came out on the stone
steps, four stories below, I held out the pail at
arm's length, gave it a clean tip-over and drew
back. As I learned afterwards the water struck
Rufus Choate on the hat and soaked him to his
shoes. After a moment's silence I heard them
coming back iip-stairs with a very resolute tread.
Bolting my door, I seized an iron poker and
stood ready to " defend my castle."
They stopped on the second floor, however,
and kicked into splinters the door of Bradbury
brothers, suspecting them. They, awakened thus
rudely, protested their innocence and made a
8o AN AMHERST BOOK.
great row. The next morning the brothers made
complaint to Tutor Rowland against these haz-
ing Seniors. Expecting that an investigation
would follow I went to Tutor Rowland and told
of my participation in the afifair. Xothing was
done, and I heard no more about it until I hap-
pened to meet Choate two weeks after. He
reached out his hand and said: " You did that
well! " " I'm glad you think so," I replied, and
we agreed to call it even.
Another student prank comes vividly to mind.
There was a bowlder walk extending from the
foot of the stairs near North College to the high-
way in front of tlie President's house. It was
a treacherous means of passage, especially after
dark in spring or fall, when, instead of stepping
on the tops of the bowlders, one was liable to step
between and go over shoe in mud. About ten
o'clock one night, by mutual understanding,
crowbars and picks were taken from Appleton
Cabinet, then building, and beginning at the
highway the bowlders were dug up and rolled
down the hill toward the Boltwood house. Some
of them were large and bedded deep, leaving
great holes. Not a word was spoken. The chug
of bars and picks was the onh- noise, and the
fire that flew from striking steel on stone was
the only light. The work moved right up to the
foot of the stairs, when some one discovered that
Tutor Rowland was leaning out of his third-story
window in North College to identify whom he
O ^o
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S2 AN AMHERST BOOK.
could. The work was done, the band scattered,
every fellow returned his tool and hustled off to
bed without a light.
The next morning when " Prof. Ty " was go-
ing up to (ireek, the janitor, Mr. Ay res, was at
work with a hoe digging down the elevations and
filling in the holes to make the walk passable.
" You are making a good improvement here,"
said the professor. " Do you think so? " said Mr.
Ayres. " I do," replied the professor. It was a
hit, and no effort was made to discover the dig-
gers. We have done many easier jobs, but never
one more satisfactory.
Forty years ago the two literary societies, Ath-
enae and Alexandria, were accustomed to hold
in the Chapel, soon after the opening of College,
an " electioneering meeting," which correspond-
ed to the modern fraternity " rushing season."
At the meeting in my Freshman year George
Partridge, '54, a Senior, had spoken, giving many
statistics and facts to show us Freshmen the su-
periority of his society. The Senior from the
other society began by saying he was aware that
his opponent had been brooding over records for
weeks past, but it would not amount to anything,
for we read in the good book that " the part-
ridge sitteth on eggs and hatcheth them not."
This witticism was cheered loudly and had great
weight with the Freshmen.
Early in the fifties there were few buildings on
College Hill. All the recitation rooms were in
AMHERST FORTY YEARS AGO. 83
the old Chapel, except one in the Octagon and
another in old South College. The Chapel aisles
and pews were bare and noisy; the pew doors
were continually slanuning as the boys passed
in and out. The recitation-rooms were seated with
plank benches rising in tiers. It was in the day
of President Stearns that mattings, chairs, pic-
tures and statuettes came into use. The pew
doors were taken off, accommodations made
more comfortable, and a look and feeling of fine-
ness crept through the College.
Greek, Latin and Mathematics were the trin-
ity to whom we all sacrificed. There were other
studies, but it was true, " now abideth these
three." Nothing was optional, and there were
no " cuts.'' We exercised in the grove and had
chapel before breakfast. There were no glee,
banjo, or mandolin clubs, no scientific baseball,
football or tennis. The Greek fraternities had no
chapter houses, and only one had rooms outside
the dormitories. According to the boys in those
days President Hitchcock was the greatest and
best man; Professor Tyler the most discerning —
that is, he knew boys as well as Greek ; Professor
Snell was the best teacher, and Professor Haven
the deepest thinker and most finished orator.
Forty years ago a fellow could go through
Amherst College comfortably for $1,200. We
went for the education. Intellectual attainments
and religious life were what nearly all sought.
The government of the College was simple and
84 ^A' AMHERST BOOK.
easy. It governed itself for the most part. Every-
thing was plain and inexpensive. There were no
styles that had to be followed, and yet a great
many young men got a training that has made
them leaders in the high callings of the world.
New Amherst may be better, but we of forty
years ago can never cease to feel " Blessed be
Old Amherst."
E. G. Cobb, '57.
rPaZAP AUGUSTUS STEARNS.*
A brave and beauteous boy — scarce more
In years, in spirit manhood's own —
When once he heard of battle's roar,
And thought of that sad race whose moan
Rose helplessly, he put aside
Life's sweets and freely sacrificed
His all for liberty. He died;
But memory has canonized
His chivalry. Fair Honor weaves
Her laurel for his brow, and Truth —
The Queen whose will he followed — leaves
Her tears upon his tomb to soothe
Her sorrow, while the lips of Fame
Lisp ceaselessly his deathless name.
Seymour Ransom, '92.
*A son of President Stearns and a member of the
Class of 1862. Killed at the head of his regiment in
the battle of Newbern, N. C, 1862.
INITIAL rED.
Somebody started up the fire in the chapter-
house parlor, we all gathered round it, and then
they called on me for a story. All the fellows
were looking at me, and the boyish faces that
were full of college life brought back to my mind
boyish faces of another day. As I gazed into the
fire the red flames, hungrily licking the big sticks
and roaring in the way of all flame, formed pic-
tures before me. The roaring was like the sound
of wind in tall trees, and I seemed to see the
great branches tossing about in the blaze. Then
right on the flames came a face, and my momen-
tary start at the apparition was noticed, for the
boys again implored a story. What could I do?
The fire had brought back memories, so I told
the one weird story I knew, and for a college
tale I think it was sadder than it should have
been.
" Boys," I began, " I suppose life at Amherst is
just as full of fun now as it used to be in my time,
but still you all must know of one or more seri-
ous things. Let me ask you, in the first place,
never to impose on a man's weakness. God help
you if you do! That's my moral, so don't look
for any other. My Senior year we pledged here
a man with an antipathy. He was a fine-looking,
honest, manly fellow, and all you could ask, ex-
86 A AT AMHERST BOOK.
cept — I don't know how we found it out — he was
afraid of the dark and of high places. I think if
he had gone on the Chapel tower he would have
fainted, and as for leaving lamp-light at night,
that was a thing he never dared to do.
" Well, when it came time for initiation we
thought it would be great sport to make him less
afraid of the dark, and so we planned an elab-
orate scheme for his ' out-door work.' After the
usual nonsense that you all know about, we tied
his hands to his sides, wrapped him up in a big
blanket, bandaged his eyes, made a cushion for
his head, and set oflf in an old lumber wagon we
found somewhere, and with a livery horse. The
night was dark as pitch — all cloudy overhead — •
but we knew the road, and so did the horse.
Four of us went. Two lay beside the Freshman
in the bottom of the wagon and one sat by me,
for I was driving. We took the road to Hadley
and lashed the horse all the way. The Fresh-
man bumped around in his blanket, but endured
the torture without a murmur. It was just a
matter of darkness through the two-mile woods
and by the old witch swamp, but it got rather
creepy when we had passed Hadley — you know,
turning down the road to the left — and were
steering for the mountain. The horse was nerv-
ous, too, for it sweated white in the dark. But
I gritted my teeth and hung on for dear life,
while the fellow next me kept laying on the whip.
Sometimes we were in the road and sometimes
8S AN AMHERST BOOK.
in the ditch. As we dashed along by the river
I suddenly thought ' What if the horse got too
near the bank, and that fellow all tied up in the
blanket! ' I remember rattling through that old
covered bridge so that it threatened to come
down about our ears. Bump! bump! we went,
over knolls and into gullies, and soon the dark
mass of Holyoke loomed up out of the black
night. Across the river we could see Tom faint-
ly outlined against the sky.
" We drove up the mountain as far as we
could, then tied the horse and walked, with our
man blindfolded, the rest of the way. Near the
top we steered off into the brush and over the
ledges. Of course we had a lantern and picked
our way carefully. We had a fiendish plan, but
we were greater devils than we knew. Our pris-
oner stumbled along and sometimes fell, but
never said a .word. After a long climb we
reached the spot we were aiming for — the top of
a clifif about lOO feet high — and there we halted.
The wind sighed in the trees like spirits, the
leaves brushed together and the branches
creaked; the awful lonesomeness of the place al-
most frightened us. Well, we four poor fools
took that Freshman, wrapped him closer in the
blanket so that he wouldn't catch cold, and then
tied him to a big tree that stood right on the edge
of the cHfif. We secured him so that he wouldn't
get loose and fall over the cHflf; then told him
his position, and made him promise all sorts of
INITIA TED. 89
things. All the while the wind was muttering up
and down in the big mountain, as though its old
Indian devils had come back again. Way off
beyond were Tom and Nonotuck, with their wild
stories and legends. One of the fellows told some
. of the more awful of these stories in such a way
as to magnify their horror, and before he got
through we all had the shivers. Then we went
ofif and left the Freshman tied to the tree, being
careful to remove the blindfold, so that he could
appreciate the situation. We were going to leave
him for two hours alone in the dark, hanging
over the edge of that cliff, with his mind torment-
ed by about as devilish a lot of ghost stories as I
ever heard. We went back to where we had
tied the horse, and were all filled with our scheme
and its results, which we knew would be the cur-
ing of that fellow's fear of the dark, at least.
" The first flash and rumble of an approaching
storm suddenly woke us from our self-gratula-
tion, and we started for our Freshman. As we
clambered breathlessly over the rocks the man
with the lantern stumbled and smashed it, and
we lost the path. Then the storm broke upon us
in fury. The wind shrieked and howled like a
mad demon. The rain poured in torrents, and
the thunder cracked and roared and rumbled,
and broke the sky and the mountain, too. The
lightning now lit up all around us intensely
white, so that we could see the great trees tossing
about in the storm, and then all was black again.
(Jfi AN AMHERST BOOK.
In the flashes we caught glimpses of each other's
white, scared faces, as we plunged on through
those awful woods, but nowhere could we dis-
cover that tree or cliff. Suddenly there came a
fearful crash, and not 300 feet away a tree was
shattered before our eyes. We dropped with
fright, and lay there in the dark — four half-crazed
boys, praying wildly for God to save us. Then we
thought of that poor fellow tied at the top of the
cliff, and dreadful apprehensions tormented us.
" The storm cleared at last, the stars came out,
and the night grew brighter. Where was our
Freshman? We said little, but each one feared that
somewhere on that great, dark mountain was a
maniac tied to a tree on the edge of a cliff.
Trembling from our past terror and this new
fear we hurried on. Soon we found the cliff, but —
burned ropes, burned blanket, a splintered tree.
Struck by lightning! 'Good God!' cried one
fellow and fainted. We were murderers — horri-
ble, hideous murderers! Not one of us dared go
to the bottom of the cliff, where the body must
have fallen. Dazed and overwhelmed we stum-
bled down the mountain. We would tell our ter-
rible crime to the President and give ourselves
up. Then what?— we were murderers!
" On the long ride home not a word was
spoken. All I could think of was an awful crash,
a blinding light, and a white face at the bottom
of a cliff. That face haunts my mind to-day, as it
lay there, ghastly and cold, under the starlight.
I Nil I A TED. 91
" We went to my room, locked ourselves in,
and were there till noon, listening for a knock
that we thought was sure to come, and suffering
all the pangs of mental torture. At noon, with
white, downcast faces and heavy hearts, we set
out for the President's house. Just as we reached
his gate we ran squarely upon — the Freshman!
For an instant we staggered with amazement,,
then rushing forward we overwhelmed him with
our excited words.
" His explanation was simple enough. Hear-
ing the storm coming, and frightened at the
thought of his position, he had by almost super-
human effort worked himself free. He had run
through the woods and down the mountain to a
farm-house, reaching it just in time to escape
the full fury of the storm. The lightning had
struck the tree while we were cowering in the
woods. It was a miraculous escape. 1 don't
know whether he was cured of his fear or not, but
as for me, the sight of Holyoke makes me shud-
der, and a thunder storm revives the old terror.
We were the ones who had been initiated."
Frederick H. Law, '95.
.•s
OLD UNXLE.
OLD UNCLE.
He is a sure sign of spring — this old man. On
a raw, windy March morning, perhaps, you are
going home from recitations. Picking your way
along the muddy walk, you button your coat
closer and thrust your hands deep into your
pockets. Splash! Splash! on you go, longing
for your pipe and your fire. You turn a corner
and come face to face with him.
" Have some maple sugar? "
There he stands, just as he stood twelve
months ago. There is the same old, rusty, dent-
ed beaver hat; the same thick mass of soft, white
hair, almost covering his wrinkled face ; the same
weather-scarred coat, with its nicked buttons and
frayed buttonholes ; the same stick ; the same pail ;
and, for all you know, the same cakes of sugar.
He is as unchangeable as Old Father Time.
Shifting his cane to his left hand, he takes
from the pail one of the yellow disks and holds
it up for you to examine.
" Well, uncle," you say, putting the cake into
your pocket, " I suppose we can look for warm
weather, now that you are around! How did you
pass the winter? "
" Well, I don't know. Kinder like a wood-
chuck, I guess," he answers in a drawling tone.
94 AN AMHERST BOOK.
" There ain't nothin' goin' on out my way, I git
to meetin' now and then ; you send a fine preach-
er out there. He's got the gosp'l in his heart,
an'll be a big one by'n by. Have some maple
sugar? "
This last is addressed to a new comer, who,
like yourself, pauses to have a word or two. Then
another arrives, and still others, until quite a
group surrounds the old fellow.
" Say, uncle, give us a song! " shouts some
one. " Give us ' Down went McGinty.' "
" I — don't^know — that — tune."
" Well, ' CHmb Up Ye Little Children.' "
" Eh? "
" ' Climb Up Ye Little Children.' "
L^ncle looks passively at the crowd, but does
not reply.
'"Home, Sweet Home!' 'Home, Sweet
Home! ' " suggest several.
With a low, far-away voice the old man begins
to sing. Presently his voice grows louder and
louder, until passers-by stop to listen. On, on,
he sings, entirely oblivious of the curious audi-
ence around him. At last, when the song is fin-
ished, the crowd separates.
Once more alone, and unmindful of the sharp
wind, the old man looks up and down the street,
and calmly awaits the arrival of another pur-
chaser.
Herman Babson, '93.
POIPOT.
Poirot, the lame beggar, crouched on the cold,
hard stones. Up and down the broad steps hur-
ried the crowd. There were ladies and gentle-
men, tradesmen and laborers, but no one turned.
It was snowing fast. Plakes from every side
raced toward the old man, who was hidden be-
neath his mantle; but for Poirot the flakes that
rushed so madly and settled so lightly made
heavenly music. As the crystal stars touched his
tattered garments they brought forth a more de-
licious harmony than could the summer rain,
had it in Tempe swept Apollo's harp. Dim grew
the city ; but it was the sweet haze through which
he saw his native France. Oh, the mountains!
and the clouds! and the sky! and the blue stream
beneath the vineyards!
Now beautiful creatures were bearing him far
above the city, where the thousands still suf-
fered— on, on, through mile upon mile of the
liquid ether. Slowly the glimmering earth grew
fainter; it shone like a star in the eye of night.
Poirot wondered at the admiration and love of
those who carried him, until they crossed a
stream more transparent than the clearest mir-
ror, and there he saw that he himself was a
creature more beautiful than any of those who
bore him. Beyond was a cloud whiter than light,
but when Poirot had crossed the river, thought
could go no farther; and Poirot went on; and the
melody died away.
In the morning they shook oflf the snow and
said: "Poor Poirot! If he suffered so in his
death, let us at least give him a decent burial."
Robert Porter St. John, '93.
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IHE COLLEGE IN 1560.
College Hill in i860, as shown on the opposite
page, had assumed very much the appearance
that it has to-day. Almost the only change has
been caused by the growth of the trees, which
now relieve the stern outHnes of the buildings.
Of all the buildings that have been erected since
i860 only one could be seen from the point of
view taken in the accompanying picture.
In 1835 the original President's house, now
occupied by the Psi Upsilon fraternity, became
unsatisfactory, and the present one was built
upon land purchased in 1841. The Library, the
first stone building on the campus, was erected
in 1853. It included the square portion at the
northeast corner and the tower. The present
reading-room was used also for the stack. It had
all the shelf room that would be needed, the
authorities supposed, for the next fifty years. In
less than half that time, however, the place was
overcrowded, and it became necessary to add the
present stack, which has a capacity for about
one hundred thousand volumes. The Lawrence
Observatory and Woods Cabinet, familiarly
known from its form as " The Octagon," was
erected in 1847 on the site of the first meeting
house of the First Congregational Society. The
geological lecture room was added in 1855. The
collections in this building cover the subjects of
lOO AN AMHERST BOOK'.
geology and mineralogy, those representing the
geology of Massachusetts and Connecticut being
especially complete and valuable.
Appleton Cabinet, the southernmost building
of Chapel Row, was also built in 1855, and has
since been the home of the Hitchcock Ichniolog-
ical collection, the Gilbert collection of Indian
relics, and the Adams Zoological collection. Wil-
liston Hall and East College were built two years
later. The story of their appearance is an inter-
esting one in the history of the college. One bit-
ter cold night in January, 1857, Old North Col-
lege burned to the ground. The students were
all attending society meetings in the other dor-
mitories. One of them had left an open fire burn-
ing in his grate, and that fire caused the mis-
chief. The wind blew a gale from the northwest,
and it was impossible to do anything to save the
building. Had the wind blown more directly
from the north the whole Chapel Row must
have gone. The ashes had hardly ceased to
smoke when Hon. Samuel Williston, of East-
hampton, came generously to the rescue and of-
fered to erect, on the same site, a building which
should contain a chemical laboratory, rooms for
the two literary societies, and an alumni hall, on
condition that the trustees would engage to re-
place the burned dormitory. This proposition
the trustees gladly accepted, and work on the
two buildings was at once begun. The site
chosen for the new dormitory was in the rear
THE COLLEGE IN i860. lor
of the campus, just west of where the church
now stands, and from its location it received
the name East College. The burning of Old
North College thus proved to be, as President
Stearns said, " one of the greatest catastrophes
and one of the greatest blessings the college ever
experienced." In Williston Hall the chemical
laboratory occupied the ground floor, and the
two literary societies the second floor, the rooms
having separate entrances and no means of com-
munication with each other. The large hall on
the third floor was used for examinations and
alumni gatherings, until it was needed as a gal-
lery for the collection of casts which Professor
Mather was making. It is a noteworthy fact that
the student who carelessly left his open fire burn-
ing in Old North College was the man to whose
enthusiasm and energy the college is indebted
for its collection of very excellent casts.
The Barrett Gymnasium was built in i860, and
is said to be the first building in the country
erected for gymnastic work in charge of a reg-
ularly appointed professor. It is of Pelham gran-
ite, seventy feet long and fifty wide. The main
floor, formerly used for class exercises, and con-
taining the heavy apparatus, is in the second
story. The lower floor contained the professor's
room, dressing rooms, bowling alley, etc. The
old building is now used as a storehouse for col-
lege debris.
Edward Clark Hood, '97.
PROrESSOP CHARLIE.
Dear Old Charlie ! Often have I seen him rak-
ing the leaves, a sure sign of the approach of
winter. Rumor has it that a Freshman {utpote
homo viridis) once pointed at the " Professor's "
heap of burning leaves and cruelly remarked
that the leaves were almost as black as his face.
Whereat Charlie crushed the Freshman by re-
torting: " x\nd nex' spring they'll be as green
as you be." But such a legend is a departure
from our purpose, which is to throw a side-light
on the old fellow's history and character.
His name is Charles Thompson. At least, that
is the name he has often had me write on receipts
for wages, or some similar document. He once
assured me that he did not ask help because he
could not write, but because it was cold weather
and his fingers were numb, and " when his fin-
gers are numb he can write only coarse hand."
We were once told from the chapel rostrum
that this " Professor " had not won his title " in
any lines of academic distinction among us." Is
that a reason why we love him so much? He
wears well, at any rate, for during term time in
the last three years not a day has passed in which
I have failed to rejoice at the sight of his kind old
face, save a week at the time of his one brief
illness. And from my window in South College
PROFESSOR CHARLIE.
I04 AN AMHERST BOOK.
I have often seen an alumnus clamber up " Dys-
pepsia Hill " from the Central Massachusetts sta-
tion, stop to gaze at the Chapel Row a moment,
and then head straight for the dusty regions of
sub-Chapel " to see if Professor Charlie remem-
bered him." The old man does recall him as a
rule. May he remember me at some future date,
when, like Macaulay's New Zealander, I return
and behold a new College Hall and the ruined
columns of the Old Chapel! Old alumni some-
times ask him why he doesn't die. He always
tells them, " I don't know ; I expec' to go when
the good Lord takes me." And thus he has lived
on; Dr. W. S. Tyler is the only one now alive
who was a professor here when Charlie came to
Amherst.
Old Charlie has two histories. There is that
deHghtful romance of his having been a slave,
and how Captain Frazar Stearns purchased his
freedom and brought him north as a body ser-
vant, later to drift into the sendee of the Col-
lege. I hope I shall not be thought an iconoclast
if I tell the true version. The Professor was born
as free as any of us, in Portland, Maine. Only a
few minutes ago he was sitting on a trunk in the
lower hall, swinging his legs and chirruping
away, telling me all about himself. He said that
when he was sixteen he sailed on the ship " War-
ren," of the port of Warren, Maine, bound on a
whaling cruise. He described pictorially the first
whale, and how they finally captured it; how he
PROFESSOR CHARLIE. 105
once saw a whale kill five men in the jolly-boat;
how they were out four years and a half and
brought back five hundred and ten barrels of oil.
Again he went before the mast, this time on a
bark — " Kremblin " was the name I caught, and
he had " forgotten " how to spell it. On this
cruise he went " down to London and then down
to China;" saw Java and "lots of monkeys,"
Africa and " lions and elephants." Professor
Charlie remarked that Africa is a " mighty pretty
island, but drelTul hot," and then, moralizing,
" It's a mighty fine thing fer a young fellah to
travel 'round a lot." In a few minutes he wrenched
me around the globe, from Santiago to Siberia,
from Mocha to the Congo Free State, comment-
ing on them as places of interest in his voyage.
On his return to Cambridgeport, President
Stearns hired him as man-of-all-work, and Char-
lie held that position a year or two after President
Steams came to Amherst in 1854. Then he came
into his present place as Professor of Dust and
Ashes in the College. For a brief period he was
head-janitor. He had charge of the chapel clock
for many years; sometimes he tells me, without
bitterness, that he thinks he could run it better
than his successor runs it to-day. During the
war he was full of interest for his Southern breth-
ren, and raised the flag at the first news of every
Federal victory. So he has filled an important
place here, nor has he ever incurred the ill-will
of any one, faculty or student.
io6 AN AMHERST BOOK.
I need not speak of his " trailing-footed " gait,
his big shoes or his dehberate motions. He is too
familiar to us all to need such personal descrip-
tion. But one thing I shall never forget : There
comes a rumble in the hall, I hear him talking to
himself just outside the door, and then he taps the
panels with his broom-handle. The door is opened
and there he stands, smiling all over, dragging a
five-bushel basket, and saying " T'hee, got any
waste-papah? " May he live long to ask that
question of many a student whose class numbers
in the nineteen hundreds! May he still be here
when my class has its quinquennial and decennial
— until " the good Lord takes him! "
Roberts Walker, '96.
DREAMS.
Such perfumes these no city breeze
E'er found in sun-swept streets of town.
I dreamed of far blue hills, horizon-walled.
And pathless forests still and brown,
Where, mid the noontide hush,
The cat bird called
In tangled underbrush.
And when I wakened, thought came back
Through forest shades of birch and tamarack.
W. S. ROSSITER, '8.7.
T\H UNHNISHED STORY.
Ned Osborne had been out of college four
years now, and that made six years that he had
been examining- all the girls he met with
thoughts about their fitness to be his wife. I
say six years; Freshman year he had been busy
studying, having an idea that he was destined to
be a scholar and bring renown to the family
name. So he had given little attention to the
girls. The ideals of his Sophomore year had
been quite the opposite of his Freshman hopes
and ambitions. He was usually to be found close
behind the burning end of a cigarette, and he
made himself beHeve that he liked to hear people
say he was drinking extensively and was getting
to be a first-class sport, who never studied, but
who managed to crib his way up to the passing
mark.
The summer after Sophomore year Ned had
spent at home. During those weeks he came to
realize more than ever before how honorable and
upright his father was, and how highly respected
by all his associates. The ideas of his mother,
which before had seemed narrow and prejudiced,
somehow took on a new dignity and worth, and
because he was still, at heart, an honest and.
thoughtful fellow, he was forced to admit that
she was not so mistaken as he had grown to im-
agine her. Right here his years of early train-
ing made themselves felt, and because his Sopho-
io8 AN AMHERST BOOK.
more ideal was not good enough, he had, after
a brief struggle, cast it aside.
So when he went back to college to begin his
third year he was thinking very seriously of the
" after college." This was quite natural, for he
had just turned twenty-one. He could see plain-
ly that he had been going the wrong way, and he
was strengthened in his determination to get
started again.
Ned had always been a favorite with the girls,
and among them he numbered many good
friends. After he began to look more ear-
nestly at life, he measured each one in the light
•of the future. He had never been conscious of
having any ideal for a wife, but now he found
the ideal already formed. Judged by this stand-
ard all his girl friends were lacking, though one
or two had come very near meeting its require-
ments. There was Miss Branton — he had met
her in spring term of Senior year, and she
possessed so many of the essential qualifications
that for a time he almost believed she was the
destined girl. But soon he noticed that her con-
duct and conversation were superficial. She was
vivacious and entertaining, but he could not re-
member a single serious talk they had ever had
together, nor a single lofty ambition which she
had strengthened in him. So she would not do.
Then there was Agnes Waverton — a very su-
perior girl. But the fact that he had known her
from boyhood made it impossible for him to love
AN UNFINISHED STORY. 109
her. He forgot that she was a woman; he re-
membered her as a girl, and as such she was de-
ficient.
From that time on he had appHed the test to
every new girl he met — not that he was in a
hurry to choose, but under the circumstances this
examination seemed the only natural thing.
During those six years he had dreamed much
of what the home should be. In all the dream-
pictures, he saw, sitting just across the table from
himself, or beside him at the fire, a happy, moth-
erly woman — the real joy of the home. He could
not tell the color of her eyes or hair — those were
imessential — and he never wondered as to her
name, but he always saw the qualities which his
ideal demanded. She was cultured, of a fine,
sympathetic nature, and a woman who made lit-
tle commotion or trouble about her duties. As
to his children, he always pictured two in his
mind. The boy was the older — a big, jolly,
warm-hearted fellow ; at college a fair student and
an excellent football player. He had about de-
cided to name him Tom — Tom was so honest
and unconventional. The daughter was two
years younger — tall and beautiful, and rather
moderate, with a cool business head. And he
pictured them both coming home from college
for a Christmas ; Tom just getting over a sprained
knee; the daughter talking about the latest novel
and begging Papa to take her to the newest
opera.
AN UNFINISHED STORY. iii
This was his condition, matrimonially speak-
ing, when he met Margaret Stanton. At first
she had seemed like the hundred other girls he
knew. As he came to know her better, however,
he found so many of the characteristics for which
he had been looking that her acquaintance be-
came very pleasant. She did not attain to the full
measure of his standard, but he was sure that
he saw no traits in her which denoted tenden-
cies that were contrary to his ideals. The ac-
quaintance grew to intimacy. Rumor whispered
an engagement, and though this was not true, he
had about decided that it ought to be. The wo-
man whose face he had so often seen in his
dreams was now a creature of flesh and blood.
She seemed more beautiful than any other wo-
man. All his dreams were now to be realized.
Margaret's mother had invited Ned to dine
with them, and he had accepted with an end in
view. He knew that the old people would linger
for a while after dinner and then leave them to
themselves, and that was to be the time.
Ned had never before so enjoyed a dinner.
Her father and mother had always been cordial
to him, but they seemed unusually so that even-
ing, and her bright, beautiful face just across
the table from him woke the fond dreams of his
own home. His hopes were raised and his de-
termination strengthened.
The expected transpired. After dinner her
father said that a case in court on the morrow de-
112 AN AMHERST BOOK.
nianded his attention for the evening, and callers
summoned her mother to another room. The
talk turned to people they knew, and he said :
" I met Miss Lincoln driving this afternoon.
She's a charming young woman and everybody
speaks very highly of her, too."
" Well, I have my opinion of Mary Lincoln,
and I can't say that I agree with everybody,"
she replied, and her cheeks flushed. ,
He was startled by this quick and spirited re-
tort, and hoping that he had misunderstood, he
asked, " What did you say? " When she re-
peated the words and he saw the same look in
her face he was much displeased.
If college and business had taught him any-
thing it was to be guarded in expressing his opin-
ions about others. One of his ideals for his wife
had been that she must be fair in her judgments.
He could not understand why Margaret — he al-
ways thought of her as Margaret now — should
speak thus of Miss Lincoln, when every one else
had only good words for her. Was she so nar-
row that some little personal disagreement would
cause her to retain ill feelings? No, he could
not believe that. Then was there some real rea-
son why she should speak as she had? Was he
mistaken about Miss Lincoln? He was loath also
to believe that. His mother thought Miss Lin-
coln almost perfect; indeed, she had more than
once said to him that Mary would make a lovely
wife for some man. He had never thought of her
AN UNFINISHED STORY. 113
in that light, but because he respected her so
much he was pained to hear any insinuations
against her.
As they talked about other things many
thoughts of the incident passed quickly through
his mind, and now, as he looked up, he noticed —
or thought he noticed — that Margaret did not
appear quite as beautiful as she had at dinner.
They talked for an hour, and he concluded to
put off that other business until some future
time. Not that he did not love IMargaret as
much as ever, but somehow he did not feel in
just the right humor. So when the clock struck
nine he left his good-night for her mother, and
the door closed, and he was walking down the
avenue.
Upon reaching the corner he turned and saw
the light in the window. Then, as he went on,
he thought of the old dreams; he saw the home
again, and by the fireside sat Margaret — was it
Margaret? Somehow the face was not quite as
distinct as it had been, and yet it must be she.
As he crossed the avenue he looked back
again. He was not sure whether it was Mar-
garet's face at the fireside, but just then he
thought of her goodness and beauty. Why, of
course it was she! Of course he loved her!
Nevertheless the face at the fireside was not so
distinct as he wished it were, though he thought
it was hers; but he was not quite sure.
Charles Amos Andrews, '95.
AMHERST SERENADE.
G B. Churchill, '89. Tod P. Galloway, '85.
m
=t:=
Anda7ite con moto.
J ,^ '
1: Sometliing in tliis
^ 2. Stuiul-iug ill thy
g- I '^ I _^ ■
sum - nier iiiglit Leads my rr)v - ing will,
gar - (leu shrine. Love, I plead with thee.
^Z^SELttE
^
tJ
^^rfS
^^
^
^f — ' — y-ri Ui
Something in the soft moon light Kee: s me near thee still:
See - est thou these How'rs of thine How thev plead for me ?
Here, what late I dared not say. All my heart doth
Lil - V nev - er t;i<l la - meiit Men should find it
long,
fair,
AMHERST SERENADE.— Co»i<mMfrf.
La - (ly dear, this iiijrht I may —
Itosc (lid iiev - er yet re; - peiir,
rat^ttan
Breathe to thee in sonj;.
O - - dors flun;r to air.
J _N hJ ^
^
-g^im — m-
dim.
rallent.
aiP
tt^
i_ — -c — >=r t^_: c^:=^ — U
Tempo prima.
:t-
=^=tr-=
3. There a - mid thy dreams, my sweet, Keep one thoiiiiht of
AMHERST SKRENAT>K.—Co7icluded.
Poco tnosso.
■a — ^ -o -
E=fEe^^^fe"=^
As, while all my nights speed by, Thou .irt al - ways
--1 ?• I h-
i ?» 1 ^-^ \ —?i 1 nfi 1 ==?-*— S — 3
tempo. ^ ral - len - tan - do. /~.
//
mine.
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ritard. pp
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m^^
SABRINA.
It is confidently believed that Sabrina has sur-
vived all the indignities of her strange and check-
ered career, and reached that high station to
which her divine nature entitles her. We see now
that her vicissitudes were due to the fact tliat
she was not understood. She was compelled^
through no fault of her own, to act out of char-
acter. Whether in shadowy legend or in more
tangible bronze, it is Sabrina's evident vocation
to be a guardian divinity; why else was her pro-
totype drowned in the river Severn except to
become thenceforth a nymph and a myth, and
as such the protectress of all that region?
Before our Sabrina was drowned — this time,,
alas, for our prosaic age, not in a historic river,
but in the College well — her ideas how to set up
in the divinity business were very vague, and the
whole spirit of our modern time was against her,
though she did her best. Her first handicap was
the gross unappreciativeness of men. The hon-
ored benefactor who gave her to the College, Mr.
Joel Hayden, kindly but mistakenly deemed that
her vocation was to occupy a pedestal on the
campus, a vulgar show for all sorts of rude gazers
to see. Naturally enough, the life of a goddess
in such a position could not run smoothly. For
SABRINA.
(As she presided over " The Garden.'')
SABRINA. 119
one thing-, she was dressed too cool to endure
the rigors of a New England climate; that any
one ought to have known. It was pathetic to see
how from time to time she would cover her shiv-
ering shoulders with shawls and wraps, and how
when these were not forthcoming, often her only
coat would be a coat of paint. Once with a loy-
alty truly touching she encased her shapely but
freezing limbs with striped stockings of the Am-
herst purple-and-white. This revealed how deep-
ly she responded to college sentiment; and that
she shared in college sorrows, too, was evident
when, after some athletic defeat, she would hide
her chagrin by burying herself to the neck in the
ground, or plunging head first into a barrel of
tar.
All this, though it revealed her sympathizing
heart, was far enough from being a gracious and
protecting goddess, and, indeed, for many years
the nearest approach she could make to that vo-
cation was as a kind of wet-nurse, in which char-
acter she was found one morning holding a rag
baby labeled '81. This piteous display of her ten-
derness, however, had its reward. To the class of
'82 belongs the distinction of first recognizing
something of her exalted nature ; and, leaving her
bleak station on the campus, at their solicitation,
she graced their class banquet in New Londoa
though, it is feared, more as honorary classmate
than as divinity.
In fact, she was neither nymph nor myth as
I20 AN AMHERST BOOK.
yet, and on her return from New London she suf-
fered worse insuhs than ever. Then came the
drowning and the long season of gloom in Col-
lege well; afterward, when her destruction was
decreed, a period of hiding and refuge in the
merciful Professor Charlie's barn; at some time,
also, it is not known exactly when, several years
of burial under a townsman's doorstep, until he
sent to the College treasurer, saying: " Come
and get your goddess." All this, as we now see,
was merely her necessary training. Like her
prototype, she had to be drowned in order to en-
ter the nymph state, and, as Lord Bacon says.
" it is by indignities that men (and perhaps
nymphs also) come to dignities." At any rate,
having survived all these experiences, she has
reached the exalted station wherein she is at
once a divinity and a myth; appearing on earth
at rare intervals, in such gracious guise as to
rouse the most enthusiastic class spirit, then van-
ishing, her very existence a problem, her where-
abouts, if she has any, known perhaps only to a
few, or even one favored devotee.
As a myth, too, she has thus far fulfilled all the
requirements nobly. Matter-of-fact people will
tell you that she was discovered and apotheosized
by '88, by them handed down to '90, from whom
she was stolen by '91. They will even tell the
story how a drayman, leaving her only a minute
carelessly while he went into the house to get
his overcoat, found, to his dismay, on returning.
SABRINA. 121
that the occupants of a buggy whisking by had
abstracted her in a twinkling from his wagon
and were off to the woods. That night the ban-
queters of '90 had to dispense with her benign
presence. From '91 she was duly inherited by
'93, only to be stolen again by watchful members
of '94. Ever since then, in fact, she has been
" stolen property," subject every year to legal
demands and prying detectives, and writs of re-
plevin have followed her to this day. This is
the way her history looks to prosaic eyes; but
when it is said that a goddess and a full-fledged
myth submits to so ignoble a fate as to be stolen
we ought by this time to know how to interpret
it.
The subsequent history of Sabrina is just that
baffling mixture of fancy and fact, of poetry and
prose, that characterizes every myth. After a
little flash of her divinity at the banquet of '94
she vanished, and rested a whole year, the pros-
ers say, in a cold-storage warehouse in Boston.
It was a year of acute rivalry between '95 and
'96 as to who should ultimately possess her.
When '96, who had the promise of her presence
at their Freshman banquet, surmounted the
strenuous efforts of '95 to prevent their going,
and were started for Greenfield, their train was
boarded by a number of Sophomores, who, how-
ever, were foiled when the classes changed cars
and were sent off in the wrong direction. Dis-
covering their mistake and arriving at Greenfield
122 AiV AMHERST BOOK.
too late for the banquet, these men of '95 ob-
tained a search-warrant, climbed up by ladders to
a roof, whence they could look into the ban-
quet room, and were sure that the ice canister at
the head of the table was Sabrina. They were
wrong; Sabrina never was at Greenfield. It is a
very comfortable thing, sometimes, to be a myth.
At the Sophomore banquet, however, which
was held in Nashua, Sabrina beamed upon the
class of '96 in all her glory — for forty rapturous
minutes. Then she disappeared, to seek her fit-
ting sphere; though the prosaist steps in again
here with his trumpery story of a dray rumbling
oflf to the town of Mason in the middle of a zero
night, with seven hundred pounds of bronze
statue, and reaching its destination at half-past
six in the morning. That same unimaginative
historian would doubtless tell you that she had
come from Boston to Nashua packed as sleight-
of-hand utensils belonging to Comical Brown.
Nay, he would go still further back and tell you
that, on account of the watchfulness of '95 and
a reward offered by the American Express Com-
pany, her retreat in the cold-storage warehouse
had some time before become very insecure, and
that, evading her keen pursuers by only a few
hours, she had stowed herself away among the
sausages of a sausage manufactory, from which
place it was that she went to Nashua. Thus it is
that the aerial journeys of a goddess appear to
those whose souls lack poetry. She certainly will
SABRIiVA. 123
never be less a myth to those who accept the
sausage theory.
At Mason, so the prosaic history runs, she
rested three days in a grape cellar. Then one
night, the proprietor of the cellar never knew
how, she disappeared, and thereafter rested long
and securely in an attic away off in another part
of the town. It was while she was here that the
proverbial " woman in the case " disturbed her
security again and caused her once more to take
flight. As two Amherst class presidents hap-
pened to be talking with a Smith student, at a
reception in Northampton, the young lady as-
serted with the utmost assurance that she knew
of Sabrina's whereabouts, and for a wonder
named the exact place. The way she had got at
it, through an intricate labyrinth of college cor-
respondents, best girls, fond mothers, and coun-
try sewing circles, none of whom knew the real
truth of the matter, betrayed powers of con-
jecture and inference worthy of Sherlock Holmes
himself. And the information happened to be
just what one of the class presidents knew and
the other was eagerly in search of. So Sabrina
must flee again, this time to rest well guarded,
though subject still to keen detective inquiries,
in a little town of Western New York. Here it
was comparatively easy to evade the watchful
eyes of '97, and when it came time for '98 to in-
herit her presence, an elderly business man, who
was much accustomed to transport machinery,
124 AN AMHERST BOOK.
could very conveniently take her to a spot
whence she could be transferred to the next class
supper.
Sabrina's latest appearance on earth was in
January, 1896, at the Sophomore class banquet
in Bennington, Vermont. She seems destined
now to manifest her favor to the even-numbered
classes, though no one can forecast the future.
And ever since her bath in the College well in-
ducted her, like the maid of the Severn, into
nymphhood, she has, with the years, grown more
mysterious, more mythical. Where is Sabrina?
is still the unanswered question; a question round
which cluster more rumors and rivalries, more
fancies and schemes and class enthusiasms than
attach to any other college topic.
Charles J. Staples, '96,
and John F. Genung.
THE MONUMENT OE RIGHT.
Shout the joys of Hfe, ye Moderns!
Shout the joys of Hfe to-day!
When the world is full of progress,
Peaceful in the breath of May.
Shout that as mankind advances
Out of darkness into light,
You may carve another motto
On the monument of right!
Chiseled first by Grecian freedom,
Then by Roman equity.
Soon it spoke in living emblems
Dyed for conscience-liberty.
Now it towers in simple grandeur,
Splendid with the light of age,
Motloed by a hundred precepts,
Thrilled with mighty justice-rage.
Still behold one markless surface.
Near the column's haloed head;
There inscribe this sacred maxim,
Which shall live till right is dead :
" Wealth is only accidental
Standing not for highest worth;
Man is man if he has manhood,
Spite of fortune, skill or birth! "
William L. Corbin, '96.
T^WHERST IN 1575.
The accompanying cut of the college build-
ings reproduces a photograph taken in 1875 from
the roof of the Library. The two buildings ac-
quired since i860 both appear — Walker Hill on
the left and the College Church, showing its spire
just above the end of East College.
The fund for the erection of Walker Hall was
estabHshed by Dr. W. G. Walker, of Charlestown.
In order to provide a suitable site for the pro-
posed building, the Boltwood estate, a strip ot
land on the north side of the college grounds,
was purchased. The cornerstone was laid in
1863, but not until 1870 was the building com-
pleted. The material was Monson granite,
trimmed with brown sandstone, and the archi-
tecture was that known as the revised mediaeval.
The building was by far the most magnificent
structure the College boasted, having cost nearly
as much as the aggregate of all the other build-
ings erected up to that time. The departments
of mathematics, physics, astronomy and min-
eralogy found quarters there, besides the offices
of the President, treasurer, registrar, and college
pastor. The Shepard collection of minerals,
among the most valuable in the country, oc-
cupied the entire third floor. At about the time
128 AN AMHERST BOOK.
of the erection of Walker Hall a large sum, near-
ly equal to the original cost of the building, was
spent in making needed repairs in the chapel.
The only evidence of this that appears in the pic-
ture is the railing on top of the tower, which re-
placed the old decoration.
In 1867 the trustees purchased the abandoned
meeting-house of the First Congregational
Church, — the second building owned by the so-
ciety,— and rebuilt it into College Hall. Tradi-
tion says the remodelHng took away much of its
ugliness. We wonder, but are not tempted to
imagine, what it could have looked like in the
original.
The College Church was completed at about
the time of the semi-centennial. The edifice em-
bodied the idea that the College might " hold the
religious services of the Sabbath, as other
churches do, in a retired, consecrated Sabbath
home, from which all the studies and distractions
of the week should be excluded, and where the
suggestions of the place should assist us to gather
in our thoughts, and in the enjoyment of sacred
silence to confer with God." The chief donor
was the late William F. Stearns, son of President
Stearns. For a long time the selection of the
proper site for the new building was a very per-
plexing question. The trustees finally accepted
the unanimous advice of architects and profes-
sional landscape gardeners, and chose the spot
at the eastern edge of the campus, just behind
AMHERST IN 1873. 129
East College. \\^hen the old dormitory was de-
molished later the beautiful church stood forth
on its eminence, a testimonial to the wisdom of
the advice given and accepted. Any one who
has ever attended an open-air vesper ser\nce held
on the green knoll in the rear of the church ap-
preciates the choice of location. It is the most
beautiful spot m our beautiful Amherst. Across
the green valley, dotted with white farmhouses,
rise the gently-rolling Pelham Hills, ever chang-
ing in color — green or golden, purple or ruddy —
according to the season and the magic touch of
the sun. And the quiet of the place is perfect.
The note of a bird or the rustle of the leaves
alone breaks the Sabbath stillness, and even the
birds and breezes seem to have a tone of rever-
ence.
Edward Clark Hood, '97.
JULIUS HAWLEY SEELYE.
JULIUS HAW^EV SEELYE.
Colleges change. College presidents change
with them. The heads of our larger institutions of
learning were once selected because they were
scholars. They are chosen to-day because they
are men of afifairs, or believed to be such. They
were once expected to attract students. They
are now expected to attract endowments. When
President Seelye resigned, in 1890, he was well
nigh the only man at the head of an institution
as large as Amherst College who owed his rela-
tion primarily to his eminence as a scholar and
his intellectual power as an original thinker,
rather than to his ability as a man of affairs.
Man of affairs he was, but death found him in
many senses, perhaps in all, the last of that great
line of clerical educators, who, from Jonathan
Edwards, in the middle of the last century, to
]\Iark Hopkins, in the middle of this century,
have molded the ideals, the intellection and the
education of New England and the country.
President Seelye had all the strength and many
of the limitations of the men of this mighty suc-
cession. Its share in developing the higher
thought of the American people will be better
appreciated a century hence than it is likely to be
to-day, when new demands have made new en-
dowments the first need of colleges and their
132 AA- AMHERST BOOK.
material prosperity the popular measure of their
success. Educated in Germany while Kant and
Hegel still reigned supreme, President Seelye
represented in the luminous and stimulating
teaching, which he gave to successive classes for
thirty years, a transcendental idealism, which was
the natural outcome of the adaptation of the
Kantian philosophy to the needs and thought
of men trained in the stricter traditions of New
England theology.
But with men like President Seelye, as with
his predecessors in the same field and work, his
precise explanation and teaching were of far less
consequence than the man and his message. The
method of metaphysics will vary with every age.
In the interpretation of life every teacher, and in
the end every man, must choose between the
assertion of the spiritual and unseen as ultimate
law and guide, or the acceptance of the known,
the recorded and the undemonstrated as map-
ping and environing all of life. It was the high
and extraordinary mission of President Seelye,
in a day and generation when the whirl and clat-
ter of scientific discovery induced other currents
and other tendencies, to assert with unfaltering
trust and unshaken belief the conviction that the
dominant impulse and development of humanity
made for things spiritual, unseen and eternal.
No man can do more for his day than this. It
fell to President Seelye to stand in many hu-
man relations. He was seventeen years professor
JULIUS HA IVLE V SEEL YE. 133
and thirteen president. He served in Congress
with distinction, and showed there supreme de-
votion to principle as he conceived it. His pub-
lished works played each its important part in
its own field. In his term as president he doub-
led the endowment of Amherst. He originated
a new method of college discipline by an appeal
to honor and self-government, which has been
widely miitated and has in all institutions modi-
fied old methods.
But his real work was in the class-room. There
he awoke impulse and conviction that lasted
through life. His pupils, scattered in life's work
in cities, in country manses and offices, in solitary
mission stations, think not of his honors and
offices, of his books or his fame. There rises be-
fore them the gaunt figure of the man, his sub-
tle, earnest and illumined face, and they hear
once more his deep inspiring voice pleading in
the Babel of the world's duties — conflicting, con-
fusing and constraining — for the still small voice
of the Spirit, for a supreme allegiance to the
sense of duty which is from everlasting to ever-
lasting, and for a serene confidence that for the
righteous it shall be ever and always well, be-
cause in a righteous hand are all things ordered
and uplifted.*
Talcott Williams, '73-
♦Reprinted, with revision, from fhe Philadelphia
Press of May 14, 1895.
PEANUT JOHM.
For the most part, peanut venders are rather a
dry lot. Whatever savor they bring of clear
skies, and sunny lands, and historic rivers, seems
starved and mummified by the eternal conscious-
ness of the scramble for existence. One, indeed,
I knew, with his red stand on the dusty corner of
a city street, who tried with cheery patience to
teach my juvenile wits how to read his Italian
newspaper. But such as he are rare enough;
they stand on an eminence apart from all their
kind, and chief among them, for all that makes
simple manhood, is " Peanut John " IMusante.
To see his slow, lumbering, though not exactly
dignified gait, as he wanders about town, or to
watch him as he sits in his " store," sleepily turn-
ing the crank of his peanut-roaster, to the dron-
ing accompaniment of an accordion, playing Ital-
ian airs, one would think him the personification
of repose — the antithesis of our American spirit
of hurry. But in the presence oi a champion-
ship game — whai a transformation! All the
phlegmatic inertness vanishes. Not a Freshman
watches the play more eagerly, not a man cheers
louder, or throws his hat higher than Peanut
John.
Fourteen years have passed since John came to
PEANUT JOHN.
136 AN AMHERST BOOK.
Amherst, and his conquest of the student heart
was long ago complete. His monopoly of the
peanut business is absolute. He still occupies
the little, underground basement that he rented
when he came to town — now, as always, half
filled with empty orange crates and big sacks
of peanuts. The idea of progress, with its bale-
ful discontent, has never troubled his tranquil
existence. I fear John knows nothing at all
about the grim laws of competition. Observe the
extra handful of peanuts that goes into your
pocket with every nickel's worth you buy. Note
the orange thrown in with each purchase by a
student acquaintance, and then know one reason
why John's business has not outgrown its mod-
est accommodations, but know also the reason
for John's monopoly, and for his hold on the Am-
herst heart. There is a story that once a com-
mon " Dago " came up from New York, set up
a stand and tried to undersell him, but the boys
rallied around John, refused his rival admittance
to the big games, and at length forced the in-
truder to depart, after a brief, boycotted exist-
ence.
Nothing pleases John better than to have a
student drop in of an evening for a little chat.
He is always full of talk about Italy. A patriotic
son of Genoa, and a fellow-townsman of Colum-
bus, he is proud of his birthplace, and ready any
time to throw^ up his hat for the glory of the
fatherland. Nevertheless, his praise is not al-
PEANUT JOHN. 137
together an unmixed and indiscriminate hyper-
bole. He admits that Italy has one drawback.
'* It's all right," he told me with great earnest-
ness. " Goota place, goota land, goota people —
all goot — but,'' and his voice dropped to a con-
fidential note, " worka like a jackass!"
" They not pay 'nough," he explained. " Work
all day; get twenta-five — thirta cent! You geta
shoe, geta pant, geta coat, geta shirt — all gone!
Nothin' to eat ! Then you geta fam'ly — " but the
situation was beyond the powers of John's Eng-
lish, and he supplied the ellipsis with a graphic
wave of his hand.
When John went to be photographed, he in-
sisted, in spite of most urgent remonstrances,
on wearing a white shirt and starched collar in
place of the old, familiar black sweater. With
this single exception the accompanying picture of
him and his basket of peanuts is thoroughly
characteristic. It is no mean advantage of tar-
rying four years in this little bubbling back-
water from the high seas of life, that sometimes
we eddy into contact with souls so simple and
honest and unselfish as " Peanut John " Mu-
sante — upon whom we hereby confer the degree
of " Nature's Gentleman."
ARCHIB.\LD L. Bouton, '96.
HEP LIGHT C.IHTAP.
Her light guitar she softly plays,
With the sweetest witching little ways
Of smiling at me, as I lie
Admiring her, and vainly try
To still the heart her beauty sways.
Her graceful form the fire's red rays
Encircle with a maddening maze
Of mellow light — the red flames dye
Her light guitar!
I would I knew a lover's lays
To sing her now, while glad she stays
Her song to make me soft reply;
I rave — for riches, love and I
Uncared for are, whene'er she plays
Her light guitar!
L. C. Stone, '96.
THE MEASURE OE A MAN.
Popularity with the swell set in college, like ul-
tra-fashionable society in New York, " is a para-
dise, at least to the extent of having an angel
with flaming sword to guard its entrance." Some-
times it is to good looks and an amiable dispo-
sition that this sword is lowered; sometimes to
intellect; more often to athletic ability; occa-
sionally, it must be admitted, it is lowered, but
never obsequiously, to the shining talisman of
riches.
Now, Arthur Woodbury represented these
four things. He was rich, he was clever, he had
a prepossessing appearance, and he could run a
certain distance upon the cinder track in several
seconds less time than any other man in col-
lege. In consideration of these qualifications, as
he advanced in his course, he was taken up with
enthusiasm by the college swells, and was at
length received into that inner circle of the elect
whose badge of membership makes it possible for
a Senior to dress like a " poco " and behave like
a Bowery " gent," if he cares, and still retain an
unquestioned social pre-eminence. Woodbury,
however, did neither of these things. On the
contrary, his taste in clothes was §o fastidious
and his habitual demeanor so reserved and cor-
THE MEASURE OF A MAN. 141
rect that his fellows came to regard him as a
sort of embryo Chesterfield. His physical cour-
age and strong mental character being undenia-
ble, this could not be scored as a point against
him. Rather, it increased the nameless fascina-
tion which he held for all of his acquaintances.
He was a man with a liking for the society of
ladies, and naturally enough was immensely pop-
ular with them. There was a quality in his looks,
his speech and his manner which could not but
impress a girl; something conspicuous and nat-
urally eminent, which invested his most trifling
word and act with the stamp of his personality.
He was strong and lithe and mascuHne, and his
iine, serious eyes had a very compeUing glance.
It followed inevitably that he should become a
favorite in feminine circles. But he was not open
to the charge of being a mere gay Lothario; his
solid qualities were too prominent for that. His
enemies — he had a few of them, as all men of
strong characters must have — found him a hard
man to pick flaws in. One or two youths, who
resented his exclusiveness, were accustomed to
say his chief fault was that he had none of the
palpable human weaknesses which were always
cropping out in his fellows. " His virtues pall
upon me," one young man complained. " They ir-
ritate me. Everything he does is so altogether
suitable and desirable. He is abe lely self-cen-
tered. He never couM ' led himself
to be what he ' t care. His
142 AN AMHERST BOOK.
very simplicity is the highest art. He never re-
fers to himself or his opinion, but in order not to
he is obliged never to forget himself one single
minute."
These few detracting tongues, however,
wagged harmlessly enough. The object of their
dislike was too firmly seated in the universal re-
gard to be affected by them.
At the time when Woodbury became a Senioi
at Amity, a young man named Bagley entered
the Freshman class. As it happened, the two
were old acquaintances. They hailed from the
same town, where Woodbury's father owned a
large manufacturing business, and Bagley's
father was the local physician. The families had
been somewhat intimate, and it naturally hap-
pened that when the eldest scion of the one went
away to college the sole member of his genera-
tion in the other took a deep interest in following
the incidents in his career. From time to time
news came to the village of Woodbury's success;
he had made the athletic team; he was singing
on the glee club; he had received a term mark
of four. When at length Bagley himself went up
to college, his old acquaintances had become a
person of such prominence that the Freshman
was conscious of a vague feeling of excitement
at the prospect of meeting him once more. They
had not seen each other in two years, both hav-
ing been absent from town during the vacations
Their first encounter took place about a week
THE MEASURE OF A MAN. 143
after the opening of the term. Bagley reahzed
when it was over that \\'oodbiiry was not glad
to see him at Amity. Strange as it may seem,
after his first pangs of wounded pride at this dis-
covery were past, he did not harbor any lasting
feeling of bitterness against the Senior. He had
too low an estimate of his own qualities, and too
high a one of Woodbury's to feel that intimacy
could naturally exist between them except by the
latter's gracious condescension. Who was he
that the great man should make him his friend?
They had known each other in former days, to
be sure, but that fact, unless backed by present
worth and fitness on his part, did not constitute
for him a valid claim to Woodbury's regard. " If
I were in his place, and he in mine," Bagley rea-
soned, with a humility possible only to a Fresh-
man dazzled by the unique lustre of an upper-
class hero, " I know I should feel exactly as he
does."
But if the Freshman was frank enough to ad-
mit to himself that he was a person of small im-
portance, he was by no means so weak as to be
willing to remain one. Deep in his heart he har-
bored an ambition and a determination which
thrilled his whole being with their intensity. He
would yet prove himself worthy of the consid-
eration now refused him. He would show Wood-
bury— yes, and the whole College! — that there
were in him the possibilities of a strong man, if
not of a brilliant one. To make the most of everv
144 ^A" AMHERST BOOK.
least quality and ability which he possessed — that
was the purpose which filled him.
In the endeavor to carry out this determina-
tion he tried for the glee club, and missed it.
His voice was a very ordinary one. Then he
came out and played football on the second
eleven. He had no possibility of development
as a player, but nobody cared enough abovit him
or his ambitions to tell him so. Day after day
he turned out in his torn and bloody uniform,
and was batted about and knocked down and
trampled upon until his body was a pitiful mass
of bruises. All this he endured with the most
persistent cheerfulness and patience, in the mis-
taken belief that he was laying the foundation for
pre-eminence in football during the later years
of his course.
When the season was over he devoted himeslf
to study. He purchased an alarm clock, and by
its aid cheated himself every morning of several
hours of necessary sleep. At night his lamp was
almost invariably the last one in the dormitory
to be extinguished. The results of this unnatural
expenditure of energy were meagre in the ex-
treme. He had no genius for books; there was
nothing of the scholar about him. He consoled
himself, however, with the reflection that his
failure was due in part to a poor fit, and when
spring term opened he renewed the uneven strug-
gle and the drain upon his health without the
slightest abatement of courage or determination.
146 AN A MHERS T BO OK.
Meanwhile, he did not cease to regard Wood-
bury as his pattern of perfection, his ideal of all
that a college man should be. His interest in
the Senior was continually making itself mani-
fest to others. He betrayed it in the lecture
room, during those recitations at which members
of all the classes were present, by the' cat-like per-
sistency with w'hich he watched .\yoodbury's
every movement. During the track athletic sea-
son "he made frequent visits to the field and saw
Woodbury do his daily turn upon ' the cinder
path, secretly taking his time, whenever possible,
with a stronger solicitude for his progress and
final success than the runner himself could have
felt- Junior ?j-6m. night he bought a ticket to
the gymnasium gallery, inspired "therfito chiefly
by' the knowledge that his hero-was to be upon
the floor. He experienced a^ositive thrill of de-
light when he heard severaLtipper-class men near
him declare that the girl whom Woodbury had
brought was the *' stunner " of the occasion. He
could not have been more glad if he had brought
her himself.
On a warm June morning, at one of the
"finals," Bagley occupied a chair off the center
aisle of the recitation-room. Woodbury hap-
pened to sit directly opposite. For more than
an hour, while wrestling with the questions be-
fore hinij the J^reshman remained obHvious of all
that was going on in. the room. But suddenly,
as he gazed meditatively at the back of the man
THE MEASURE OF A MAN. 147
in front of him, he heard a sound resembHng a
gasp from some one on his right. He turned
his head just in time to see a bit of white paper
flutter softly down to the floor in the middle of
the aisle. It was all written over with a fine, reg-
ular penmanship. Bagley perceived this, and at
once understood the meaning of the sound he
had heard. The paper was a crib, and it had es-
caped from Woodbury's hand.
Numberless thoughts went through the Fresh-
man's brain in an instant of time. Then the in-
structor, who had not seen the paper fall, turned
his head and caught sight of it. As he rose and
walked slowly down the aisle the students looked
up at him expectantly. Bagley alone had wit-
nessed the accident, and the others did not know
what was to follow.
The instructor stooped and raised the paper
from the floor. " Whose is this? " he demanded.
Bagley glanced at Woodbury. The Senior's face
was white as chalk. For a moment the room was
so still that the Freshman thought he could hear
his heart beat. It seemed to him that he did a
year's thinking in that period of awful silence.
" Whose is this, I ask? " the instructor repeat-
ed.
Then, to the intense astonishment of every man
in the room, the religious Bagley leaned for-
ward and said very slowly and distinctly: " It
belongs to me. I dropped it."
Woodburv made a convulsive movement and
148 AN AMHERST BOOK.
opened his mouth to speak, but the words died
in his throat.
Then, with every eye upon him, Bagley rose
and left the class-room. Immediately Woodbury
pulled himself to his feet and went after him.
The two met in the hall.
" What did you do that for? " asked the Senior,
falteringly.
Bagley's head whirled with the tumult that was
going on in his brain, and he answered steadily
enough: " I did it for a good many reasons. I
thought of 'em all while he stood there with the
paper in his hand. Expulsion means everything
to you, and it doesn't mean much of anything to
me; and since I had a chance to do you a very
great service at a very small cost to myself, why,
I was glad to take it; that's all."
" But it wasn't called for," said Woodbury.
" He didn't see the paper fall, and he couldn't
have found out that it was mine."
"Yes, he could!" said the Freshman. "He
knew it belonged to some of us fellows near the
aisle, and your handwriting would have given
you dead away. Now he won't think to examine
it closely."
" Well, I shan't let this thing go on! " said the
Senior. " I'm going back to tell him that the
crib was mine ! "
"No, you're not!" exclaimed the Freshman,
laying a detaining hand on the other's arm.
" Just listen to me a minute !" Bagley began to
THE MEASURE OF A MAN. 149
talk very fast and very earnestly. " You're a
Senior, and you've been here a long time, and
everybody knows about you and what a lot of
fine things you've done here. You are just at the
end of your course, and if this hadn't happened
you'd have gone out very soon with a great name
and brilliant prospects. Your mother will be up
to see you graduate in a few days; it isn't neces-
sary for me to say how she'd feel if she should
hear about this. And I heard yesterday (excuse
me for speaking about what is nobody's busi-
ness but your own) that you are engaged, or just
on the point of becoming so, to that girl whom
you had over here to the Prom. I needn't tell
you how she'd feel about it either. Now, as for
me, I haven't any of these things to think abouL
I'm a Freshman, and only a few men in this
whole College know me, and they will forget
they ever saw me in three months' time. So the
disgrace before the College won't mean anything
to me. My mother has been dead two years;
it can't trouble her. I never had any brothers
or sisters, as you know, and there is no girl that
I care about. There's only my father to hear it,
and I can explain it to him. And next year I
can enter somewhere else and go on just the same
as before. Now, listen to reason, and don't ruin
your prospects for life for a mere quibble about
a point of honor! "
Woodbury remained silent for a few moments
after the other had ceased speaking. Then he
ISO AA" AMHERST BOOK.
held out his hand, and began to pour forth a
stream of lavish encomiums upon the Freshman's
generosity.
Bagley cut him short. " That's all right," he
said. " Don't give me too much credit. I would
not do it if it cost me anything. We'd better get
away from here now, before he comes out. He
might ask me some inconvenient questions, and
I'm not a very cheerful liar, to be frank."
That evening, when the 6:15 train stopped at
the Amity station, a single student boarded it,
and was whirled away through the twilight.
And the next day the faculty heard that Fresh-
man Bagley had run like a coward from the
consequences of his dishonorable act, and they
voted that his name be dropped from the rolls of
the College.
It was about a week later that, by the merest
accident, a Senior chanced to refer to Bagley
in Woodbury's presence.
" Bagley! " said he. " He came from your
town, didn't he, Arthur? An acquaintance of
yours, I suppose? Pretty poor sort of a stick,
wasn't he? "
" Well, he wasn't exactly a star," said Wood-
bury. " I didn't know him very well."
WORTHINGTON C. HOLMAN, '96.
WITHIN HER KISS.
Within her kiss was centered all delight,
Within her arms nor hurt nor grief could mar;
Her soul I found my own soul's home, where
bar
Nor screen might hide my thoughts from her
clear sight.
Across the seas I thought her love a light
That dwelt serene above me like a star;
I thought it led me homeward from afar;
I came, and here I found her black as night.
Only the cool-lipped blossoms kiss I now;
I trust the loyalty of plant and stone ;
To passion-heated man I will not bow.
Yet is chaste beauty wholly desert-grown?
Can earthly clod a neighbor clod endow?
Has bloom an innocency of its own?
Robert P. St. John, '93.
ACROSS THE RIVER.
It is easy enough to go to Northampton now-
adays; so easy, indeed, as to arouse misgivings
in the hearts of people who regret the passing
of the good old days. They are gone, in very
truth ! The " indigent, pious yoimg men " of the
early catalogues seem to have disappeared. The
Antivenenean is dead, Alexandria and Athenae
have yielded to the law of natural selection, and
the stage line to " Hamp." has been a matter of
history these ten years. If we pay these departed
institutions the tribute of a passing regret, it is
in a Pickwickian sense, for we surely do not
wish them back again. One may yield to senti-
ment long enough to deplore the rude inter-
ruption of Hadley's venerable drowsiness by the
shriek of the steam whistle; but, after all, we do
not care very much about Hadley, peaceful and
picturesque as it is. Northampton in fifteen min-
utes is the main consideration.
It is hardly probable that the College would
have welcomed the railroad as warmly as it did
had it not been for Sophia Smith, of blessed
memory, and the temperance proclivities of the
good citizens of Amherst. With no lack of re-
spect for the Edwards Church, Elm street and
the social and literary traditions of Northampton,
154 AN AMHERST BOOK.
it must be said that Smith College divides with
Dewey et al. the responsibility for the semi-week-
ly exodus from Amherst. A due sense of the
proprieties leads us to add, with all convenient
haste, that by far the larger share of the load
must be assumed by the college.
It is a custom of the Eminent Person, when
he visits Amherst, to congratulate us upon the
fact that here in Hampshire County we have
solved the problem of co-education. This is un-
derstood to be a witticism on the part of the Emi-
nent Person. But even the benevolent facetious-
ness with which it is delivered fails to remove
from the jest a certain clumsiness. Perhaps the
individuals who are invited to the Geological Tea
and the Colloquium duly appreciate it, but the
truth is that the average undergraduate of Am-
herst knows little, and perhaps cares less, about
Smith as an educational institution. He takes
his own education seriously enough in the class-
room, turns it into a joke the minute he is out-
side, and by the time he has bolted his dinner
and is safely landed in the rear car of the " one-
twenty," on his way to Hamp. he has forgotten
all about it. The fact that Smith is an exponent
of the higher education for women appeals to
him chiefly as the cause of the conditions which
surround the performance of ordinary social
functions on the Campus. The high and serious
aims of the College doubtless account for the
gruesome saints which stare down at him from
ACROSS THE RIVER. 155
the walls in the college houses. Xowhere, except
in a college community, would one be likely to
find a member of the so-called " weaker sex "
showing such an intimate and affectionate inter-
est in small snakes and frogs as does the biolog-
ical student with whom one is wooing the ma-
larial pleasures of " Paradise."
Between the schedule of the Massachusetts
Central and the rules of the College, an evening
call at Smith is likely to bear a certain distant
resemblance to a quick lunch at a railroad res-
taurant. If you do not have to depart uncere-
moniously to catch the last train to Amherst,
you are more than likely to be reminded, by an
emphatic bell-ringing, that the " higher educa-
tion " cannot get along without a ten o'clock rule.
However, the inconveniences are few and the
pleasures many. There are tennis tournaments.
There is boating on Mill river — after a heavy
rain. There are glee club concerts, and dra-
matics, and afternoon teas, and occasionally — for
a few favored mortals, it is said — there is a
basketball game. With all these it is perhaps
not surprising that there is little hope for a man
who once acquires the Hamp. habit, a habit
harmless and pleasant enough, except when it
takes the form of a mania for carrying ominous-
ly light suit-cases across the river, and bringing
them back heavier by half than any respectable
suit-case ought to be. Of course, the habit
highly developed interferes with the close pursuit
156 AA^ AMHERST BOOK.
of the chief end of man — P B K, first drawing-.
One cannot learn to make trains in spite of the
Chapel clock, and also be a rank-stacker. More-
over, the inveterate society man does not escape
frequent trips to Northampton behind hired
horses. Such trips are pleasant in the spring and
early fall, endurable in the late fall and a part of
the winter, and unspeakable the rest of the time.
Also your livery bill is a grievous pest to the
pocketbook.
We should fare but poorly without Northamp-
ton. There can the Freshman disport himself in
the vain delvision that people do not know his
humble state. There can the Junior display his
latest from Staab's. There also can the thirsty
soul quench his thirst. There professors cease
from troubling, and their victims are at rest.
May an overruling Providence strengthen the
railroad bridge and hasten the hum of the trolley.
Frank Edgerton Harkness, '96.
MY WDY.
I moved unheeding through the festal hall,
Where men and maidens, circling in the dance,
Would now retire, now two by two advance,
Responsive to soft music's rise and fall.
What though the lights gleamed bright above
them all?
What though their jewels flashed with every
glance?
Without my lady's gracious countenance
All was a gloom, where I was held in thrall.
When, lo! she came, and as she moved along
The splendor of her presence filled the place.
And sent a silence through the careless throng;
And from my heart the magic of her grace
And spirit-beauty glowing in her face
Banished the night, and made me calm and
strong.
George Breed Zug, '93.
JEAN BENOIT.
Many years ago, when a terrible pestilence
was spreading throughout the center of France,
there came to the town of Beauchamp a great
and good man. Some of the townsfolk said he
was a priest in disguise, who had come from
Paris; others that he was a monk — one of the
brothers from the time-scarred monastery on the
hill. At any rate, whether priest or monk, his
arrival seemed to be the work of God; for no
sooner did he take up his abode among the
stricken people than he began to do what he
could to lessen their sufferings. Wherever the
deadly disease had found its way, there, like some
ministering angel, he went, giving medicine and
food to those that were poor or starving. En-
couraged, by his untiring zeal and noble self-sac-
rifice the people forgot their terror, and fought
the dreaded plague until at last it was overcome.
And when the men arose from their beds and
again went into the fields, with hardly a word
to any one this much-beloved man silently dis-
appeared, leaving behind only his name — Jean
Benoit.
For thirty years the name of Jean Benoit was
upon everybody's lips. People spoke of him as
the Savior of their town. At religious services
l6o AN AMHERST BOOK.
prayers were offered in remembrance of the work
he had accompHshed. And when, at last, the
Abbe Frangois said, while dying, that he hoped
a statue would soon be raised in honor of Jean
Benoit, and that he had left some money for that
purpose, to which additions ought to be made,
the people heartily seconded his wish and gen-
erously increased the Abbe's sum to large pro-
portions.
One morning, Philippe, the new cure,
knocked at the door of Jules Ninon, the sculptor.
" Jules," said the cure, as he seated himself
at the window, " you remember Jean Benoit? "
" Monsieur le Cure! " exclaimed Jules in sur-
prise, " did not Jean Benoit save my life when I
was young? "
"You recall his face, his figure, his dress?"
inquired PhiHppe.
" Perfectly, Monsieur le Cure," answered the
sculptor.
" Could you carve him in marble, Jules? "
" Yes, Monsieur I'Abbe. I can see him now —
a young man, tall and fair, his long, black coat
falling almost to his feet, his kind, handsome
eyes, his — "
" Jules you may begin work at once," inter-
rupted the abbe. " How long will it take? "
" I shall want a long time. Monsieur I'Abbe,
It must be my best work."
" Very well, Jules. But let thy love for the
man quicken thy hands,"
JEAN BENOIT. i6i
The sculptor worked hard and earnestly. Day
by day, under his skillful touch, the marble block
changed its rough outlines to those of the bene-
factor of thirty years before. To Jules Ninon
it seemed as though the hours came and went with
lightning rapidity. But one purpose was ever
before him; to finish the statue, to show his
townspeople that he could cause Jean Benoit
again to be with them. As the click of his chisel
sounded in his locked studio he thought how
proud he would be to have his name forever as-
sociated with that of the great man. Perhaps,
in some little way, he, too, would be remembered
by the men and women of Beauchamp. For
would he not have given them the imperishable
form of him whose name was ever in their minds?
At last, on an evening in July, Jules laid down
his chisel. " It is finished! " said he, and he
stepped back to look at his work. Yes! he had
done well. It was Jean Benoit even as he had
lived among the sufferers so many years ago. As
the red rays of the setting sun stole through the
studio window and lighted up the calm, saintly
face of the statue, it seemed to Jules Ninon, as he
gazed enraptured at the idol of his heart, that this
marble form was about to take life and walk once
more among the people of the town.
That same night Jules called at the house of
I'Abbe Philippe.
" Monsieur I'Abbe," said he, " I have finished
the statue."
i62 AN AMHERST BOOK.
" Good! " answered the priest. " We can now
have it removed to the Square and placed upon
the pedestal, for that, too, is done."
" And when will it be unveiled, Monsieur le
Cure?"
" On the morning of the twenty-third at sun-
rise. It was then, you remernber, that Jean Be-
noit first came among us."
One evening just at dusk a man was walking
along the dusty highway that leads southward
and passes through the town of Beauchamp.
The man was old and worn w'ith constant travel.
He wore a weather-stained cloak and hat, his
feet were covered with a pair of peasant's shoes,
and in his hand he carried a stout stick. The
general impression that he gave, however, was
not one of poverty; for his raiment, despite its
soiled and dusty condition, was not old. He
plodded on laboriously, stopping now and then
to rest or to look backward over the road he had
just travelled. At last he reached the northern
gate of the town. Scarcely noticed by the old
porter who stood ready to close the barrier for
the night, he entered the paved street and slow-
ly made his way tow^ard the inn, situated about
three hundred yards inside the town wall. As
he reached this yard, wherein several horses were
standing, he saw, by means of the great lamp that
shone over the door, a girl drawing water from
a well. He approached.
JEAN BENOIT. 163
" Will you give me a drink, Mademoiselle? "
The girl filled the cup and extended it to the
traveller. "You have come a long way, Mon-
sieur," said she, " and you are tired. We are
full to-night, but perhaps there is room for you —
I will see."
" Thank you, Mademoiselle," replied the man,
" but I cannot stop."
" Monsieur cannot go on to-night — the gates
will soon be closed."
" Yes, yes, I know — I have friends."
" Where is Monsieur from? "
" From — but I keep you, Mademoiselle."
The stranger slipped a coin into the damsel's
hand and slowly left the yard.
When the old man reached the Town Square
he stopped. It was now so dark that the few
people who were still on the streets could not
see him as he leaned close to the walls of a
building. He was very weak. The long march
that he had taken had told upon him, and now
he would fain lie down to sleep. For some time
he stood watching the lights as they shone from
the windows looking out upon the Square. Sud-
denly the sharp sound of hoofs and the distant
clank of steel broke upon his ears; the bell at
the town gate began to ring; and as the old man
tottered into the middle of the street, knowing
too well what was the cause of this commotion,
he saw a crowd, led by men with torches, bearing
down upon him. At their head were eight or ten
I64 AN AMHERST BOOK.
horsemen, their steel armor reflecting the yellow
glare. And although still several hundred feet
away from the approaching rabble, the old man
plainly heard the cries of those who were direct-
ing the soldiers.
" God help me; I am lost! " he exclaimed. In-
stinctively he turned to the right. At his side
stood a tall, dark object. With feeble steps he
went toward it. It was something covered with
a heavy black cloth. He drew aside the folds.
Even in that darkness the steps of a stone ped-
estal caught his eye. " A statue to be unveiled,"
he thought. Quickly hiding within the folds
of the black covering, he tried to ascend the
steps. He fell; but no cry, no sound went forth
into the night. Nearer came the soldiers and the
excited rabble. The torches cast their light upon
the statue of Jean Benoit wrapped in its sombre
drapery. For a moment the crowd paused; and
then, with another cry, above which was heard
the order of the captain, " On, men, on! He can-
not escape us — it is the king's will!" they once
more took up the pursuit and were soon lost
to hearing in the dark streets beyond.
On the morning of the twenty-third, long be-
fore sunrise, the streets of Beauchamp were
crowded with people. The unsuccessful search
made by the king's soldiers had kept many from
their slumbers. During the entire night the cap-
tain of the horsemen, thrusting the royal seal and
JEAN BENOIT. 165
signature into the face of those who objected^
had pried into those houses and yards wherein
he thought the object of his search might be
concealed.
Among others, Jules Ninon had been rudely-
summoned from his bed and ordered in the name
of the king to open his rooms for inspection.
When the men finally left his house, satisfied
that no one was hiding there, it was four o'clock
in the morning. Already the eastern sky was
tinged with the glow of the coming dawn, and
instead of returning to his couch the sculptor
went to call the cure. He found him already
dressed.
"Did they find the man, Jules?" asked the
cure, as they made their way toward the Town
Square.
" No, Monsieur le Cure; and they have been
searching all night. They were rude enough to
think that / would harbor a state prisoner, for
they have but just now left my house."
" Who is he, Jules — what is the man's
name? "
" Mon Dieu! Monsieur 1' Abbe, I do not
know; I was so afraid the soldiers would harm
my studio I forgot to ask questions."
" Is it known why the king wants this man? "
" A court secret. Monsieur I'Abbe — so the
captain said."
" He will be free in half an hour, Jules. The
gates will be open."
JEAN BENCIT. 167
" No, Monsieur le Cure. They have doubled
the guards, and all who go out are questioned."
When the priest and the sculptor reached the
Square, they found a large crowd waiting for
them. Passing among the people, who bowed
reverently as they went by, they entered the
little enclosure at the foot of the statue. At that
moment, with a loud clattering of hoofs and rat-
tle of swords, the horseman entered the Square
and drew rein at one side of the assembled
throng.
L'Abbe Philippe mounted a wooden stand
and cast his eyes over the faces before him. Every
moment the number was growing larger. Old
and young were flocking hither to see the mem-
orial of their blessed benefactor unveiled to the
morning sun. Already it had risen above the
eastern hills and was painting the chimneys and
roofs with golden light.
The cure extended his hands toward the peo-
ple and they knelt upon the stone pavement. The
soldiers alone remained upright, sitting motion-
less upon their horses. Raising his eyes to
heaven, the priest oflfered a short prayer for the
memory of the good and saintly man who had
come among them so long ago. When he had
ended the people rose silently to their feet and
pressed closer to catch every word.
" We have gathered,'' said the abbe, " to
honor him whose name shall never be forgot-
ten. Thirty years ago, a terrible disease spread
I68 AN AMHERST BOOK.
among our homes. While we were suffering, God
sent us a great man, who, as His minister, saved
us from death. This morning — ^the same as that
upon which he came — you may again be-
hold his face; you may again see him as
he walked among us in that dreadful season.
Whene'er you shall look upon this statue raised
by your generous hands, remember him in your
prayers, and pray that his soul rests in peace."
As the Abbe Philippe ceased speaking, he
turned to Jules Ninon, who was at the foot of
the pedestal, and raised his hand. The sculptor
stepped back and pulled a cord. Instantly the
black covering fell, and the marble figure of Jean
Benoit stood bathed in glorious sunshine.
A mighty shout arose from all the spectators.
Hardly, however, had the walls of the surround-
ing houses sent back the echo, when absolute si-
lence fell upon the people; for there, at the top
of the pedestal and extended under the feet of
the statue, lay the lifeless form of a man. The
sculptor sprang up the stone steps and bent over
the body. At the same instant the captain of
the horsemen, followed by his men, pushed into
the crowd.
" Make room there, make room! " shouted the
officer. " In the king's name! It is he — the
prisoner! Forward, men! "
But ere the soldiers could force a passage,
Jules Ninon rose from the dead man beneath
JEAN BENOIT. 169
him and cried in a voice that penetrated every
ear:
"It is Jean Benoit! Jean Benoit!! Defend
him, my townsmen ! "
The effect was wonderful. A thousand throats
took up the cry, and like a mighty wave the mass
surged toward the base of the statue. The sol-
diers, unable to charge forward, so closely were
the men and women pressed against the horses'
sides, attempted to draw their swords; but the
captain, seeing that resistance in the face of such
enthusiasm would be folly, commanded the men
to use no violence. When the wondering, ex-
cited crowd could get no closer, and since they
saw that the soldiers did not intend to use their
weapons, they fixed their eyes upon the pair
at the top of the pedestal. Slowly the shouts
died away, and the square was again silent.
Once more the cure stretched forth his hands.
There was a heavenly light in his eyes, and his
words were few:
" My children, it is indeed Jean Benoit. God
has sent him back to us that he may rest in
peace. Take him. Bear him to the church, and
lay him beneath our hallowed altar. He is with
US forever."*
Herman Babson, '93.
*From The Independent, April, 1896.
THE AMHEP5T Or TO-D/W.
The changes Jn the college buildings since
1875 are not such as to appear conspicuously in
the view on the opposite page; but there have
been, nevertheless, important additions to and
improvements in the college equipment. In the
first place East College, which had become very
dilapidated and went begging for tenants, was
torn down, and its site graded and turfed. The
college grounds were cleared up, the lawns im-
proved, and walks of " concrete " laid in all di-
rections.
Since 1875 has occurred s, loss by fire, of such
magnitude that the burning of Old North Col-
lege is a trifle in comparison. On the night of
March 29, 1882, Walker Hall was burned. Only
the outside walls remained standing, and all the
valuable contents were destroyed. " The mathe-
matical diagrams of Professor Esty, the astro-
nomical calculations of Professor Todd — the
work of years, the official and private papers of
President Seelye, the apparatus of Professor
Snell — much of it the invention of his own brain
and the work of his own hand — all went up in
flame and smoke." Most keenly felt of all was
the loss of the entire mineralogical collection of
Professor Shepard, the mere money value of
172 AN AMHERST BOOK.
which had been placed as high as one hundred
thousand dollars. The calamity was a shock to
all the college authorities, especially to President
Seelye. But almost immediately he secured from
the late Henry T. Morgan, of Albany, a gift
which, together with the insurance, made it pos-
sible to rebuild at once. The walls were strength-
ened, and the two lower stories were rebuilt upon
nearly the old lines. The third story, formerly
occupied by the mineralogical collections, was
reconstructed on an entirely new and better plan,
and used for recitation rooms.
While the new Walker Hall was being built
the library was enlarged to its present dimen-
sions. The difficult problem of making an addi-
tion larger than the original building, and of se-
curing at the same time a harmonious and sym-
metrical whole from an architectural point of
view, was deftly solved by Francis R. Allen, class
of '65. This work was not complete before
Charles M. Pratt, '79, came forward with a hand-
some gift for a new gymnasium, which was
thrown open to the College in 1884. Amherst
has always been noted for her system of physical
culture, and Pratt Gymnasium is the worthy
home of the department, having a complete
equipment of apparatus and perfect appoint-
ments to the smallest detail. Its spacious main
hall is also the scene of the annual alumni din-
ner and the two promenades of the year.
In 1 891, a Biological Laboratory, with lecture
THE AMHERST OF TO-DA Y. 173
and reading rooms, was added to Appleton Cab-
inet, and well equipped with microscopes and
other apparatus. The new Chemical and Physical
Laboratories — built under one roof, but entirely
separate from each other — were ready for use in
1894. President Seelye had for some years
planned for the erection of a new chemical lab-
oratory, but it was not made possible until part of
the Fayerweather bequest came to the College.
The double laboratory is an imposing structure,
of stern and simple, yet tasteful exterior. No ex-
pense was spared, however, in the effort to make
the interior perfect and the equipment complete
for the use of both departments. The Chemical
Laboratory is the realization of plans which Pro-
fessor Harris perfected after years of experience
and visits to the best laboratories of Germany.
The Physics Laboratory, which occupies the
southern half of the building, was constructed
tinder the supervision of Professor Kimball, and
is splendidly arranged and equipped.
Since 1892 the interiors of both North and
South Colleges have been rebuilt, only the big
"beams that supported the floors and the lines of
the old rooms being retained. Steam heat, run-
ning water, large fire-places and hardwood floors
are among the innovations, which would doubt-
less seem luxuries to the alumni who occupied
the old rooms. The old Boltwood mansion, with
its imposing pillars in front, is now a College
Ijoarding-house, and has been named Hitchcock
174 AN AMHERST BOOK.
Hall. The need of an infirmary for the proper
care of sick students, so long felt at Amherst, is
now to be supplied in the shape of the Pratt
Health Cottage, given to the College by George
D. Pratt, '93. It will be located about half a
mile from the campus, on an elevated and quiet
spot, and will be fully equipped with every con-
venience for the care of the sick.
The history of Amherst's material growth has
been traced so gradually in these six sketches
that the reader may not appreciate the truly won-
derful changes wrought during the seventy-five
years unless he turns abruptly from the accom-
panying view of College Hill to that dated 1821.
After comparing the two, who will attempt to
picture the Amherst of 1971? Perhaps, by that
time, the College will boast a new College Hall,
a new Observatory, a College boarding-hall and a
new dormitory. We can only hope that the con-
trast with the present will be as pleasing as that
between 1821 and 1896, which the progress of
seventy-five years affords her sons to-day.
Edward Clark Hood, '97.
IN CAP AND GOWN.
In cap and gown a motley crew
Of Seniors flash upon my view,
With dignified, yet dainty tread.
Their gowns in glancing folds outspread,
And caps with careless grace askew.
Grave is their mien, and haughty, too;
Vast is their knowledge, if you knew
How unto Science and Art they're wed
In cap and gown.
What great high thought throbs through and
through
Each mighty brain? Can each review
Some world-fraught scheme to thrill the dead?
Ah, no ! 'Tis this that fills each head,
" Where can I get a job to do
" In cap and gown?"
George Breed^Zug, '93.
50MG or THE SEA ELIGHT.
Sing ho ! sing ho ! for the sailing, O !
For the salt, salt surge and the winds that blow!
And the foam that's flung from the rail, bent low
O'er the roaring sea!
Sing ho! then, loud, for the rattling shroud,
The whistling gale, and the scudding cloud,
And the gray gull soaring on pinions proud
So far and free!
Sing ho! for the stars that bloom at night!
For the streaming wakC; soft-sown with light !
And the face that shines in the moon's mist white
Near, near, and sweet;
For the tale oft-told that will ne'er grow old,
The shy sweet glance, and the hand-clasp bold,
And the mad wild music that young hearts hold
When warm lips meet!
Then ho! for the salt sea's breath divine!
It thrills the blood like the rage of wine
As, borne by long billows that shake and shine,
We lose the lea !
Unsullied the breezes sing and sweep;
Forgot are dull shoreward hours that creep;
With joy past naming our pulses leap
Far out at sea!
WORTHINGTON C. HOLMAN, '96.
rilSUNDERSTOOD.
" Oh, Dick! Are you here? "
" Yes. What do you want? " gruffly replied
the handsome young giant as he steadily pulled
at his chest-weights on the wall of the luxurious
study in the fraternity house.
" What in the name of heaven are you doing
up here such a night as this, when the most jolly
reception our ' frat.' ever held is going on down-
stairs?" asked his chum, Frank Lincoln.
" You know I'm not a lady's man, Frank. The
girls made me so nervous that I had to come up
l)ere to get quieted down a bit," (still pulling at
the chest-weights). " It's worse than a football
game for nerves."
"Drop those chest-weights, old man! Your
nerves! Ha! ha! Anybody would think you
were a tea-drinking old maid instead of center
rush on a football team. Come, get into your
coat! I want you to meet my cousin Dora."
" That haughty, fashionable Miss Van de
Linde? I prefer to stay up here and work off
my * Psych ' conditions."
" Oh, come along, you fool! There's nothing
aristocratic about her except her name. She's
one of the most popular girls at Smith."
" Miss Van de Linde, let me present my room-
MISUNDERSTOOD 179
mate, Mr. Aldrich. ^Nliss Van de Linde has never
seen our grounds, Dick."
The night was one of those in May, when Am-
herst is at its best. The Japanese lanterns on the
veranda gave just hght enough for a quiet stroll
around the spacious lawn. The orchestra in the
house was playing that dreamy Barcarole of
Chopin, in which you hear the joyous tumult
of the carnival fade away till you feel only the
regular and gentle movement of the Venetian
gondola, as it rocks on the waves of the bay.
The apple and pear trees, then in full bloom,
bathed the strollers with their dainty fragrance.
Dick was intoxicated. Just what he said, or
where they wandered Dick never knew, but he
was ready to strangle Frank when he appeared
beside them, saying: " The carriages are going,
Dora, and your chaperon is hunting high and low
for you."
" Let up throwing things all over the room!
We don't have this den picked up often enough
so that we can afiford to have it all tumbled in
a heap the first day. Pull on your chest-weights
if you must do something! Dora seems to have
completely hypnotized you to-night. Let's go
down and finish those things left from the spread.
Don't believe you took her in to supper at all."
" Never thought of it."
" Of course not, you good-natured egotist, you
were in the seventh heaven when 1 found you.
l8o AN AMHERST BOOK.
and you hardly seem to have recovered yet from
that ecstatic state."
Dick's Uvery bill soon grew to generous pro-
portions. " Might as well live at Northampton
all the time," said Frank to his chum one night a
few weeks later, as he returned from a call at
Smith.
" That wouldn't be so bad," replied Dick, in
the best of humor. He never seemed bored now
when the boys talked about the girls.
" Solomon in all his glory ! " cried Frank one
morning in June, coming into the room just as
Dick was going out arrayed in his new summer
suit and wearing a smile that illuminated the
room.
" Where now, Dick? "
"Whately Glen."
" With Dora? "
" Yes."
"Chaperon?"
" No."
" You know that's as good as an announce-
ment of your engagement? "
"I don't care!"
" But Dora? "
" She's willing."
Throwing his notebook at the desk, his cap
in the corner, and dropping on the couch, Frank
gave vent to a prolonged whistle.
"Well?"
" Her mother always expected her to marry in
MISUNDERSTOOD. i8i
their own swell set, and I don't know how she
will take it."
" I admit that I am not one of the ' Four Hun-
dred,' but father will give me a big start, and we
can live in good shape. I'm no impecunious ad-
venturer. Besides they are not rich."
" No, but they are proud, blue-blooded and
aristocratic."
But all this had little terror for Dick, who, too
happy to look on the dark side of anything, went
off whistling and swinging his cane.
After dinner, slinging his botany can over his
shoulder, Frank set out for the Hadley meadows
to get specimens to finish his herbarium. Half
way down the Amity street hill he met Dick.
With head down, hat pulled over his eyes, and
rigid face he was urging on the exhausted horse,
already covered with sweat and foam.
" Hold on, you brute! " shouted Frank, as he
caught the horse by the bridle. He loved horses
and would never see them abused. " What do
you mean by driving like a madman when the
mercury is up in the 90s? "
" Let me alone ! " growled Dick fiercely as he
reached for the whip.
" What's the matter with you, anyhow? I
never saw you act like this before."
" Nothing."
"Where's Dora?"
" 'Hamp "
" Quarrel? "
i82 AN AMHERST BOOK.
" If yoit think I'm going- to tell you, you are
mistaken, Frank Lincoln. You are no Father
confessor. Don't you dare mention her to me
again. I'm done! "
* * Vanitas vanitatuni! What in the world made
them quarrel?" mused Frank as he searched for
specimens. " I'm sure she loved him. I'm afraid
he will take it hard."
They were both graduated before the end ot
the month, he from Amherst, she from Smith.
He went abroad for extended travels, while she
threw herself into the gay life at Newport. Both
were bitter and unforgiving; both thought that
their love had been thrown away on an unworthy
object.
The Carnival was at its height when Dick sat
in a Venetian cafe reading the Paris edition of
the Herald, while he waited for his breakfast.
A familiar name in the society notes from New
York caught his eye, and he read :
" Mrs. Van de Linde and her beautiful and
accomplished daughter, who has been the life
of the Four Hundred during the winter, have
gone south for a few weeks. They will return in
time for the post- Lenten gayetes.
"Just as I thought! " commented Dick, as he
crushed the paper in his hands. " She never
cared for me. It was a good thing she found it
out that day at Whately. What right has a so-
ciety girl to say that I care for nothing^ but self? "
MISUNDERSTOOD. 183
he asked furiously as he seized his hat and went
out without eating his breakfast.
" I met a college friend of Frank's at Rome,
Dora," said one of her friends, who was just
home from a mid-winter cruise through the Med-
iterranean. " He was just splendid to Mamma
and me. He was a regular Apollo, but he didn't
seem to have a bit of ambition to do anything
except enjoy himself. He hadn't the least idea
where he was going next or when he was com-
ing back to America."
" What was his name? "
" Mr. Aldrich. I think he said he was Frank's
chum in college. Do you know him? "
" I met him at an Amherst reception."
" What? You are not going now, Dora? I
expected you to stay all the afternoon and hear
about my trip."
" I'm not feeling well this afternoon. I'll hear
all about your foreign noblemen et cetera later.
Good-bye."
*' Just as I thought — rich, handsome and self-
ish," said Dora to herself, as she rode to the
hotel.
" Why, Dora! What are you crying about?"
said Mrs. Van de Linde, coming into their apart-
ments late in the afternoon and seeing her daugh-
ter with swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
" Don't talk to me now, Mamma. I'm not go-
ing to the german at the Casino to-night."
Misunderstood. 185
"Shi — ne! Shi— ne!" cried the dirty httle
bootblack, as he pushed his way through the
crowd of men and women v/ho were standing at
the stern of the ferry-boat " Princeton,'' watch-
ing the efforts of the " Puritan " to push her way
through the floating ice that filled the harbor
one afternoon in early March some two years
later. " Shine, sir? " eyeing the ugly splashes of
New York mud on a gentleman's shoes. The
man nodded assent.
" Yes, I like it well enough," replied the boy to
some kindly questions. " But I want to get into
some regular business. All dead except my
mother. Yes, Fm an Italian."
The boy took the bright, new quarter which
the gentleman gave him and put it between his
teeth, while he fumbled for the change.
" That's all right. Don't mind the change."
A frisky blast of March wind lifted a fat old
German's hat and sent it rolHng over the deck.
The owner, unconscious of the ridiculous figure
which he cut, with red face, flying hair and out-
stretched hands, pursued. " Doiuicr unci Blitsen!"
he grunted as his hat continued to elude him.
" Go it, Dutchey! Go in! Go in! " shouted the
deck-hands. At last the little bootblack caught
the hat, but the German, unable to stop, sent the
boy sprawling on the deck, and the coin slipped
from his mouth and went rolling swiftly across
the floor. In an instant the boy was after it. It
passed under the gate, but the swell of a passing
i36 AN AMHERST BOOK.
steamer made the ferry-boat roll, and the coin
dropped easily on its side.
" Come back ! Stop ! " cried many voices as
the boy crawled under the gate to regain his
money. Another fierce blast of wind swept
around the boat and made the men cling to their
hats. The boy clutched wildly at the gate, but it
was too late, for the wind caught him and
hurled him into the swirling, foamy waves be-
hind. Men shouted, cursed and ran for life-pre-
servers and ropes; women screamed and wrung
their hands. The only man who kept his head
was the one who had given the lad the money.
He threw ofif his coat, opened the gate and leaped
far out toward the little figure sinking in the icy
water.
" Come inside the cabin, Dora! This is ter-
rible! You are trembling like a leaf. What made
that foolish man throw away his life for that
worthless little bootblack?"
Dora Van de Linde did not reply. Her eyes
were fixed on her long lost lover, now battling
against those deadly waves to save a poor little
street Arab. Selfish? Never! In that moment
she knew that in her pride she had misjudged
the man whom she truly loved. With clenched
hands and blanched face she watched the life
and death struggle. " He's reached him! " shout-
ed the crowd; but the shout was quickly followed
by a groan, "They are gone!" A great cake
of floating ice had struck the two and driven
MISUNDERSTOOD. 187
them beneath those black, cruel waves. No, they
were up again! The ferry-boat had stopped and
was moving cautiously toward them. Nearer and
nearer it came, till a noosed line was thrown to
them, and the chilled, exhausted and bleeding
rescued and rescuer were drawn on board.
A few minutes later the hero opened his eyes
in the ladies' cabin, and looked up wonderingly
into the face of the beautiful woman, who, un-
mindful of his dripping garments and the curi-
ous crowd of spectators, knelt beside him wildly
chaffing his benumbed hands, while the tears
coursed down her cheeks.
"Dick! Oh, Dick! Forgive me! I was all
wrong," she sobbed.
" Dora, my darling! " was all he said, but it
was enough to make her happy.
Ernest Merrill Bartlett, '94,
AMHERST GOOD-BYE 50NG.
Air: " Es ritten drei Reiter."
I.
We come, college scenes, with that sacred last
word,
Good-bye ;
That sound sad and tender wherever 'tis heard — -
Good-bye ;
Our hearts' allegiance around you is twined
For here are memories golden enshrined;
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye,
The hour of parting is nigh.
II.
Fair campus and grove, with your background of
hills.
Good-bye ;
Old buildings, the scene of our joys and our ills.
Good-bye;
Full many a spot more imposing is found,
But none to which such affections are bound;
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye,
The hour of parting is nigh.
AMHERST GOOD-BYE SONG. 189
III.
And you who have borne with onr folHes and
pranks,
Good-bye ;
We bring you, dear teachers, our love and our
thanks.
Good-bye ;
Our lives will show what we've missed or have
won.
But honor to you for the work you have done ;
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.
The hour of parting is nigh.
IV.
The world now invites us; from college we're
free.
Good-bye ;
And no one can tell what the future will be —
Good-bye;
But where'er we are, or whatever we do,
Enough if to Amherst ideals we are true ;
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye.
On thee be the blessing Most High!
John F. Genung.
R57
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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
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