''MM U :>^„ imm '• '^«- -i^ 'A Oi* o »♦ O r-^ 4 ^ > ^ 0^ O W O ' 4^ v^' '^^ <> *' 0' ^0 IT ♦ /^ X» '*.. LORD AMHERST. AN AMHERST BOOK. 7\ COLLECTION Or STORIES, POCHS, SONGS, SKETCHES 7\ND HISTORICAL ARTICLES BY ALUHNI AND UNDER- GRADUATES or AHHERST COLLEGE. EDITED BY^ HERBERT E. RILEY, CLASS OF '96. ILLUSTRTTTEJX- /^ 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 88 AJV 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 ratthng 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 chmb 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 Hke 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 clifif. We secured him so that he wouldn't get loose and fall over the clifif; 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 off 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. 'P AN AMHERST BOOK. In the flashes we caught ghmpses of each other's white, scared faces, as we phmged 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 sphntered 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 starhght. INITIATED. 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. p r m OLD UNCLE. 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 Avood- 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'U 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, ' Climb Up Ye Little Children.' " i " Eh? " " ' Chmb Up Ye Little Children.' " Uncle 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. POIl^OT. 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 off 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. II c j£ (A e o "3 E *S O V X <1) 2 II (A 3 o a u U CS s o CA 3 4> c CA «4- o N 4> I. O o E 3 *s o C3 4> 4> O •a c z o O o o c o E 0) (0 > 4> 3 u 3 O u C u a < E U < ^ *> CA 0) « _, -M V u 5 •s ^ ^ 3 CA «5 3 o C3 JZ 3 O" •a o CO (A 3 b« O £ 0) t/3 £ -M C3 c 3 o («« o H S o (A n c 3 CA 3 1 •a o C3 «^ o '> CA JZ o 6 u 3 ■4-* 3 >> O E 4-» 'So O 0) > o CA 3 o o. E CA CA > o o o >> CA Iz; *T >% o •M c — s o 1 > O o E (A c o CA CA CA O o. <*- o E X 1 •a c o 03 E 2 "cA >> o c 0) a E o C3 4> -t-i (A o E e u o ■a « 3 (A a E X 0) Ph 5 u CA l-H ■4-i 2 E e 4> CA CA S o c Is H o 9i e •a s C3 e* o ^ ■*j .O O e o O •«■ (J 3 (A o •a c CA Ml 3 *tA -M T3 £ A CJ (2 CIS to o 3 2 ITIll COLLIlCI: IM 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 outlines 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 ^^ 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 AA' 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, ^.nd 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 WilHston, of East- 1 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 LN i860. loi 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. PROrCSSOR CHARLIE. Dear Old Charlie! Often have I seen hhn 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 CharHe crushed the Freshman by re- torting : " And nex' spring they'll be as green a;s 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 A/i 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 service 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 w^hen 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 drefiful 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 Stearns 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 AJV AMHERST BOOK. I need not speak of his '' trailing-footed " gait, his big shoes or his dehberate motions. He is too famiHar 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. DRCAHS. 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^. AN UNriNISHED 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- I o8 AJV A MHER ST 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 Tiad 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 Hght 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 lier 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. F'rom that time on he had applied 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 tmessential — 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. Pie 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 Margaret 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, '8q. Tod B. Galloway, '85. m-- :p= :tz m Andante con tnoto. J 1^ I ^ 5J ^ 1 2E 1 g Fa 1. Sometliiiig in tliis ggl 2. Staiul-iiig' in thy -\ ^ 1 ^ ^^ % —^^- % i rit. Prfi ^^=p:: p ^ 1^-te-^ smn - nier night Lea(Ls my I'ov - ing will, gar - den shrine. Love, I plead with thee. ~^ ^z -(• — a-»- -^ — ^—g»— \-\ — -^-=^- Somethiiig in the soft nioon-liglit Keevs nie near tliec still; See - est thou these llow'i's of thine How they jdead for me / )- 1- K -T»j SR — r ^ as ^— I — I -•^ si — r-'^ ^ — H-*^ — »— h«-T — -,^«l"^- :^— ^=F^ ;r: Poco mosso. !=t: e_t ^: __>, Here, what late I dai-ed imt say. All my heart doth Lil - y nev - er (.id la - ment Men sli'ould find it i 1^ mf '■-pi-~ p ! poco rit. I — 1"=^ — I ^ — I — 1-1 — I — i—m 1- ■^ AMHERST SERENADE.— Continued. ;-f==t long, fair, ;-3- -^ — =1- T.a - (Iv dear, this iiipht I may — lioso (lid uev - er yet ro - penr, - ^ Et-Sl "tf=i P— t— I 1 H— iS— -^-3 — \- :D^- ral - len - tan - do. ^ m pi-r^ e? — ^t -5 — =1-0^-" dim. _l2.r_ :^i Breathe to thee in O - - dors iluii^ to son :^" -^5 — ^—J;'/f £:vr # z'^^//' / -■ ■i.->n--^t'^r/€,\> JEAN BENOIT. 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 offered 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 Hfeless 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. i6g 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 Hke 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 AMHEPST QT TO-DAY. The changes in 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 a 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 oiHcial 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 under 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 iDoarding-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. SONG 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 wake^ 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. '• ','. w ^ 5 ^ ' ■'. 2 o W t^ 1 -^ bO M '■■ ■"? o H 9 *** '" Kd H MISUNDERSTOOD. "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 here 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. Miss Van de Linde has never seen our gTOunds, 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 aflford 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, i8o AJV AMHERST BOOK. and you hardly seem to have recovered yet from that ecstatic state." Dick's livery 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," repHed 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 oflf 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 iface 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 Hke 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? T never saw you act like this before." " Nothing." "Where's Dora?" " 'Hamp." " Quarrel? " i82 AN AMHERST BOOK. " If you 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 vanitatum! 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. • 1B3 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? 1 expected you to stay all the afternoon and hear about my trip." " I'm not feeling well this afternoon. Fll 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." H o w H H H O Q S S c MISUNDERSTOOD. 185 "Shi— ne! Shi— ne!" cried the dirty httle bootblack, as he pushed his way through the crowd of men and women who 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, I'm 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 rolling over the deck. The owmer, unconscious of the ridiculous figure which he cut, with red face, flying hair and out- stretched hands, pursued. " Donner und Blitscn!" 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 sprawHng 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 i§6 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 off 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 50MG. Air: " Es ritten drei Reiter.' 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, goodrbye, The hour of parting is nigh. 11. Fair campus and grove, with your background of hills, Good-bye; Old buildings, the scene of our joys and our ihs. 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 our folHes and pranks, Good-bye; We bring you, dear teachers, our love and our thanks, Good-bye ; Our Hves 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. \ 8 D-42 * t O A^^ O " " ' ♦ '^^ ' 4^ ^^ • •* ( o > DOBBSBROS. -^ A^ ♦*#Sil^^'*« '^r. /> **J^f /h,^ "^ U.IIA.V D.ND.NO -^^^ *,^H^' ^^^ •^^l^* ^'^ ST. AUGUSTINE ^^ %, ' .f^.* J" "^^ -Jj^f:- .f" FLA. ■:'^''^i,;;^ LIBRARY "i:;i:' wmmm0m ' siRisiii ^*if"-':-:''!.:fe;;;