figure, though of large frame, being fat and puffy, with
a heavy look about the eyes, and a general appearance of senility. He
wore a wig. The remarks he made have gone from my memory. They were not
of such a character as to leave much of an impression, and consisted
mostly of a sort of perfunctory exhortation to the troops to do their
duty as patriots.

It was with something of veneration that I looked at this man (standing
on the verge of the grave he appeared to be), and, yet, he outlived many
of the young men who stood before him in the bloom of youth. He did not
seem to belong to the present so much as to the past. Fifty years before
I was born, he had been a living witness of the inauguration of George
Washington as first President of the United States. He had watched the
growth of the American Union from the time of the adoption of the
Constitution. He had been a contemporary of Jefferson, Madison, the
Adamses, Burr and Hamilton. He had sate in the Cabinets of two different
Presidents, at widely separated periods. He had represented the
government in the diplomatic service abroad, and had served with
distinction against the enemies of his country. He had seen the
beginning of political parties in the United States and had been a
prominent actor through all the changes. He was a youth of twelve when
the Reign of Terror in France was in full blast, and thirty-three years
of age when Napoleon Bonaparte was on the Island of St. Helena. He had
witnessed the downfall of Pitt and the partition of Poland. He was,
indeed, a part of the dead past. His work was done, and it seemed as if
a portrait by one of the great masters had stepped down from the canvas
to mingle with living persons.

When the young men from the South, who were in the University felt
compelled to return to their homes, to cast in their lots with their
respective states, the students in a body escorted them to their
trains, and bade them good-by with a sincere wish for good luck to
attend them wherever they might go, even though it were into the
confederate military service. The parting was rather with a feeling of
melancholy regret that the fates cruelly made our paths diverge, than
one of bitterness on account of their belief in the right of states to
secede.

There was a humorous, as well as a pathetic side to the war. Soldiers or
students, young men were quick to see this. The penchant which boys have
to trifle with subjects the most grave, gave