Vanderbilt University - Commodore Yearbook (Nashville, TN)

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16 THE COMETS white background. Without stopping in his walk, ho raised his stick, and called out: “You are streaking that cornice.” The painter set about remedying the mishap, and the Bishop continued his walk. These little things were characteristic of the man. How many open coal-slides, how much damaged hay, how many spoiled cornices, we might have had but for his watchful care. In a very special sense, ho was the student’s friend. His interest in young men was intense. Memories of his own young manhood made him sympathize with student life. The great burdens he boro gave him little opportunity to know students personally, and yet his range of acquaintance among them was larger than might have been supposed. Many whom he seldom met face to face he knew individually, or through their people at home; for he had treasured up vast stores of memories from the immense number of people whom he had known. A face or a name he rarely forgot. He scanned the matriculation roll carefully aud thoughtfully, and linked its record with the old family circles of other States and other days. With searching penetration into character and thoughtful provision for the future, he looked to the development of young men. He was always inquiring about students—what they were doing, and what they seemed likely to do. To many of them—just how many the world will never know—he extended aid in a very practical shape; and of the generous salary which he received, a large part went, not in extravagant living, but in helping others. A whole life of unselfish gener- osity lies back of that noble sentence in his will, 4i I die poor.” We shall miss him—how much, perhaps wo do not yet realize. We shall miss him from his accustomed work, and his familiar form will never again be seen along his favorite walks around the University; but no man could ask a nobler memorial than the loving hearts he has left behind him, or a grander mausoleum than the waving trees and stately buildings that throw their soft evening shadows across his grave.

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THE COMETH- 15 where they were most needed. His manner seemed hard and dictatorial, and he was often pronounced an unapproachable man. Nothing could be further Ironi the truth. Those who knew him best realized how delicate were his sympathies, and how tender his feeling. What passed to the outer world for stolidity, or indifference, or pride, was but the magnificent will power of a self-poised man who suffered and rejoiced through a wide range of strong emotion, and who yet had that emotion under perfect control. Among the permanent results into which it has already been said that his work took shape, perhaps the noblest monument to his memory is Vanderbilt University. Without him, it would never have been. More than any other, his guiding hand mapped out its policy, and gave organic form to its various departments. More than any other, his broad shoulders and sagacious brain bore the burden of its vast and varied interests. In a comprehensive and thorough knowledge of the affairs of the University, it will do other great men no injustice to say that he was without an equal. Ilis acquaintance reached from the largest plan of financial endowment or expenditure down to the smallest minutia- of practical administration. His great grasp of mind embraced the general policy of the University, and yet his capacity for details was marvelous. He knew every closet in the buildings of the campus—every shrub on the grounds. Stroll- ing leisurely along the drives or walks, he was ever on the alert to all about him. He seemed almost ubiquitous. “For a man who walks as slowly as he does, he gets to an impossible number of places,” said one who watched his movements. Wherever work was going on, and wherever work was needed, there was he. Shortly after the dastardly attempt to burn the main building had been made, I met him one evening after dark, going toward the gymnasium. I happened to think of the coal-slide in the gymnasium, he said: “it has been left open, and I am going down to close it ui).” Taking a street car at the stile one day, he had scarcely seated himself before he noticed that the clouds were gathering; and, after riding some three hundred yards, he alighted ami walked back. I met him near the main building. “Tell Mr. Douglass to have that hay taken in,” he said; “it is going to rain.” Then he started back to the city—probably to a meeting of the Executive Committee or an important conference with the Treasurer. At another time, when he had just come from holding a consultation with reference to tilling a vacancy in the Faculty, 1 saw him passing along in front of one of the Uni- versity residences then in the hands of the mechanics. As he walked slowly by, his eye caught sight of an unlucky painter who had swung his paint bucket over the eves of the house, and his keen glance detected a stream of dark liquid trickling down upon a

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