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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18 THE COMET • o GLASS or ’59 ♦ o» OFFICERS L. S. Mekriam...............................President. C. IS. Hurke................................Vice President. O. II. Wilson...............................Secretary and Treasurer. C. M. Luttekloh..............................Historian. W. G. Hunt a.................................Poet. ----JULY, 1920------ TO iiim whose heart beats true to the things which were once a source of inno- cent pleasure, and which are constantly enveloped in the inmost recesses of his soul, a gentle remembrance serves almost to carry him hack to the days them- selves wherein all of which he now but dreams was so real. As Time advances on his rapid journey, bent on a destination the end of which no mortal knows, nor, indeed, can know, striking ruthlessly with his great scythe those of us whose term of mundane existence has expired, we may well bethink us, Whither do we tend ! “Time and tide wait for no man.” Truly has tiiis been exemplified in all the times of life and death. We meet a friend budding into robust manhood, endowed with a priceless legacy, that of good health and a vigorous constitution, at the very threshold of life, upon the stern demands of which he is soon to enter; we accost him, greet him, ask him “ Quo tenetis iter ” bike all other mortals, he cannot divine. He is alloat upon the great sea, tossed hither and thither by the litful waves, at the mercy ot Provi- dence, which alone has knowledge on what shore he shall land, bite is a terrible problem, for the solution of which we are placed here. We are brought into this world