Hampden Sydney College - Kaleidoscope Yearbook (Hampden Sydney, VA)

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Forgotten jewels Vvilh many a brilliant notion. Wvilh many a noble thought. With many a pure emotion. Our youthful lives aie fraught. Oh, where are those aspirations That lifted our souls in youth? Those eager, clear-eyed glimmerings? Those sparkling bubbles fiom Truth? Out of life-'s hbres rent they Are silently parted and tern. And into clouds of nepenthe On wings invisible borne. Gone from the hopes of to-morrow, Gone from the vista of years- They are lost in laughter and sorrow, They are lost through smiles and tears. And yet in Elysian meadows Methinks we will find them once more. For there invisible workers Are garnering the crystallized store: And each sparkling drop that bubl-led From the wonderful fountain of Truth. ls carefully gathered and garnered. Though lost with the loss of our youth. BEN Gooonmcz I4

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of the College, and certainly, by virtue of ancestry, association, education, scholarship and sympathy, the one man best qualified and equipped to perform this important work is Dr. Alfred Morrison. Thus it will be seen that in every way Dr. Morrison is representative of Hampden- Sidney's best traditions and interests, and the KALEIDOSCOPE Staff have clone well in dedicating the l9l l volume to one who so eminently merits the honor. ASHTON WAUGH MCWHORTER. Hampden-Sidney College, February 20, l9I I. ' -f2 1i Fi5:!' ' Q , GMU 'lf' I3

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Reminiscences of Hampden-Sidney in 1871-'74 There is something especially attractive in youth, but among their many drawing qualities, nothing appeals to me more than their unconsciousness of danger, their gener- osity in invitation and their utter blindness to what they do. This was strikingly shown when the young manager of this Annual invited an old man to ureminiscef' without placing any limit upon his pen. Where these random thoughts will end, I know not. l only know that the very name of Hampden-Sidney takes me back to the happiest days of my youth, and that vanished hands touch me on every side, and that the very air seems alive with voices that have long been still. As l look back over a life that has already reached the sere and yellow leaf stage, three periods stand out distinct-the war period, the College period, and the period when life with its burdens and responsibilities confronted me. The war period had its variety and its excitements, but it also had so much death, such a struggle for bare existence, so many sad faces and broken hearts, that even now I feel its gloom and shadow. While middle age has had its pleasures and compensations, and a measureable degree of success, it has also had its hard problems and its bitter disappointments. To the College period I turn for its unalloyed pleasures, its sweet companionships. and its years of profitable study. As Addison Smith would say, ul have passed the meridian of life, and am going to the confines of eternity, and as l look through the many years that have passed since my college days, l can see that amid those unattractive surroundings and creature discomforts, I received impressions that have counted for much in my life, ln the fall of '7l I caught my first glimpse of the old barn-like building. To a homesick boy there could have been nothing more uninviting-an oblong building of rough brick, with four halls, each independent of the other: bare class-rooms, and dormitory rooms rough and cheerless in every way-all standing in the center of a campus, almost destitute of trees, an expanse of fiery sun in the summer, and a continent of mud in the winter. From the opening of winter till late in the spring, overshoes were a necessity, for there were no pavements in the village, and he who adventured forth by night minus a lantern, on calico intent, was doomed to disaster as well as disappointment. In those days hazing was an unknown art, and the newcomer was persona gratu- the material out of which the famous literary societies were recruited. So that the old men put forth their best efforts to win him over to their particular society. I5