Cambridge Sketches | Page 2

were
almost like his own sons, and the ode he wrote on this occasion touches
a depth of pathos not to be met with elsewhere in his poetry. There was
not at that time another family in Cambridge or Boston which
contained two such bright intellects, two such fine characters. It did not
seem right that they should both have left their mother, who was
bereaved already by a faithless husband, to fight the battles of their
country, however much they were needed for this. Even in the most
despotic period of European history the only son of a widow was
exempt from conscription. Then to lose them both in a single day! Mrs.
Lowell became the saint of Quincy Street, and none were so hardened
or self-absorbed as not to do her reverence.
But now the terrible past was eclipsed by the joy and pride of victory.
The great heroic struggle was over; young men could look forward to
the practice of peaceable professions, and old men had no longer to
think of the exhausting drain upon their resources. Fond mothers could
now count upon the survival of their sons, and young wives no longer
feared to become widows in a night. Everywhere there was joy and
exhilaration. To many it was the happiest day they had ever known.
President Hill was seen holding a long and earnest conversation with
Agassiz on the path towards his house. The professors threw aside their
contemplated work. Every man went to drink a glass of wine with his
best friend, and to discuss the fortunes of the republic. The ball-players

set off for the Delta, where Memorial Hall now stands, to organize a
full match game; the billiard experts started a tournament on Mr.
Lyon's new tables; and the rowing men set off for a three-hours' pull
down Boston harbor. Others collected in groups and discussed the
future of their country with the natural precocity of youthful minds.
"Here," said a Boston cousin of the two young Lowells, to a pink-faced,
sandy-haired ball-player, "you are opposed to capital punishment; do
you think Jeff. Davis ought to be hung?" "Just at present," replied the
latter, "I am more in favor of suspending Jeff. Davis than of suspending
the law,"--an opinion that was greeted with laughter and applause. The
general sentiment of the crowd was in favor of permitting General Lee
to retire in peace to private life; but in regard to the president of the
Southern Confederacy the feeling was more vindictive.
We can now consider it fortunate that no such retaliatory measures
were taken by the government. Much better that Jefferson Davis, and
his confederates in the secession movement, should have lived to
witness every day the consequences of that gigantic blunder. The fact
that they adopted a name for their newly-organized nation which did
not differ essentially from the one which they had discarded; that their
form of government, with its constitution and laws, differed so slightly
from those of the United States, is sufficient to indicate that their
separation was not to be permanent, and that it only required the
abolition of slavery to bring the Southern States back to their former
position in the Union. If men and nations did what was for their true
interests, this would be a different world.
* * * * *
At that time the college proper consisted of three recitation buildings,
and four or five dormitories, besides Appleton Chapel, and little old
Holden Chapel of the seventeenth century, which still remains the best
architecture on the grounds. The buildings were mostly old, plain, and
homely, and the rooms of the students simply furnished. In every class
there were twelve or fifteen dandies, who dressed in somewhat above
the height of the fashion, but they served to make the place more
picturesque and were not so likely to be mischievous as some of the
rougher country boys. It was a time of plain, sensible living. To hire a
man to make fires in winter, and black the boots, was considered a
great luxury. A majority of the students blacked their own boots,

although they found this very disagreeable. The college pump was a
venerable institution, a leveller of all distinctions; and many a pleasant
conversation took place about its wooden trough. No student thought of
owning an equipage, and a Russell or a Longworth would as soon have
hired a sedan chair as a horse and buggy, when he might have gone on
foot. Good pedestrianism was the pride of the Harvard student; and an
honest, wholesome pride it was. There was also some good running.
Both Julian Hawthorne and Thomas W. Ward ran to Concord, a
distance of sixteen miles, without stopping, I believe, by the way.
William Blaikie, the stroke of the University