PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS.

FRANCES A. WOOD, _Librarian_.

The more I recall of the early times, the more unwritable any account

becomes by reason of the personal element. The charm and delight lay

chiefly in the close confidence of mutual friendly relations. "A chiel

amang us taking notes" would not have been tolerated in those days. I

never expected to regret not keeping a journal, but I do now as I

realize how much precious and interesting history has been lost in

consequence.

One of the first teachers in the Latin department had to deal with a

student so literal as to afford much amusement by her continual habit

of asking, "What is the exact date of this event?" One day in class,

allusion was made to the story of Deucalion and Pyrrha, when the girl

unthinkingly began her usual query. The teacher despairingly

interrupted,--"Thank heaven, Miss ----, there is a period in history

in which there are no dates."

So you are invited to look back with me to the time in Vassar history

when it began,--when practically there were no dates; the time when

the word "female" was still carved over the entrance, and had not yet

been stricken from the spoons. As to that word, there seems to have

been much discussion about its use from the first and objections made

to it, for the Evangelist in 1860 had a long article in defence,

summing up the matter in this wise:--"We hope the college will not be

persuaded to change the title on account of any prudish antipathy on

the part of a few who entertain a false prejudice against the word

female, and who are utterly unable to find a substitute for it, or

suggest any graceful circumlocution by which it can be avoided."

It may be interesting to the student of to-day to know the sort of

setting in which her eldest Vassar sister was placed. The course of

study laid out here was substantially what was prepared for her

brothers in colleges for men at that period, and requiring the same

proficiency in grade to enter. But of this the purpose is not to give

record of what the early catalogues testify. It is rather a little

picture of the life and customs at the beginning, over forty years

ago, when all was new and we were all young. It is not from the

students' point of view. That side ought to have a chronicler from one

of themselves. If only all the letters written home from the college

for the first dozen years could have been saved, the narrative would

be of far greater interest than this can hope to be.

With the interest attaching to great enterprises hardly anything is

too small or insignificant to be counted. How the Founder first got

his idea to do something for women, what the highest opportunities

were for women nearly fifty years ago, are on record and need no

further chronicler. All the various steps in development of the great

enterprise, the discouragements of building in the face of civil war,

the lack of enthusiasm in public opinion,--all this is familiar

history.

The sketch by Benson J. Lossing entitled "Vassar College and its

Founder" tells the story of the beginning, describing the

equipment--rich for that period,--giving a picture of that proud and

happy first Founder's Day, when with a line of students each side his

carriage, with flags and songs and banners Mr. Vassar was escorted up

from the lodge, and, in the enthusiasm of his triumphal procession and

welcome, perhaps first realized what he had done for women--what he

had instituted for all time. Let us hope in the general gladness and

gratitude he had the richest sense of reward, a consciousness that he

had done wisely and well, felt, in short, that in the fullest Yankee

sense "it had paid."

When a full history of the college comes to be written--as it will

be--of this great epoch in educational history, we shall realize still

more what it was to have faith to establish the first properly

equipped college for women, and the wonder of Dr. Raymond's work in

its organization. No one can read the history as given in his "Life

and Letters" without increased appreciation of what it was to evolve

out of chaos the educational life and policy of the college with the

social as well. In this latter part he was incomparably assisted by

Miss Lyman--a power, too, in her day and time.

It is interesting to trace the record of growth and development from

the beginning, and to notice the change from sceptical opinion or

amused tolerance to belief and acceptance. The Founder began

collecting press notices, and the treasured annals of the library

collection owe their start to him.

[Illustration: 1865]

In the main, the notices were dignified and commendatory:--"A

munificent enterprise. With the progress of our civilization, the

sphere of personal activity enlarges for women as well as for men, and

education must keep pace with its progress.... The institution is

intended to be all that the term college imparts; to be ultimately

what Yale, Harvard, and Brown are to young men."

The New York Evening Post of 1860 says:--"It is not to be for a moment

supposed that this plan of instruction involves a departure from the

field of activity which nature has for the female sex, or of unfitting

them for the duties which their own tastes as well as the requirements

of society indicate them to perform.... No institution of note has yet

ventured to admit females much further than into the mysteries of the

rudiments." (Female delicacy, female industry, female mind, female

college were terms hard worked in those days. A belief of sex in mind

was universal.)

Now and then an attempt to be facetious was made. The New York Times

in 1860 also had its say of the new enterprise as follows:--"What do

you think of a woman's college? And why not? After Allopathic,

Hydropathic, Homeopathic and patent pill colleges, universities and

all that sort of thing, why not let the girls have one? For the life

of me I do not discover any very valid objection, but objection or no

objection, the thing is to be. By a bill introduced this morning,

Matthew Vassar, William Kelly, James Harper, E. L. Magoon, B. J.

Lossing, S. F. B. Morse and a dozen or more gentlemen among the

Knowing and the Known are authorized to be the body corporate of a

female college. The said college is to have full power to educate

feminines and to grant them sheepskins the same as any other college

is authorized and wont to do."

[Illustration: THE FOUNDER

1865]

Ten members constituted the Faculty in 1865-68, seven men with the

President, and three women--Miss Lyman, lady principal, Miss Mitchell,

director of the observatory, and Dr. Avery, the resident physician.

The seven chairs filled by men could boast degrees and titles, but

there were none for women those days. There were no associate

professors, no instructors in departments ranking teachers, simply

Faculty and teachers for many years. Nowadays, the catalogue bristles

with degrees, and not to have A.B. or something after one's name is

the rare exception.

The teachers numbered twenty that first year; the second, the number

had increased to thirty-four and of these nine taught music, the

largest department in the college and--as we that were in it

thought--the most important.

The first catalogue, issued 1865-66, shows the whole number of

students as 353, all unclassified, owing to the inequalities of

preparation. Among this number were many very far advanced in general

scholarship, but who had certain exceptional deficiencies preventing

their entering a regular class at once. By the end of the second year,

however, all were graded. It is not strange that at the outset so many

should be unfitted to enter, when hitherto no preparation for women to

take a college training had been provided for in the land.

It was a wonderful thing when Vassar opened for a girl to have the

chance to go to college, and the contrast between then and now when it

is quite a matter of course, and not at all an exceptional thing,

strikes me rather sharply, as I see a privilege counted so precious

once made light of in these days, or worse--wholly disregarded.

The numbers continued without much change, 411 in 1871, stretching to

the limit suitable provision for them. If this seems pitiful to you,

one of a thousand to-day, remember that at the first, 300 was about

the highest number reckoned on, and for this number accommodations

were none too plentiful with recitation rooms, art-gallery, library

and museum all in one building. Many of the earliest students will

recall making one of seven in a "fire-wall" parlor, other suites being

crowded in similar proportion; but however uncomfortable and

dissatisfied she might have been, the girl made little complaint,

sustained, doubtless, by the proud consciousness of being a pioneer

student in the first college for women ever established.

By the tabular statement with this will be seen the steady increase of

proportion of students in full collegiate standing.

Full

Total. Standing. Conditioned. Special. Unclassified.

1865-66 353 .. .. .. ..

1866-67 386 97 22 189 78

Preparatory.

1867-68 339 141 75 123 ..

1868-69 362 162 126 72 ..

1869-70 382 171 150 59 ..

1870-71 381 174 141 65 ..

1871-72 415 205 151 58 ..

1872-73 411 235 135 41 ..

1873-74 411 239 146 21 ..

1874-75 384 225 159 11 ..

There was an importance attaching to the students in full standing, a

sort of aristocracy, if you please, not defined or put in words, but

none the less felt and appreciated. Even the teachers who had upper

class work shared this, and those not so favored would say on occasion

in mock grievance,--"I am only a Prep. teacher" or "only a music

teacher," as the case might be.

In 1868-69 the first resident graduates were recorded, Louise Parsons

and Mary Reybold.

The specials in art and music were required to pass the regular

preparatory entrance examinations, and to take two collegiate studies

in connection with their special work. This arrangement was abolished

in 1892 when the history and theory of music and of art were made to

count towards a degree.

The trustees voted to close the Preparatory Department, June 8, 1886.

The first class to graduate was in 1867. They were four in

number--"the immortal IV"--as Dr. Raymond characterized them at the

planting of their class ivy, for there were then no class trees by

adoption. No diploma was given to the class on the day of graduation,

the trustees hesitating to admit the propriety of the term Bachelor of

Arts as applied to women. Instead, the four received a sort of special

certificate stating their proficiency "in science and the arts."

Later, the next year, when the matter was satisfactorily adjusted,

they received the regular parchment document.

The early fortunate possessors of the degree of A.B.--once given only

to men--were regarded with admiring awe, and they had not to strive

much for any desired position coveted. A successful young woman

teacher of experience entered college to go through the course in two

years, to the wonder of some friends who regarded her as having no

need of a degree. "I want it for commercial purposes," was her shrewd

reply. She had her reward in advancement far beyond what hitherto had

been perfectly satisfactory. It is now a matter of course that a

candidate for any position should have a college education, and the

well earned degree confers no special distinction. Indeed, it has come

to pass that the almost indifferent comment is, "Well, what has she

done since?"

A favorite question to the college girl was, "What good does this

higher education do? Can you make a better pudding for it?" "I'll tell

you what good the college does," laughed a certain bright student, "it

is a great place to take the starch out of one! Why, at home I thought

I was somebody; here I find the only somebody is the best scholar in

the classroom."

The President taught mental and moral philosophy as the catalogue

stated it. He also gave some lectures in history, as did the professor

of ancient and modern languages and the professor of English. Under

the term natural philosophy came mathematics, physics and chemistry,

and the term natural history covered the wide field of science now

separated into special departments. Biology was taught under zoology,

and an amusing incident in class at one time was when one of the

number (afterwards a surgeon and doctor) exclaimed in dismay at sight

of the eye of an ox laid on her table for dissection, "O Professor,

mayn't we have forks?"

The second year of the college was little changed from the first, and

so the distinction of being "an aborigine," as Miss Mitchell dubbed

the officers that came in '65, was bestowed on a few of us who had

just missed that date. She always brought some little present for the

band on her return to college each year, and it delighted her to add a

fresh anecdote, told as we walked down a corridor, her large, serious

eyes twinkling with fun.

"How did the college look when you came in '67?" is a question often

asked me. It was a February night after a day of snow, rain and sleet,

when the six o'clock train from New York landed me at Poughkeepsie.

Then came the long drive out to the college over the heavy muddy road,

unlighted beyond the city limits, which were not built out as thickly

as now, and from Bull's Head (Arlington) at the turn, hardly at all.

[Illustration: JOHN H. RAYMOND

1865]

The driver ushered me in at the old lower entrance, and, as a matter

of course, gathered up my hand-baggage and preceded me up the central

stairway to the messenger room. This would be an unusual proceeding

to-day, but was most friendly and grateful then in the strange place.

My handbag had a defective lock with a trick of unexpectedly flying

open, and I recall its unhappy click, click, as I nervously followed

him up the stairs. My name was given to be sent to Miss Lyman, whom I

awaited, very ill at ease, in the parlor. Soon a tall figure appeared

in black silk dress, white fleecy shawl, white hair in curls under

black lace cap, both hands extended in smiling greeting as if an old

friend had arrived. "We have been looking for you all day, and had

just begun to fear we must give you up for to-night." A relative could

hardly have been received more cordially, or with more entire absence

of inspection.

I had been summoned in midyear to fill a sudden vacancy in the music

department, the preliminary formalities having been waived somehow in

my case, and I was not looking to be received so perfectly as a

welcome guest of honor. Needless to say, all misgivings vanished and I

felt at home at once. A teacher with whom I had been associated

elsewhere was sent for to take me to my room, supper ordered served

there, teachers rooming in the same corridor came to greet the

newcomer, and the evening that promised to be forlorn and dreary

changed into a gay reception with friendly warmth and good cheer.

Professor Wiebe, in whose department I was to teach, lived in the

north wing near my room, and soon presented himself with his wife to

welcome me. Madame Wiebe also taught in the department--was a musician

herself of no mean ability. Really, it seems as I live it all over

that the sunshiny outlook has never dimmed.

[Illustration: EDWARD WIEBE

1865]

The next day, Washington's Birthday, was a holiday, and opportunity

given to inspect the grounds and building. A narrow gravel path each

side of the avenue led up from the lodge--the one old landmark exactly

the same as now. Evergreens, so small one could almost touch the tops

with the hand, bordered those paths. The first catalogue contained an

engraving of these walks and front of the building, and a framed copy

of one with photographs of that year is preserved in the library.

What we know as the museum was then the riding school with a German

nobleman in charge, and groups of his pupils might be seen every

pleasant day, riding around the great circle laid out for the purpose

beyond the flower garden. Parties of more advanced riders were taken

by the Baron outside the grounds, to the envy of the less skilled. The

experiment of the riding school proved too expensive with its horses,

grooms and master, and had at the end of six years to be given up.

The observatory was the only other building outside (with the

exception of the boiler and engine house), and a gravel walk led up to

its doors also. There were none but soft paths and few of these

anywhere at that time. Later, an unsightly wooden walk replaced the

gravel ones from the lodge to the front entrance. It was several years

after this that the flagging was laid, and asphalt pavement here and

there around the grounds begun.

The museum collections at the beginning were all in the main building,

some occupying the space of the fifth center corridor, and it was in

this long gallery that I had my first meeting with the Founder. I had

gone one day by myself to wander about looking at specimens of

minerals when the door opened and a benevolent white haired old

gentleman entered. There was no mistaking the man of the portrait with

his old time dress,--ruffled shirt front, diamond pin and wonderfully

kind expression--and I went forward to pay my homage. He seemed

familiar with the collections, pointing out whatever was especially

valuable and curious as we walked around together. "I often come up

here to see these," he said smilingly. He gave a reception at his

house in town that second year for the Faculty and teachers of the

college to meet the trustees and friends of his living in town, and I

recall a delightful, genial host who made us all feel as if we

belonged to him--were a part of his family.

On the fourth corridor--the whole west front below, was the

art-gallery with Professor Van Ingen as director. The library was

under this in the center of the third corridor, more like a room of

the kind in a gentleman's house, and conducted somewhat in the same

delightful free and easy fashion. Newspapers and periodicals were in

this room also, open for daily use, but books could be drawn only at

recreation period, Wednesday and Saturday, though they might be

returned whenever the library was open. In a college community the

library is destined to be an important factor, feeding the whole group

of departments, and it is not hard to see how the small beginning here

should go on by leaps and bounds, keeping pace with the wonderful

growth in other directions, till it reached the stately structure

which is its home to-day.

The first organ to be placed in the chapel had no case. Instead, there

was an arrangement of heavy red curtains across the back of the

platform, with the large portrait of the Founder in front, concealing

all unsightliness. The music rooms were back of the organ, on the

third and fourth floors used now by the steward's department.

Professor Wiebe had his large classroom and office on the upper floor

and there were held the departmental meetings. Access to these rooms

was through the doors each side of the chapel platform and through the

small doors at the farther end of the gallery. The office where the

music supplies were stored and given out was in the little room

opening from the south end of the platform. The conservatory method

obtained at first, the ensemble playing being conducted in the museum,

in a large room near the gymnasium, capable of holding the several

pianos necessary.

Professor Mitchell had her classroom at the observatory, but with that

exception all other recitations were in the one main building, in the

center each side of the main entrance. The President's classroom

adjoined his office, now the senior parlor. In 1865, Room J was Dr.

Avery's recitation room, and later was famous as the English

literature and logic classroom in the day of Professor Backus. This is

now the officers' parlor. There was no students' room for dancing.

This was done at the gymnasium sometimes in the evenings, permission

to go over first having to be obtained.

On the first corridor, where are now the stationery department,

offices of the superintendent and resident physician, were three

connecting rooms assigned to the chemistry department,--laboratory,

classroom and lecture room. Across the corridor to the east where the

express office and janitor's office are now were the two rooms of

physics, a large classroom with smaller one adjoining for the

apparatus. Dr. Avery had her office in her private suite on the fourth

south, with the infirmary in near proximity at the other end of the

hall. Mr. Wheeler, the first janitor, who was on the college ground

from the time the first spadeful of earth was dug up for the building,

had for his office the small room close by the center stairway on the

first corridor.

[Illustration: CHARLES S. FARRAR

1865]

Professor Farrar's chemistry and physics courses were extremely

popular, and days when special experiments were in order the lecture

room would be crowded. The teachers all had the privilege of attending

lectures, and many did regular work in some one department other than

her own, supplementing boarding school training and taking the college

degree after a time.

I remember one day his holding up a small vial in each hand,

explaining elaborately the contents of each, and what the chemical

effect would be when the two should be poured together. The class

watched in breathless attention. "Now, young ladies," and the bottles

were lifted high that all might see, "you will observe"--repeating the

formula--and then pouring them with quick, deft movement together.

Nothing happened. Who that saw it but must remember the blank

amazement of the professor's face and the hearty laugh all round in

which he joined. "Well, that never turned out so with me before."

Beyond the center south where are now the candy-kitchen and day

students' parlor was the natural history lecture and classroom. The

cabinets of minerals were beautifully arranged in a long gallery on

the fifth center and consulted there as occasion required. The story

goes that a student busy with her topic one day was interrupted by the

entrance of a visitor who patronizingly asked, "Well, what are you so

absorbed in?" She raised her eyes. "The odontology of the bison, sir."

He fell back a few paces, gazed at her in silence a moment, and then

left the room.

The collections of birds, shells, etc., were placed on the third

corridor center in rooms now devoted to student use.

A domestic in employ of the college, whose special charge was the

natural history classroom, was noticed gazing at the wall where hung

engravings of some huge mammals of prehistoric time. "Were those rale

bastes, Professor?" He assured her that such once lived, whereupon she

commented complacently, "Well, I s'pose the men and women then were

equal to 'em."

The Venus of Milos stood in the gymnasium, and two workmen had been

sent to change slightly its position. One was overheard asking why the

surface of the statue was so chipped and rough. His companion answered

with an air of finality, "The Doctor uses this to illustrate her

lectures on skin diseases."

Space fails to recount all the little jokes. "Bacchanalian Sunday" a

young student called Baccalaureate in perfect good faith.

"I am glad the old Main looks unchanged inside as much as it does. I

should say those were the same old water tanks, had you not told me

otherwise. I used to room in this parlor here, and wonder if I could

find my name with those of my roommates still written on the inside

shutters?" And she did.

But the alumna returning after a long period of years does find many

changes, concerning chiefly the routine of daily life, manners and

customs, what was known in her time having disappeared almost

entirely. Let us begin with the first schedule of the college hours:

Rising 6.00 A.M.

Morning prayers 6.45

Breakfast 7.00

Arrangement of rooms 7.30

Silent time 7.40

Morning study hours 9.00-12.40

Dinner 1.00 P.M.

Recreation period 2.00-2.40

Afternoon study hours 2.45-5.45

Supper 6.00

Evening prayers followed by silent time 6.30

Evening study hour 8.00-9.00

Retiring 9.40-10.00

For a few years, chapel prayers were held both morning and evening.

Miss Lyman officiated in the morning, taking this occasion for her

wonderful talks to the students with such notices as were required for

the day. In the first catalogues issued was a long list of necessary

equipment, including a waterproof cloak, a long woolen garment popular

in that time. This article of attire was much in vogue at early

prayers, and I think it was her disgust at the sight of so many black

robed figures in the procession filing into chapel that caused the

change from prayers at 6.45 to directly after breakfast. So in '68 the

service was at 7.45--an adroit device we considered--of getting the

family up in time. How thankful many were for the fashion of trailing

princesse wrapper, and I believe no college inmate was without one.

The day of the short skirt for walking had not come, only very young

girls having that comfort and luxury. The grey woolen gymnastic suit

was "en régle" for excursions to Cedar Ridge and country roundabout,

but it was not considered quite proper even there or to be seen

outside the gymnasium.

Miss Lyman was very particular in matters of dress, insisting on

change for supper, as if going out for the evening. No one was allowed

to wear the same costume all day. "You may take off one calico frock

and put on a fresh one of the same kind, if you can do no better, but

some sort of change is essential." Also in the matter of gloves she

held us all up to wear them at every college function. It was thought

extremely elegant for even the one who was to deliver essay or poem on

the chapel platform to wear white gloves. Happily this custom was not

long lived. "If there is a student here who cannot afford white

gloves--even of lisle thread, I shall be glad to provide a pair." The

last year of her life she wore gloves constantly to conceal her

wasted, emaciated hands.

Now and then her edicts had no force, as when she gave out that no one

must go on the grounds after sunset without wearing a wrap. To the

general delight, that same summer evening saw Mrs. Raymond guiltless

of shawl, strolling around the flower garden with the President, both

bareheaded, so afterwards we pursued our way as we pleased.

She could not tolerate anything slovenly or slipshod, and no careless

person escaped her watchful eye. On all Commencement occasions each

member of the graduating class had to be inspected beforehand, attired

in the gown to be worn that day. A heavy black walnut table--such as

was placed in every student parlor--stood in Miss Lyman's bedroom,

with steps beside it, which Winnie, the maid, assisted each student to

mount. Then, sitting in her arm-chair near, Miss Lyman criticised the

slowly revolving figure on the table, and any slight alteration

desirable to make, the maid in waiting was ready to do.

She was keen to see anything out of the ordinary dead level, as two

teachers, who had started to walk to town one afternoon through the

thick spring mud and slush, found out. Their aim was to have something

besides the regulation exercise, and they were getting it by literally

wading near the stone wall of the college grounds, when Miss Lyman

came in sight returning from her daily drive. "This settles our fate,"

said one, fishing up her overshoe from the depths and mounting the

wall to restore the hideous article. "She will never respect us

again." Miss Lyman did halt her carriage near with concern, and could

hardly believe there was no urgent necessity for an undertaking so

foolish, but smilingly reassured them, "The road is nothing here to

what it is lower down. But do go on if you like it." I am sure she

envied the rude health that could start on such an excursion, for she

added lingeringly, "How I wish I were strong enough to do that sort of

thing too!"

The corridors were designed by the architect to be suitable as

promenade places in inclement weather, and were so used a good deal.

There was a tradition of a distinguished senior regularly taking her

walk in her special corridor like a nun in a cloister, her eyes bent

on a little black morocco book in hand, which some curious person

contrived to find out to be a Greek Testament. Students waiting for

recitation signal often strolled up and down just beforehand. Miss

Lyman came along one morning, joining a young freshman waiting for her

class, and taking the girl's arm, paced with her slowly up and down a

few times to the student's embarrassed pleasure. Not a word was spoken

till the bell struck and Miss Lyman turned to leave,--"My dear, you do

not walk quite properly. You should turn your toes out a little more."

[Illustration: HANNAH W. LYMAN

1865]

What a power Miss Lyman was and what a presence! The evil doer shrank

before her biting sarcasm, and when the matter of establishing any

change came up, it was her felicitous phrase that generally settled

the business. Alluding to the custom at one time of loading the wall

of students' parlors with photographs of young men friends: "If you

must have your--er--Julius Caesar up where you can see him

constantly"--a ripple of laughter went round the chapel and the

sentence was not finished, but the photographs disappeared.

She practiced what she preached in matters of personal attire. Of

slender, tall, imposing figure, always beautifully dressed,--black

silk in the evening, lavender muslin or soft grey cashmere in the

morning with dainty cap, the long streamers floating over the filmy

shawl she was rarely seen without, her white hair curled, as was the

fashion for elderly ladies of that time, and around her pale

face,--she made a picture as if she had stepped out of some old

portrait. Notman's photograph taken at the same time as others of the

Faculty in the spring of '67 does not convey the etherialness, the

delicate spirituality of her looks. She seemed in her pallor and

invalidism extremely venerable to us, and as if she must be well along

towards eighty, but she was only a little over fifty when she died.

It was pre-eminently a family in the old days, not a community as now.

The distinction between Faculty and teachers was rather sharply drawn,

but this was more than made up by the close personal relations between

officers and students. The teachers were made to feel a part of the

social life. They had a definite place in receiving and entertaining

guests at all public functions, and could not stay away without their

absence being noticed and for this called gently to account. It was

not considered exactly as "getting permission," but no teacher went

out of college for the night without signifying her intention both to

Miss Lyman and Dr. Raymond. It would seem as if Miss Lyman alone was

the person to receive all such requests, but she always answered

cordially,--"Certainly, and will you speak to the President also?"

The general exodus from any college affair promising no personal

interest was unheard of. I remember once after an unbroken succession

of Friday evening lectures there was an universal feeling of weariness

and indifference when it was unexpectedly announced at evening prayers

that we were to have a lecture on Shakespeare at the close of the

evening study hour. How Dr. Raymond suspected that the audience would

fall off--that there might be many absentees--we never guessed, but

word went round to each corridor teacher to inform her domain that

everybody was expected to attend. That such a proceeding should have

been necessary gave rise next evening to a quiet rebuke,--"I have been

a student of Shakespeare for more than twenty years, and I have never

found any lecturer on this subject yet from whom I could not get

profit and instruction."

Those were tremendous occasions when Dr. Raymond felt moved to

reprimand. Merciless and all out of proportion to the offence, we

sometimes thought the talks then, but who shall say what was not

checked of lawlessness in the beginning and disgrace in the end? The

old chapel has seen and heard a great variety in its day, and if the

walls could speak, what histories might be unfolded! Two weddings have

been held there, one in June with daisy decorations, the other in

autumn with brilliant hues and warmer coloring. Dr. Raymond had never

performed the ceremony till he did so for his daughters. He wrote a

special service, and very beautiful and impressive he made it.

A set of rules, drawn up by Miss Lyman and known as the "Students'

Manual" was printed in pamphlet form, and a copy placed in each

parlor. She also read to each entering class certain other rules

concerning deportment. If these rules caused some rather indignant

amusement, as being absurd and childish, unfitting college students,

now and then a case was apparent where the "cap fitted," and a hint

was given without offence.

Students studied in their rooms, and visits to and from rooms at any

time during study hours were not allowed except by permission from the

lady principal. Special permission also had to be obtained for going

out of the building after dark, except when due at the gymnasium or

the observatory. Students' visitors were received in the college

parlor by Miss Lyman or her assistant, and students were not expected

to enter there till summoned. Neither were they allowed to make use of

the main entrance hall, but must go out and come in by the rear doors,

and through those in the towers in either wing.

It was impressed upon the whole family that the higher education of

women was an experiment, and that the world was looking on, watching

its success or defeat. The good of the college was the watchword, and

not mere gratification of individual preferences. Many a girl has

admitted that her first sense of the importance of law and order came

from the rules she often rebelled against. If too much paternal

government was whispered even thus early, a student with several

roommates in a small parlor, and subject to intrusive friends in study

hours without protection of rule, had some reason to be thankful for

it. There was only one building, and no escape from it to a quiet

place to work under better conditions. All had to live up to a

tremendously high standard--the ordinary one not enough for those

days. It was difficult to keep on this mountain peak continually, but

if we fell off now and then it was from no lack of admonition. "The

good of the college!" "The good of the college!" was reiterated

constantly. Light-hearted law breakers caught visiting in study hours

or in silent time, or in some other equally innocent, reprehensible

proceeding would gravely parody in excuse, "We did it for the good of

the college." But nobody had daring sufficient to let this answer

reach the "higher powers."

Frequent absence from college was not thought advisable. Even the

student whose home was in town was restricted, once in three weeks

when she went home to spend the night, being the rule, but not

strictly enforced. Holidays and times when there was any special

festivity there was no escape. You were made to feel so essential in

the family life as to consider it a little disloyal to evade any

function. Rarely did any one other than the student living in town go

away for Thanksgiving Day. A great deal was made of this festival, the

dinner and the entertainment afterwards.

The Christmas vacation was not the cheerless occasion of wholesale

departure, as in this day of large numbers. The students, who from

necessity had to stay over, or who preferred to--as many did--could

hardly have had more done for their pleasure and entertainment if they

had been visiting in a private family. In addition to the various

plans among themselves, the college gave them masquerade and dancing

parties, musical or theatrical entertainment, candy pulls, and

sleigh rides, so no girl had reason to complain of dullness, or envy

her fortunate roommate at home. One Christmas, the idea of an original

play was started, but would have fallen through if Dr. Raymond had not

come to the rescue with advice and ready pen. He entered into the

spirit of the thing immensely, taking a part with other officer

volunteers, making a brilliant success of what at first promised

forlorn failure.

Three minutes were allowed after the last stroke of the gong signal

for meals. Those entering the dining-room later had to stop at Miss

Lyman's table and give explanation of tardiness before taking their

seats. At dinner and supper, all remained at table until the bell was

struck as the signal for rising, but at breakfast each withdrew at her

own pleasure, excused by the teacher presiding at her table.

The food was abundant and excellent. We had a substantial breakfast,

and dinner at one. Supper was a light meal, with an occasional hot

dish of some sort. Miss Mitchell coming to the dining-room late one

evening inquired as she took her seat,--"What is the meaning of the

unusually happy faces I see around?" "Baked potatoes for supper." "How

pitiful," was her comment. There was the disgruntled one among us--as

there always is--but no one could take exception in earnest to the

meals set before us.

We had our little jokes of course. One evening at sunset as two

teachers stood at a window gazing at the blaze of color in the western

sky, one exclaimed rapturously, "Isn't this glorious!" "Yes," sighed

the other, "how I wish I could eat it!" Another time was after the

early breakfast as we were assembling for prayers. In Miss Lyman's

increasing feebleness the service devolved on Miss Lepha Clarke acting

as assistant lady principal. We music teachers sat in the choir and

the organist often chose the hymn. One of our number asked the

privilege of selection that morning, and gravely presented the book to

Miss Clarke, the hymn chosen beginning,--

"Lord, what a wretched land is this

That yields us no supplies."

Miss Clarke's composure remained unmoved, and she forgave the audacity

of the offence, but laughingly begged the experiment not to be

repeated.

The Founder's friend, Mr. William Smith, of Smith Brothers, was

connected with the college for two years, one before the opening in

equipment of the steward's department, and the next year in

superintending its successful operation. There was no separate laundry

building, and the basement was fitted up with proper machinery for

this under his direction. Every detail of his important department was

instituted and established by Mr. Smith. He also arranged for the

system of steam heating--a new thing in this city at that

time--through the entire building.

The tables in the dining-room were alternately a short one seating

ten, and a longer one seating fourteen, with a teacher at the head of

each. The small rooms near the entrance were designed by the architect

as cloak-rooms, but were utilized at once for practice at table of

French and of German conversation. The corresponding rooms above near

the chapel door were also diverted from the original plan, and still

do primeval duty as linen closet and storage place. Notices given out

at morning prayers in Miss Lyman's time, later were read in the

dining-room up to 1892, when a bulletin board was placed in the second

corridor center, doing away with the custom.

The Students' Manual stated, "Direct traffic with the Steward's

Storeroom is forbidden." The student wishing to purchase fruit and

crackers--about the only articles obtainable--brought her money for

purchase to her corridor teacher at breakfast, with a list of what was

wanted. The teacher made the purchase and the articles were delivered

by messenger to the student's room.

There were corridor teachers in those days. They had the large rooms

facing the corridor at each end of the building and commanding full

view of the domain in charge. The duties of this teacher were to see

that the rules as laid down in the Manual for lights, exercise,

study-hour, silent time, and, yes,--baths, were kept. She also held a

short office hour daily for the benefit of those wishing to consult

her. She taught a Bible class and had a weekly prayer meeting, besides

the special Sunday evening service.

Twenty minutes daily, morning and evening, were devoted to silent

time, by which every student was absolutely sure of some part of the

day entirely to herself. It was no easy task to provide places for the

observance of this custom or to enforce it, and reluctantly, after

some years it was dropped.

All meetings opened with prayer, corridor meetings as well. At these

meetings--every Monday evening after chapel--the students reported

perfect or deficient, as the case might be, and also received such

general admonition as the teacher deemed advisable. Later the same

evening all the corridor teachers met Miss Lyman in her parlor to give

their respective reports and to receive her counsel and direction.

This meeting was also opened with prayer.

The lights in the corridors had to be extinguished promptly at the

stroke of the ten o'clock bell. The President's office was under the

student rooms, and some officer there in business conference one

evening saw him lift his hand in salutation to the ceiling, saying as

the gas over his study table flared up suddenly at the sound of the

gong, "My faithful daughters!"

Others were not quite so prompt. "It seems," said a witty teacher as

we walked slowly down her corridor long after the bell had struck one

"laundry-bag night," waving her hand to the long row of lights in full

force, "it seems it is never too late to mend!"

One joke played on the teachers who had to look after the lights was

hugely appreciated by them as well as those who played it. Some

trouble with the gas had come up, and candles and candlesticks had

been furnished to each room for temporary use, the word going round

that lights must be put out at ten as usual. And so they were "put

out" and on exact time, but on the floor of the corridor near each

door, candles still blazing. The teachers patrolled as usual, making

no sign that the proceeding was at all unusual, greatly enjoying the

scene, and appreciating the giggles and whispers of watchers from

inside bedroom windows. The watchman had double duty, as he went his

rounds, but that was all.

The only means of conveyance to town, unless one ordered a special

carriage, was by the omnibus--a vehicle something like the old Fifth

Avenue stage--which made stated journeys back and forth every forty

minutes, the price of the trip, thirty cents each way. The city

railroad was built in Poughkeepsie in 1870, but that was not extended

to the college till the autumn of 1872. Before this date, however, the

fare by omnibus had been reduced to ten cents, and was continued at

this rate after the adoption of street cars.

Students under twenty had to have a chaperone, so it was, for some,

quite an expensive journey, and most shopping trips were made by

"clubbing," one student going for several. Until 1872, before their

separation from the college classes, preparatory students went to town

with a teacher.

Permission had to be obtained of Miss Lyman at her office hour

Saturday morning and the name of the teacher given who had consented

to accompany. A list also of purchases had to be submitted and left

with her. The chaperone received this list, signed by Miss Lyman, with

strict injunction not to permit any extension of the privilege given.

"It teaches a girl to be systematic and exact in her accounts, and

curtails trivial and foolish expenses. If she misses once to get some

coveted article, she will be the quicker next time to remember." All

excellent doctrine, but so disagreeable to the teachers to carry out

that they combined to have the rule rescinded.

Taken from fifteen years as head of an English boarding school, what

wonder that the family and social life at Vassar was formed by Miss

Lyman--as we think now--on strict and narrow lines. Hardly a trace of

the earliest regulations exists. The chaperone was once much in

evidence. A girl was not allowed to go alone even to church without

one, if under age. A young student that first year tells her

experience the first communion Sunday. Miss Lyman gave her very

cordial permission to attend the service, providing, as was customary,

a teacher of the same denomination as escort. At the outset the

teacher seemed unwilling to go to this particular church (Methodist),

and when they entered made her charge sit far back by the door. Three

times she ignored or refused a suggestion about going forward to the

altar, and finally the student rose and started off down the aisle by

herself. She wore a white sailor hat with long black ribbon streamers,

and suddenly felt a quick jerk on these by the irate teacher in

pursuit a few steps behind. "We knelt together at the altar," laughed

the victim, "but you may fancy how much good the service did me."

"What are your requisitions for a teacher?" Miss Lyman was often

asked. Her reply was characteristic:--"First she must be a lady;

second, she must be a Christian; third, she must have the faculty of

imparting knowledge, and lastly, knowledge." "Why, Miss Lyman, would

you consider being a lady the first essential of all?" "Most

certainly. I know of good Christian women I should not, on account of

their manners, like to place any girl under. Then, too, everybody

knows that the finest teacher is not necessarily the best scholar. I

have known many who had fine attainments, but were absolutely unfitted

to impart knowledge to others."

A credulous young freshman was told by her roommates that Miss Lyman,

if asked, would give out at morning prayers any hymn a student wished

sung on her birthday, that it was her custom to do so. Not stopping to

consider, the girl betakes herself to the lady principal's office and

makes known her wish for the day soon approaching. Miss Lyman,

perceiving the perfect good faith of the child, did not explain she

had been made a victim of a hoax, but left that to the friends who had

played the joke. Of course, the student was mortified. However, on the

morning of her birthday, the hymn Miss Lyman gave out was the one

asked for, and the girl never forgot the kindness that obliterated all

chagrin.

Miss Lyman's tact was unfailing in many other ways. A week or so after

my arrival, I met her one morning coming out with a bundle of papers

in her hand on her way to her regular appointment with Dr. Raymond at

his office. She greeted me cordially, asked me how I was getting on in

my work, and if I was comfortable in the room assigned me, adding, "I

think you have never been in my office to see my window garden?"

opening the door and ushering me in as she spoke. The flowers were

really lovely, but more to me was the delightful friendly chat for

five or ten minutes. Some time later a teacher high in authority asked

me if I had ever had my official interview with Miss Lyman. "No, but I

am expecting to be called up any day." "Are you sure? Have you never

been to her office?" "Oh, yes, but not officially," and I related the

window garden episode. Miss Clarke smiled. "How like her! She is

apparently satisfied, then, for her only comment about you to me,

because I had known you before coming here, was 'Do you think her

Unitarian influence is likely in any way to be pernicious?'"

Among the many things outgrown at Vassar is mention of "Unitarian"

with bated breath, as of something tabooed. It was a great bond with

Miss Mitchell when she discovered religious preferences akin to her

own, and she often admonished, "We must stand by our guns--must show

our colors." You would not think, dear Vassar girl of to-day who can

hear now unchallenged your own beloved minister of that denomination

in chapel, that forty years ago he would not have been allowed to

preach there?

On Sunday, morning and evening prayers were omitted. Bible classes at

nine o'clock were held by professors and teachers in the recitation

rooms, each corridor teacher having her own students in her class. The

Bible teachers conducted their classes according to personal belief

and opinion. Students had no choice whose class they should attend,

but were assigned as seemed best to Miss Lyman. She herself taught the

freshmen, and was said to be wonderfully interesting. Professor

Farrar's class was very popular, and the teachers thronged to hear

him. He was fresh from Elmira and Thomas K. Beecher, of whom in

boldness and originality he was a worthy disciple. Professor Orton was

also an interesting teacher of the Bible, but whatever keenness was

employed to draw him out on the debatable questions of evolution,

special creation and the like, he knew well how to set aside all

discussion, and nobody ever heard his personal opinion. Pinned down

for a statement of some kind, his invariable introduction would be,

"It is said."

[Illustration: JAMES ORTON

1868]

Chapel service was at eleven o'clock, the same as now, with preaching

by the President. A voluntary religious service was held by direction

of Dr. Raymond in the chapel in the afternoon, and there were

voluntary prayer meetings in the evening.

Sermons on those infrequent Sundays when a stranger was invited to

preach amused us by the delusion the minister labored under of the

obligation to have a discourse suited to the audience on woman's

sphere and duties. So many sermons on "Martha and Mary"--seven in one

year, I believe--that we disgraced the college by broad smiles

whenever the familiar allusion began or names were mentioned. If it

was not Mary and Martha, it would be the conflict between science and

religion that was next fitting, and science had a hard time of it with

the lurid dangers of scepticism set forth in no uncertain terms.

Professor Orton was exceedingly noncommittal on this subject, and

close was the watch on him by those occupying neighboring chapel seats

to see how he "took it." But no one ever did find out what the

professor thought. He bore it all immovably without change of

expression--not the faintest sign of interest betokened.

We observed in February the "Day of Prayer for Colleges." It was a

sort of second Sunday and not to be evaded. The library--then removed

to the fourth corridor--was opened awhile before the eleven o'clock

service, after which the doors were opened again the half hour before

dinner. The librarian once found to her horror that she had locked a

student in, and began profound apologies for her careless oversight.

"Oh, not at all, thank you very much! You see it was to-day or never

with my moral philosophy topic--my last chance to get at the reference

books,--so I didn't disclose myself when the door was about to be

shut."

Communication with the outside world was--as we should think now, very

restricted. There was no regular telegraph station at the college

until 1873, but an operator came out for certain hours to send

messages, none at all being allowed in the evening unless in great

emergency. A special delivery messenger came from town in the evening,

if you were so unfortunate as to receive a dispatch, and this, however

insignificant, cost from one and a half dollars to three, depending on

what was expended for livery hire to bring it out--as I happened to

know to my indignant cost, more than once. The telephone had not been

invented. The short day of the bicycle had not begun; electric cars

and motors were a Mother Shipton prophecy still. All the electric

devices so common now were hardly dreamed of.

For amusements there were base ball clubs, croquet clubs and a chess

club with "never too late to mate" its motto. A bowling alley was in

the basement of the museum; there was horseback riding, driving, with

excursions,--river and country, as now. There was no basket ball,

tennis or golf. Dancing in the gymnasium was frequent, and some

receptions with dancing took place there. There was no prescribed

physical culture as now, light calisthenics after Dr. Dio Lewis'

methods sufficed. Trips to the Catskills and Lake Mohonk were in

order, and in the Easter vacations extensive geological excursions

were taken to various places of interest.

A students' paper,--"The Vassariana," was established the first year,

having one number only. In '67 the name was changed to the "Vassar

Transcript," and was continued as a yearly number in the same form

till 1873, when the "Miscellany" began as a quarterly magazine. In

1878 it was altered to a monthly, nine numbers as we see it at

present.

Noticed both in the Vassariana and Transcript we find the Floral

Society, the Cecilia Society, the Exoteric (preparatory students

debarred from the Philalethean and doing very clever work), and the

Society of Religious Enquiry like the Y.W.C.A. of to-day.

Much was made of the Floral Society in the earliest days. It was

recreation, exercise and profit combined. Hardly any member of the

college family but lent support to it, either by contributions or

active work. A capable English gardener was always on duty, and one

particularly in the procession of these was a most interesting

character. We all delighted to talk to him and to hear him

say,--"Ladies likes smilax for their 'air, it is so very light and

hairy." A tramp came through the pine-wood path into the garden one

day and tried to beg. "'E wanted fifty cents," said our man. "I told

'im I 'adn't any money, and wouldn't be allowed to give 'im any if I

'ad. Besides, says I, there's my boss a-coming," pointing to Miss

Braislin approaching from the opposite point of the circle. "That your

boss? Wal, before I'd have a woman for my boss," sneered the tramp as

he hastily retreated. "Some folks is so 'igh minded," commented H.

placidly.

A student once asked him where he lived in England. He answered,

"About twenty miles from York, Miss, and I got up early one morning

and walked the whole distance to see a man 'anged." "How could you!"

exclaimed the girl much shocked. "Oh, I wanted to. 'E was a friend of

mine. Yes," reflectively, "I've seen two 'angings and the Centennial."

One of the instructors had him at work over the window plants in her

room one day during the visit of an old friend--a returned

missionary--and sought to draw him out a little for her benefit,

mentioning what was sure to start him, something about the "Old

Country," and that Mrs. ---- had just returned after several years'

residence abroad. He snipped away at his plants unconcernedly, and

without stopping his work inquired,--"Did you 'appen to go to

Hingland?" She answered, "Yes, but I was very unhappy there; I lost my

husband in that country." He turned instantly, surveying her

comprehensively and compassionately, shaking his head slowly,--"Oh!

Oh! and so 'ard to get another."

From the beginning there was musical talent of high order among the

students, and their recitals and concerts were far above the common.

The women entering those first years had, many of them, received the

best the country afforded from childhood, and came far advanced in

musical training, a few even with some little experience in playing in

public, so that slow, patient growth was largely eliminated, and

Professor Wiebe, the head of the department, had effective material at

the start to work with. He was ably assisted by the best foreign

teachers procurable, as well as by American teachers who had either

studied abroad or under good German masters in this country. The

concerts exclusively by the teachers or assisted by artist performers

from the old Philharmonic Society were, then and for years following,

events to be looked forward to. Professor Wiebe's specialty was

singing. He had a delightful voice and method, and organized the

"vocal club" of that time. Succeeding him in 1867, came Professor

Ritter to be connected with the college till his death in 1891. His

historical lectures and recitals were famous. He organized the Cecilia

Society in 1869, and in his lifetime continued the custom of a

commencement week concert given Monday night.

[Illustration: FREDERICK LOUIS RITTER

1867]

Professor James Robert had succeeded Professor Knapp as the head of

the classical department the second year, and lived with his young

wife in the college family. Their pleasant rooms were on the fourth

floor of the north wing, and were a favorite place of meeting. He was

very musical in his tastes, reading at sight piano music and

delighting in four-hand playing. A club of the music teachers met

often in these rooms, having sometimes an evening of singing as well

as of instrumental music. I remember at one of these meetings almost

every number undertaken had been transposed into another key. We were

groping our way to our respective rooms late after the lights were

out. "Don't you live on this floor?" one of the party was asked. "No,

an octave lower," she replied unconsciously, and wondered why we

laughed.

The music department was very large, "ex-collegiate" being the excuse.

The dependence of the family on the department for entertainment, as

well as for sound instruction in musical culture, was something

tremendous, and the fame of the college concerts and recitals went

abroad in the land. It would make a history in itself--the work done

in those days--the programmes undertaken and submitted, records of

which are carefully preserved in the college archives.

Dr. Raymond was fond of music, though not in an especially cultivated

sense, and urged Professor Robert to use the familiar parlors of the

President's quarters for some of the impromptu musical evenings. The

grand piano stood in the front parlor, where only the performers were

allowed. The few admitted besides the President's family and club were

in the back parlor; lights were turned down, absolute silence the

order, as one would listen to a reading for education and instruction.

All was strictly classical music--nothing else was tolerated or

permitted.

Acquaintance with the best was the design, and the old composers were

gone over till some familiarity with them was common in case of the

audience. Pretty dry and dull the pianola and Victor lovers would

think those evenings in these days, but all the musical machine

devices have "come in" since that time. What if the President did

occasionally go to sleep while we were performing, we had no pride in

popular music to keep him awake. One evening Professor Robert

announced that he would undertake to read at sight a little known

sonata of Beethoven--a composition by its length and absence of strong

"color" not usually played. It seemed endless to us music people, I

remember, monotonous and wearisome. Dr. Raymond peacefully slept

through the three quarters of an hour to our envy and approval. By and

by Professor Robert finished and came out as the lights were revived

to know what the chief thought. "Did you get into it at all, Mr.

President?" he enquired eagerly. Dr. Raymond glanced a little ruefully

at us, his companions in distress, then answered in his droll way,

"Yes, I got into it all right--submerged, in fact." The appreciative

laughter that followed, I fear Professor Robert never understood as we

did.

In Mr. Vassar's lifetime his birthday was observed on the day of the

week it fell, the inaugural celebration being on Monday, April 29,

1866. It was put on the Friday nearest the 29th in 1873. The

invitations were sent out in the name of the students and the hour was

five o'clock. The Vassariana of June that year, the first number of

the first paper issued, gives account of the "celebration," as it was

called then. The first eventful "Founder's" has passed into history,

but it may not be familiar to you of to-day so the account will bear

repeating. A triumphal arch of evergreens spanned the avenue at the

lodge, and upon it were the words "Welcome to the Founder." At the

left of this was the date of his birth, April 29, 1791; at the right,

April 29, 1866. The monogram V. C. was in the center, and over all,

bright flags and banners. The entrance to the college was also

decorated with flags and garlands of evergreen, and the chapel trimmed

with wreaths of evergreen and bright flowers.

At six the students under direction of the Marshal and two aids

marched on either side of the avenue to the lodge, forming a

continuous line to the circle in front of the entrance. When the

Founder's carriage appeared with him and President Raymond, it was

greeted with wavings of handkerchiefs,--the college yell (shade of

Miss Lyman!) being still unevolved. The lines turned instantly,

marching back by the side of the carriage to the entrance where, in

the vestibule, the Faculty and teachers were awaiting the procession.

As the Founder went up the steps, the select band of singers stationed

on the open porch sang the original song of welcome. Next, the officer

of the day, Abby F. Goodsell of '69, was presented and escorted him to

the chapel where the audience was waiting. As the Founder and escorts

appeared at the chapel door, the organ, played by Professor Wiebe,

began a triumphant peal, the audience rising and remaining standing

till the party was seated. No one sat on the platform, but went up as

occasion required. Prayer was offered by Dr. Raymond, then came piano

music--a selection from "Der Freischütz"--by one of the solo

performers of that time. A salutatory, or address of welcome as we say

now, followed, after which came an original essay by one of the

seniors which was followed by a song. This was preliminary to the

principal part of the programme,--a series of recitations representing

woman's social position in all ages, Swedish, Greek, Roman, Mediaeval,

written or translated and adapted by those taking part, a modern

selection from the "Princess" closing the recital. A brilliant musical

duet for piano made way for a long original poem,--"A hilltop idyl,"

with local hits and description of the Faculty much appreciated. The

closing lines were given with great effect,--

"And Vassar College stand through time

An honor to the Nation."

You smile? How I wish I could put before you the earnest spirit of

that time, each one wide awake to the recognition of a great

privilege, and trying with might and main to express it!

However, this was not all in honor of the day. There was a floral

tribute,--Flora, her attendants and chief representative student--an

original drama--very pretty and pleasing, and, I may add, proper. A

hymn for the occasion,--"Our father and our friend," closed the

students' programme. Old Hundred and the Doxology sung by every one

present ended the chapel ceremonies, a collation in the dining-room

followed and a reception in the college parlors finished the day.

The second anniversary in '67 was as elaborate in original material of

song, address, poem and essay as the previous one, and was further

distinguished by the unveiling of the marble bust of Mr. Vassar--the

bust we see to-day in the college parlor. A drama was written by one

of '68, with Muse of the Past, Genius of Progress and her attendants,

Science, Art, Religion and Music. As the Genius of Progress alluded to

Vassar College and spoke of the Founder she exclaimed, "Behold his

features!" the signal for the curtain at the rear of the stage to be

parted, revealing the bust against a background of evergreens. In '68,

the last time Mr. Vassar was present, the chief event was an original

cantata with music by Professor Ritter, entitled "The Crown of Life,"

proving later of especially beautiful significance.

The following year it was purely a memorial service, the invitations

given out for this from three till seven. There was no reception,

simply tea served in the dining-room after the exercises. It was a

most beautiful and appropriate service with Larghetto from Beethoven's

Second Symphony, played on the organ by Miss Finch; eulogy by Miss

Mary W. Whitney, class of '68; the Second Movement of Schumann's

Symphony in B flat arranged for four pianos; a memorial hymn written

by one of the seniors, the music by Professor Ritter. So from the

first to the last, it was the students' tribute to Mr. Vassar and

their loving honors.

In 1870 the exercises were changed to the evening with George William

Curtis as speaker, having also an original recitative and chorus with

music by Professor Ritter, ending as usual with a collation and

promenade concert. The programmes henceforth were far less elaborate,

confined chiefly to some speaker of distinction, his theme being

eulogistic of the man Vassar and what his gift had done for the

education of women. This changed gradually to topics of general

educational interest or to some question of public affairs. A debate

was sometimes introduced, a Shakespeare reading, or an address by an

alumna student. (Robert Collyer was the speaker in '72, Phillips

Brooks in '73, Edward Everett Hale in '74, Colonel Higginson in '75.)

Prayer was dropped from the programme in '74. No dancing appeared on

the programme until 1878, and then four numbers only--lanciers

alternating with quadrille. In 1895, the change was made to permit two

affairs, literary exercises in the afternoon with the distinction they

deserve, the evening given up to a reception with dancing.

The home of the Philalethean Society for many years--until the alumnae

gymnasium was built--was society hall on the second floor of the

museum building. Here were given union meetings to which were invited

the whole college family. The weekly chapter meetings of Alpha, Beta

and Delta were held in the largest recitation rooms of the college

building.

The aim of Philalethea--which no one was allowed to forget--was

distinctively literary culture, and it is marvelous what was

accomplished, and what was the ambition still further to do. Dr.

Raymond assisted in the organization of the society in 1865, and was

its president for that year. The first public meeting was on Class Day

evening the next June, the quaint form of invitation reading,--"The

pleasure of your company is invited to a literary entertainment." The

programme was nearly identical with that of Founder's Day, in prayer,

music,--vocal and instrumental, and address of welcome followed by

original song, poem, essays and drama. In this last figured Alethia,

Goddess of Truth, and the Goddess of Discord, with the three Chapter

representatives--Alpha, Beta and Delta. A chorus by the vocal club

ended the chapel exercises and a collation and promenade concert took

up the rest of the evening.

The anniversary meeting in December of that year was also elaborate,

and the second part for the principal attraction of the evening

presented an original colloquy,--"Representatives of European

Nations." This time we had recitations in costume of different

European countries by thirteen students, each student writing her own

part and setting forth the respective advantages of the country

chosen. All came on the stage together, and as each finished her claim

to superiority, she stepped back into pre-arranged effective position,

making at the end a beautiful tableau when Europa entered, addressing

her children, her closing words being, "Forever on towards perfect

liberty."

The December meeting gave a scene from Henry the Eighth, the only time

anything approaching theatricals was seen on the chapel platform. In

June the entertainment consisted of Shakespearean recitations--women

of Shakespeare--nine characters being represented. The third

anniversary meeting an original drama was given again--"The

Undiscovered Sphere," with the Spirit of Aspiration, the Spirit of

Love, Vassar students and attendants.

There was uncommon literary talent in the society with ambition for a

career in that direction, and some of the successful women authors of

to-day tasted the first sweets of fame on the Vassar platform. "The

Gospel according to Saint Matthew" appeared in '68, the unauthorized

publication of a clever, fun-loving, brilliant student, to be quickly

suppressed. It was a harmless enough production, but considered--as

were all travesties--in questionable taste. Programmes were submitted

to the Faculty the same as for Founder's up to 1874, but prayer was

dropped in 1870.

Later the programmes were modified a good deal, but they never fell

off in interest. Debates took the place of original dialogue and

colloquy. Some of the subjects I recall--"Does the reviewer benefit

literature?" "Has history a law of conquest?" "Are science and poetry

antagonistic?" Then there were addresses by alumnae students, or else

speakers from abroad chosen for some distinction in authorship. The

first change from promenade concert after the literary exercises in

chapel came at Founder's in 1878 when dancing was allowed,--lanciers,

quadrille and Virginia reel. It took till 1896 to establish round

dancing and it was opposed even then.

The Founder was the first presiding officer of the branch of the

Lyceum Bureau in Poughkeepsie in 1863, and Trustee Cyrus Swan its

corresponding secretary. We heard those first years many distinguished

Englishmen by this means--Gerald Massey, Wilkie Collins, Richard

Proctor, Charles Kingsley,--and a few were afterwards secured by the

college for the Friday evening lecture, Charles Kingsley among the

number. He was exceedingly reserved, indifferent and hard to

entertain. The only interest he showed was towards Miss Mitchell, whom

he called upon at the observatory. "My wife would never forgive me if

I came home without seeing Maria Mitchell." Later came George

Macdonald and his wife for a week with us. He was a charming guest,

lecturer and preacher. The historian, Edward Freeman, gave a course of

lectures, also Matthew Arnold's coming was an event in our life.

No general reception was held after any lecture, but members of the

Faculty with a few especially invited teachers were occasionally asked

to the lady principal's parlor where chocolate, coffee, little cakes

or sandwiches were generally served. When asked if he would take some

refreshment, Mr. Kingsley frankly mentioned that he would like a glass

of beer. The situation might have been embarrassing had not Professor

Backus come to the rescue and carried the guest off to his study for a

pipe and chat and bottle of ale, ministering satisfactorily to Mr.

Kingsley's wants.

It was either that same evening or when Freeman the historian stayed

with us, that two teachers going by the guest room late after a little

supper party, observed the great man's shoes outside the door. Knowing

that no provision for this was then thought of, and that he would find

his property exactly in the same condition the next morning, they

softly stole near and carried off the shoes, polishing and returning

them in fine shape, boasting ever after of the honor and privilege.

Almost every American author of note has been heard from our chapel

platform. Wendell Phillips gave his lecture, "The Lost Arts," at the

college in 1872.

The rare privilege of seeing and hearing Ralph Waldo Emerson was also

ours. He read his lecture and fumbled with his papers, meantime

casting apprehensive glances to the faint far-away lights on the

gallery side. "I am a student," he began slowly, "and a lover of

light." The hint was speedily taken and silver candelabrum with

blazing candles from the lady principal's parlor was quickly

forthcoming.

In those days we knew the trustees very well, and their paternal

interest in the venturesome experiment of the higher education of

women was something akin to the Founder's. Fourteen of the

twenty-eight on the original Board were residents of Poughkeepsie;

seven of them had professions, seven were simply close business

friends, including his two nephews, John Guy Vassar and Matthew

Vassar, Jr. Some of these men were rather hard to persuade that so

large a gift of money invested in this way was not in a perilous

cause, but each lived to witness the beginning of Vassar's grand

success and the Founder's triumph. Once when there was a question of

extension of the Christmas vacation and the Prudential Committee--as

they were then called--had met to consider its advisability, one of

them opposed the measure saying, "Pretty soon our patrons will be

complaining that they don't get the worth of their money. We don't

give them much over forty weeks of school now." Not one member of this

first Board is living, the first break coming with the death in March,

'69, of James Harper, senior member of the firm of Harper & Brothers.

Dr. Elias Magoon stands out vividly in my portrait gallery. Dear,

kind, eccentric man! He looked, and we all thought him in his

enthusiasm, mildly crazy, but we came to appreciate him and delight in

his ardor. The college bought from him his whole private art

collection of pictures, folios, books, armor, etc., to stock the

Vassar gallery. The books--chiefly editions de luxe--were later

transferred to the library proper, and it made the librarian sore at

heart to discover how much Dr. Magoon had apparently read, pencil in

hand, and how much patient work in eradication must result in

consequence, impossible to accomplish wholly, as traces existing

to-day testify.

Dr. Magoon was a lover and student of nature as well as of art. He was

a frequent visitor at the college in the spring, coming from his

Philadelphia home "just to get up at five o'clock in the morning for a

tramp over Sunset Hill or around the lake to hear and see the birds."

My table in the dining-room was near that of the Faculty, and it was a

pleasure to see him come in to breakfast with face aglow from his

walk, and to mark the interest and brightness he carried with him.

Now and then he gave us a talk in chapel. The frequent eight o'clock

lecture was not quite so welcome always as it should have been, and

when one evening at prayers it was announced that Dr. Magoon would

talk on art at the usual hour, there were many reluctant feet

hitherward. As we entered, he was already on the platform behind the

desk, on which rested a huge bouquet of wax flowers. Of course

attention was arrested, and as the last comer was seated he leaned

over the flowers and gazing in mock adoring admiration began, "Now

ain't that pooty?" A great wave of laughter went over the room, and if

any one present had feared to be bored and grudged the hour from other

duties, she forgot it all in the charm and delight of what followed

this queer introduction. A hint of the true and beautiful in art,

shown by contrast with ugliness that all could recognize, gave many of

us our first wonderful lesson then and there.

Dr. Magoon and Miss Mitchell were warm friends in spite of difference

in religious belief and opinions. She liked his unconventionalism and

independence. They used to have great discussions, and he took very

meekly her ratings for not being "more progressive." "But do me the

justice to say I try," he would retort, and if he had occasion to

write a note to her was fond of signing himself "your ever growing E.

L. M."

Some curious letters were received at the college by Matthew Vassar,

and his rage over one, I happened to witness. An untactful student,

who had received the benefit of a full scholarship all through her

course, conceived it to be her duty as soon as she graduated to

remonstrate against the way the Founder had made his money, saying, "A

college foundation which was laid in beer never will prosper." "Well,

it was good beer, wasn't it?" shouted Mr. Vassar to his audience in

the lower office. "I wonder where that girl would have got her

education if it hadn't been for beer." Then the humor of it struck him

and he laughed with us most heartily.

Among other queer letters received at the college, were requests to

open correspondence "with view to marriage," the demand being for

promising candidates to serve in the mission field. One such letter

was addressed "To the Head Lady at Vassar." The writer was not

backward about stating his requirements for his wife as home

missionary. For one thing, she must be able to play the melodeon in

church and to contribute the instrument also.

Perhaps this is as good an opportunity as any to tell the story of the

bootjacks, about which so many conflicting statements have been made.

After the Founder's death, a walnut tree on the Main Street premises

had to be cut down, and Matthew Junior had a little sentiment about

the use of the wood in some form for the rooms at college. Why he

selected bootjacks nobody ever knew, but the lumber was sent to a

factory in town to be made up in this fashion, and was distributed

accordingly to the hilarious delight of all concerned.

Some friend in town chanced to remark to the Founder that the college

parlors with only a few choice old engravings on the walls looked

rather cold and bare; whereupon, in his eagerness to make good any

deficiency, Mr. Vassar (without consulting anybody), betook himself to

the leading photographer's in the city and bought the best he had in

stock. The craze of the chromo was beginning, and several hundred

dollars worth of these in most expensive frames were hung one evening

as a grand surprise. The consternation and horror of Professor Van

Ingen can be imagined, and the general amusement. However, the

infliction had to be endured till after Mr. Vassar's death, and

afterwards, there was Matthew Junior to be reckoned with and his

sensitiveness to innovations. Professor Van Ingen was always on

Founder's Day committee, and with much tactful diplomacy contrived to

get consent to use the chromos in decorating the dining-room the

second anniversary following. Here under a drapery of white tarletan

with evergreen wreaths in profusion, the effect was really quite

brilliant, and Mr. Vassar was much pleased. The art gallery was called

upon to supply the places of the chromos taken from the parlor, and no

one questioned that it was never convenient to change back. Gradually,

in the wholesale kalsomining of walls in the summer vacations the

offensive pictures disappeared, and portraits of trustees took their

place.

Dr. Raymond's report at the end of the first year seems to have been

printed in pamphlet form and issued to the world at large. Again press

notices abound, all generally with appreciative comment.

The "Round Table," an ambitious weekly, 1863-1869, saw fit to be funny

and I give a few paragraphs in illustration:

"We confess to an unfavorable impression by the style in which the

Report is made. It is in bad taste, florid, turgid and pedantic. The

author has written it on the back of Pegasus and the winged horse does

not bound beneath him.... This modern system of female education has

grown out of the miserable philosophic dogma of the mental equality of

the sexes, the offspring of the combined weakness of the weaker sex

and the greater weakness of the stronger sex. Woman is _not_ the

equal of man. She is immeasurably his superior.... In her appointed

sphere woman walks a queen, but she claims neither the prerogatives of

man nor the ability to use them. Drag not the young girl into the wide

orbit of Jupiter, but lead her in the narrower and more befitting

sphere in which moves the silvery car of Venus. Banish the barbarous

curriculum proposed by your committee! Let not the time be ruinously

spent in the attempt to master the dead languages, the higher

mathematics, metaphysics, political economy and similar studies. The

rudiments of these branches might be taught, but for them we would

have no "chairs." The belles lettres department is the appropriate

field for the well educated woman.... Having thus put out of the

college door four out of the nine chairs--and very deferentially and

respectfully we have done it--we have a word to say regarding the

occupancy of the remaining ones. We strongly object to having _men_

seated in them. The Report does indeed speak of lady assistants, but

we insist on a reversal. The ladies should be the principals and the

gentlemen the assistants. The proper educator of woman is woman.

Vassar Female College is the sphere of Venus and no Jupiter has any

business there. Who but Flora should preside in her own garden where

the rosebuds and young lilies grow, inviting her choice still in their

culture."

This is quite enough and unbelievable now, but absurd as it is, it

voiced a large part of popular opinion then existing.

Another vexed question in the earliest days was that of health,--that

women were unfitted to take the higher education and that their health

would be undermined in consequence. The speakers on our commencement

stage afforded convincing argument by their looks of the falsity of

the argument. I remember hearing one June an enthusiastic person in

the audience say of an "honor girl," of exceptionally attractive

personality and vigorous health, as she left the platform,--"She had a

capital essay and delivered it well, but if she had done nothing more

than stand up there and let the people look at her for five or ten

minutes, it would have paid, and buried this health discussion

forever."