on the football field, and that was only a half failure, as the game was a tie. I think it was very kind of the other college to make a fumble at a critical point or we might not have been so happy tonight.

I have been looking over some of the historical and other pamphlets issued in connection with the celebration, and I read that the College began its sessions in the year 1771. Coming back here after a long absence and seeing the metamorphosis which has come over the appearance of Rutgers, I really believed that I was graduated in 1771. The records make it 1871.

In those days we did not have a celebration, as I think we should have had with our class, for the hundredth year of the College's existence; for in those days it was said that 1770 was the date of the beginning of the College. I have been trying all the evening to remember a celebration then, and I have been making inquiries, but it is the sad part of my period of life that I cannot find anybody around here who was born as early as that. Subsequently they moved back the date of the College so as to make this the 150th anniversary, and my hope is that as time goes on they will occasionally move it back still further so that I may celebrate the 200th anniversary.

I really have felt sorry for myself all day. I came here almost literally a stranger. In my day, 1871-and I am rather proud of the fact that I go back over about one-third of the history of the College-we had, as I can remember, only four buildings. There was old Queen's, and that contained the administration office, such as it was; the room of the President, which I am sorry to say I had to visit occasionally; the Chapel was in the same building. To the left was the President's house, unknown to students except annually when there was a reception to the alumni, from which they were kept out. All we did was to stand on the outside and see the festivities going on inside. Then there were the Geological Building and Van Nest Hall, the little Hall for the Literary Societies.

I do not remember any other building except the little tower overlooking the railroad yard, which was called the Observatory, and to which the class in astronomy was never led so far as I can remember.

What comes back to my mind was the magnificent campus unoccupied by buildings, so that as we look back, we wonder that we needed any buildings at all. It should have been like the ancient schools, and the professors should have walked up and down among those majestic old trees and held their classes there.

Then as I read this printed sketch of the College I have felt almost as much disturbed by seeing this tremendously long list of the Faculty. As I remember it, we had but eight or ten in those days. And memory does go back to the dear old men who were then the professors. First of all came the one we used to call "Prex"-Doctor Campbell, a courtly gentleman of the old school, learned devout, dignified, but not without a sense of humor. I can remember on one occasion when I was called before him that I entered into a discussion-whether it was psychological or theological, I don't know-as to whether one could commit an offense without an intention to commit it; and as I never could find that that dear old Calvinist ever learned the Catholic doctrine of intention, I don't believe I got off. In his day he had always to be asking for money for running the College, and he used to say-and I suppose Dr. Demarest has much the same kind of feeling-that when he died he only wanted one epitaph -"And the beggar died." The courtly manners of the old gentleman would be a study for the modern man of business. I recall being in the President's room on one occasion. Why I was there is none of your business and you need not inquire. Professor Meyer called, and after a short interview they proceeded to the door. With the utmost deference and ceremonial courtesy they bowed to each other, each time their heads going down to the waist line; and they bowed and rebowed, neither being willing to go out of the door before the other. At least

six of those bows went on, and while I was amused, I was quite contented with the fact that I was forgotten and left behind and went free!

Then there was the dear old face of Dr. Cooper, and it is a link with the past that sits next to me here-his son, who was not born then, so I could not have known him! A quaint, delightful old gentleman, the Professor of Greek. The most that I remember about him is that he could be easily led into discussions; and in recitations, when we were a little backward, we led him into something which would lead him to take up the hour with a delightful talk about things having nothing to do with the subject.

Who could forget that really great man, Dr. Cook, Professor of Chemistry, with the broad and happy smile with which he used to remark in class at the end of a demonstration: "The experiment is a success." And then there was the stately Doolittle, Professor of Rhetoric, who even in conversation was a rhetorician. The only thing that I remember I learned from him was not to read the newspapers-"They are all trash. Read something better." He especially warned us against reading the Washington correspondence, which he said was mostly predictions of what never in fact happened; and I think we might all be benefited today by following his advice.

And then there was the martial David Murray, a gentleman through and through. Oh, I could go on with reminiscences of these dear old people. There is a link connecting us. In those days the present Professor Van Dyck was called an instructor. I think he went abroad about my time to complete his studies. I spent some hours with him the other day and upon my word I didn't see very much difference in his manner and appearance after this long time. I thought I could not be as old as I knew I was; for he looked just as he did when he was instructor, forty-five years ago.

Somehow or other in going back over these memories

one does not remember the instruction that he got. I don't believe I remember anything of Latin and Greek; I am quite sure I don't. I don't know that I could recite the motto of the College without making a mistake. But it is curious that memory goes back to these little idiosyncracies and peculiarities of the Professors.

In those days smoking was not as prevalent as it is now. It was rather a rare thing. I remember an occasional cigarette seemed to me the commission of a grave crime. Does anybody here remember Dr. Atherton, Professor of Logic and History? Now, the only thing I remember about him is that he let me off of a condition, or I would never have received a degree. But on this subject of smoking-I don't know that it is so now-but in my days students always regarded their professors with a kind of awe. Do you feel so now? Are there any undergraduates here now who feel that way? The professors never had any bad habits, either small or great, in our minds. And it was an awful shock to me one night, on George Street, when I met the Professor smoking a cigar. I think I showed that I was shocked. Of course I did not say anything; but he must have looked at my face, and he said, "Well, I am doing this by the advice of a physician. He says it promotes digestion." The modern student must have a wonderful digestion. I suppose these undergraduates here smoke more now than our entire College did during the four years we were here.

After all, isn't the fact that we remember these small and trifling things, so to speak, significant of something? Isn't it significant of the advantages of a small college? We were small then. The total number of students, I think, was less than the freshman class of today. But the small college has this advantage-that the professors know their students. They do not merely lecture to a class. They know the deficiencies and the qualifications of every man; and there is that personal attention, that intimacy, so to speak, between professor and student, which I suppose the large colleges never know.