ve made good in the chief place, but here I stumble
once more upon a might-have-been and am silent.

Dear ghosts of old-time friends swarm in my thought as I dream of
those days. The white marbles in Memorial Chapel solemnly bear the
names of Harvard's Civil War soldiers and tell how they died. There
was one of whom I might say much, an elder companion, a wise and
pleasant spirit who did something toward my shaping for life. A
cannon-ball at Cold Harbor was the end for him. There was another,
a brilliant, handsome young Irishman, bred a Catholic, who under the
influence of Moncure D. Conway had come out as a Unitarian and left
his Washington home for a radical environment in the North. He was
brilliant and witty with small capacity or taste for persistent
plodding, but forever hitting effectively on the spur of the moment.
He was as chivalrous as a palladin and went to his early grave
light-hearted, as part of the day's work which must not be shirked. I
have his image vividly as he laughed and joked in our last interview.
"Dress-parade at six o'clock; come over and see the dress-paradoes!"
He fell wounded at Chancellorsville, and while being carried off the
field was struck a second time as he lay on the stretcher, and so he
passed.

There were fine fellows, too, in those days who stood on the other
side: McKim, President of the Hasty Pudding Club, who fell in
Virginia; W.H.F. Lee, who was in the Law School and whom I recall as a
stalwart athlete rowing on the Charles. It helped me much a few years
ago when I visited many Southern battle-fields that I could tell old
Confederates "Rooney" Lee and I had in our youth been college mates.
My classmate J.B. Clark of Mississippi was a graceful magnetic fellow
who had small basis of scholarship, perhaps, but a marked power for
effective utterance. He fascinated us by his warm Southern fluency,
and we gave him at last the highest distinction we could confer, the
class oration. He left us then and we did not see him for fifty years.
He enlisted in the 21st Mississippi and passed through the roughest
hardships and perils. We felt afterwards that he held coldly aloof
from us through long years. At our jubilee, however, he came back
wrinkled and white-haired, but quite recognisable as the fascinating
boy of fifty years before. He had a long and good record behind him as
an officer of the University of Texas, and we gave him reason to think
that we loved him still. The most cordial