er a few moments' conversation, Cass asked Welch how he would like to
be his private secretary, and, receiving a favorable response, tendered
him the appointment on the spot. Welch served in that capacity until
Cass went into the Cabinet of President Buchanan, when he came to Ann
Arbor and took up the study of the law. When the Sixteenth Michigan
infantry was organized, he was commissioned major, and was killed when
leaping, sword in hand, over the confederate breastworks at Peebles's
Farm, September 30, 1864. He had, in the meantime, been promoted to the
colonelcy of his regiment.

Morris B. Wells was a graduate of the law department. He went into the
war as an officer of the same regiment with Welch, but was subsequently
promoted to be lieutenant colonel of the Twenty-first Michigan infantry.
He was killed at Chickamauga.

No two men could be less alike in appearance than Norval Welch and
Morris Wells. One was the embodiment of physical beauty, ruddy with
health, overflowing with animal spirits, ready for a frolic, apt with
the foils, dumb-bells or boxing gloves, but not particularly a student;
the other, tall, rather slender, with an intellectual cast of
countenance, frank and manly in his bearing, but somewhat reserved in
manner and undemonstrative. Both were conspicuous for their gallantry,
but the one impelled by that exuberant physical courage which is
distinctive of the leonine type; the other an exemplar of that moral
heroism which leads men to brave danger for a principle. They gave
everything--even their lives--for their country.

The list might be indefinitely extended, but more is not needed to
illustrate the spirit of the college boys of 1861-62.

But the students did not all go. Many remained then, only to go later.
The prospect of danger, hardship, privation, was the least of the
deterrent forces that held them back. To go meant much in most cases.
It was to give up cherished plans and ambitions; to abandon their
studies and turn aside from the paths that had been marked out for their
future lives. Some had just entered that year upon the prescribed course
of study; others were half way through; and others still, were soon to
be graduated. It seemed hard to give it all up. But even these
sacrifices were slight compared to those made by older men and heads of
families.

And there was no need to depopulate the University at once. The first
call filled, those who were left behind began to prepare for w