itinerant as quickly as he would to the
local priest. Whether he was subscribing for a Catholic Orphans' Home or
a Methodist College he would remark, as he gave liberally and freely, "I
always try to honor God Almighty's drafts."

Pierce and Toombs had much in common--although the one was full of
saintly fire and the other, at times, of defiant irreverence. It was
Pierce whose visits Toombs most enjoyed at his own home, with whom he
afterward talked of God and religion. The good bishop lived to bury the
devoted Christian wife of the Georgia statesman, and finally, when the
dross of worldliness was gone, to receive into the Methodist Church the
bowed and weeping figure of the giant Toombs.

When Robert Toombs became prominent in Georgia, there is a story that
his State university, in order to win back his friendship, conferred
upon him an honorary degree. Toombs is represented as having spurned it
with characteristic scorn. "No," said he, "when I was unknown and
friendless, you sent me out disgraced, and refused me a diploma. Now
that I would honor the degree I do not want it."

There is no record that the college ever conferred a degree upon Toombs
at all. Later in life he was elected a trustee of this university, and
each year his familiar figure was seen on the stage during commencement,
or his wise counsel heard about the board. His attendance upon these
duties was punctilious. He would leave the courthouse, the legislative
halls, or Virginia Springs--wherever he happened to be--and repair to
Athens the first week in August. Once or twice he delivered the annual
address before the alumni; several times he secured appropriations for
his _alma mater_ from the State. His visits to Athens were always
occasions of honor. Young men flocked wherever his voice was heard,
fascinated by his racy conversation. No "Disinherited Knight" ever
returned to more certain conquest or more princely homage.

There is a regular mythology about Toombs at his State university. The
things he said would fill a volume of Sydney Smith, while the pranks he
played would rival the record of Robin Hood. There is still standing in
the college campus in Athens a noble tree, with the crown of a century
upon it. Under its spreading branches the first college commencement was
held one hundred years ago; under it the student Toombs once stood and
addressed his classmates, and of all the men who have gone in and out
beneath its shade, but one name has