If7' ilk I A w ISS 1861. ^:-V-^^=^y »-d-<' .. ; i_ DI AG ON AS RATA NIK AS. KENYON COLLEGE. ^ D A- ion to remember without much affection, he would undoubtedly have been present. 36.— DANIEL UNDER. The only tidings we could get concerning Linder, was the one fact that he had stabbed himself, because his girl had jilted him. We hope this is not so, and that he is still in the land of the living. 37.— HON. GEORGE E. MANN. Soon after the tenth meeting of our Class, I wrote to George, and received the following reply : Galveston, Texas, October 14, 1872. My Dear Doty : I had never heard of you since '61, except indirectly and vaguely, till I received your letter of last summer, telling of re-union of Class of '62, which reached me too late to get there. I wrote to you at once to Gambler, and have had hopes you received it and would write and tell me all about yourself, and also give me the Kenyon news. I have been in Texas and at this point five years practicing law. Present success and future prospects good, and like my new home and my profession. Have settled down and am a steady-going church warden. Am not married and not a candidate for matrimony. I came to this burg an entire stranger, dead broke by the war, and at the end of three years and a half was made, by unanimous choice of our bar of seventy odd members. Judge of this the most important district in the State. So you can imagine I've been rather hard at work. Just at present my partner is in New York on business, and I am doing double duty. I am out of the reach of all Kenyonites, and hear nothing of or from them. Give me a full account of yourself and all the news. Truly, as of old, your friend, P.O. Box 1 149. GEO. E. MANN. It seems from the following, clipping under date of April 21, 1876, that George concluded to change his mind upon the matri- monial question : ' SCOTT — MANN. An event which, owing to the prominence of the contracting parties, has created considerable interest in our first social circles, took place quietly, last night, at the residence of Major M. C. Mc- Lemore, Sixteenth street and Avenue K., Rev. S. M. Bird officiating. The persons joined in wedlock were Judge George E. Mann and Mrs. Scott. It is learned that but a few intimate friends were present. We append a letter from George, received in June, by Napier : Galveston, Tex., June 13, 1882. Dear Allen : I should like to be at Gambler on the 28th, but it is impossi" ble, as my partner is away for the summer. If you get there, give salutations and regards to all the old boys, and tell them to think of me when they talk over the old times of ye Class of '62 ; and specially of the Class rebellion ; of the gander pulling ; of the Class triangle — Kinzie, Law and Mann ; of the time Oronhyatekha played Prof. Smith and ran Rinespringer and myself out of the orchard, and I beat the Indian running; of the faculty meeting, when I was asked by Prex how long I had been in the habit of throwing wood down the steps when I heard the tutor coming up at odd hours, and I replied, it did not amount to a habit, and was only an occasional exercise. Well, I was here interrupted, and must abruptly close, with best regards. ' Truly Your Friend, G. E. MANN. 38.— I GEORGE GORDON MAXWELL, M. D. No further tidings, except that he is dead. 39.— CHARLES STEWART MEDARY. Lives in Columbus, Ohio. 40.— JOHN DOWNING MURPHY. ' Not heard from. — ^^ — 41.— ALLAN NAPIER, A. M. Was present, as will be observed in the photograph. Charley King gave an endless amount of amusement in ordering the artist to "be very sure and get Nape's 'Burnsides' in." I think the following characteristic letter from Napier, should not be left out: New York, April, 26, 1S82. To Allen, Badger, Blake, Brown, Curtis, Cole, Dooris, Doty, Ernest, Kilbourne, King, "Posie," Pratt, Vance, Rectus, et al. Salutans in Domino: Pcnnani niea?n nianuni meo cepi, epistolain vobis saihere. "We'll never sign that pledge." "Haette er die Wahrheit gesagt, so waere er nicht gezuechtigt worden." £is Gambicr Ana baino. That is Deo zolente, and if the creek don't rise, it's my present intention to come and see you face to face on or about the XXVII die jumi anno doniini 1882. For fear that something might prevent, I wish you all a merry time. Shake hands with all. Since our last re-union, I have kept at the same business, being now located at 526 Broadway, corner vSpring street. How I miss dear Grannis ; he used often to call in the store. Kenyon boys are not numerous here. Geo. Put. and W^m. Hyde are living, one in Brooklyn, the other in New York.' On the 20th of June, 1877, I was married at Zion Church, Greene, N. Y., by the Rev. Albert W. Snyder, to Miss Mary Man- ning, of Greene. On the 22d of December, 1880, was born to us a daughter. Sarah Weeks Napier, named after her grandmother. Whenever any of '62 boys come to New York, they must step in and see me at 526, Broadway, or during evenings at 22 Strong Place, Brooklyn. l^alete Fratres. ALLAN NAPIER. 42.— ORONHYATEKHA, M. D. Not heard from. Supposed to be practicing medicine in London, Canada. 43.— CHARLES FORREST PAINE, A. B., M. D. Besides the following letters from Charley, we know that he is mai'ried to Miss Belle Coleman : — 24 — Troy, Pa., April 28, 1882. Dear Blake : I was exceedingly gratified to receive your kind letter. If possible, I will be at commencement in June. I am anxious to set my eyes upon you once more. I trust that the same good feeling still exists amongst the surviving members of '62 that did during our trials and tribulations. 1 would rejoice to hear the varied experiences of the Class, in its fight, with the world. With much regards, I am yours in the bonds. To THE Rev. A. F. Blake. CHAS. F. PAINE. Troy, Pa., June 15, 1882. Dear Blake : Your kind letter was duly received, and contents noted. I regret to say that I cannot promise to be at Kenyon on the glorious occasion. My professional engagements are such, at present, that I cannot commit them to the hands of another. If possible, shall be with you. I am very anxious to be there, as it is many years since I met a member of the Class. I have no photograph of myself at present, which I can send you. I will endeavor to send some short account of my doings since 1862. With best wishes, yours, C. F. PAINE. 44-— I DEVVIT CLINTON PARSHALL, Jr. Died in 1867. 45— S OLIVER HAZARD PERRY, A. M., M. D. I Died at Hopkinsville, Ky., Feb. 17th, 1873. After the sad news of Perry's death had reached me, I wrote to his brother, the Rev. Henry G. Perry, A. M. (Kenyon), Chicago, for certain facts pertaining to the life of Oliver, and in the course of a few weeks I received a letter from his sister. Miss Emily B. Perry, extracts from which are appended : "Brother Oliver was born in the City of Alton, Illinois, on the 26th day of February, 1841." '■He was prepared for college al a classical school (Mr. Child's) in the ,City of Cleveland, Ohio, in which place niv father then resided.'' •'.He was married in Cleveland, Ohio, October 31st, 1864.'' "He was gratluated in medicine by the Kentucky School of Medicine, in Louisville, Ky., February, 1866; had in March, 1867 received the degree aJ emidem from the Medical Department of the University of Louisville; also 'additional diplomas', from the above institutions, as also 'extra testimonial honorary of attendance at Long Lsland Hospital, N. Y.' May 17th, 1866, he accepted the position of Assistant Physician in the Western Lunatic Asylum, Hopkinsville, Ky., which position he held for two years. From there, he went to the City of New York, and after attending lectures at Long Island Hospital, N. Y., he for very near two years traveled through the Eastern, Western, and Southern States, visiting prominent asylums and hospitals, both public and private, in order to perfect himself in this particular branch — insanity — as he intended making it a specialty ; but just as he was making final arrange- ments to open a private asylum, he was suddenly seized with hem- orrhage, and from that time, which was nearly two years before his death, his health gradually, but surely failed, and though walking and riding about, was never able to attend to any kind of business. He was confined to his bed just three months, and during that time a very great sufferer." "P. S. — I notice that I have failed to mention, that during the spring and summer of 1865, brother Oliver acted as druggist in the U. S. Hospital, at Natchez, Mississippi, in which were confined the sick and wounded of both armies — Federal and Confederate. E. B. P." A brother physician published a very interesting obituary notice in the Kentucky New Era, from which we take the following passages : DR. OLIVER HAZARD PeRRY. Dr. Perry was truly a good man — amiable and gentle as a woman, but as true to his sense of right as the needle to the pole. He was generous to a fault, warm in affection and .sincere to friends, with whom he always kept faith. He was incapable of treachery or double-dealing. Littleness, meanness, and hypocrisy, were — i6 — foreign to liis nature. Mis intercourse with liis fellows in the world, in society and every circle in which he moved, was frank, open as the day, and known to all men. He had nothing to conceal and lived in no fear of criticism. To those who differed with him, he was always respectful, and as liberal a.s the most exacting partisan could desire. No young man ever lived, or died, in this community, whose character had fewer faults or was more free from blemish. No man of his age, in this country, out of public life was ever more generallv known and appreciated. He had friends — warm friends — and an extensive acquaintance in almost every consid- erable city in the Union — Boston, New York, Baltimore, New Orleans, and San Francisco. ,\nd among hundreds, from whom we have heard, we have the same exalted opinion of his character, and the same expression of heart-felt regret and sorrow at his untimely decease. In point of intellect, he had no superior of whom we have any knowledge. From his early boyhood to the end of his career, he was a conscientious and indefatigable student. When even in a tolerable state of health, he permitted not a single dav to pass without accomplishing some desirable improvement. And in days and long weeks of illness, he devoted much of his time to the more elegant literature of the age in which he lived — not, however, at the expense of more serious interests. He was an humble and unjiretending Christian — not anxious to be seen of men, but not ashamed of the Faitli he had professed. Calling to mind his extensive reading, we cannot forbear to mention an interesting I'act. The works of Charles Dickens were "household words" to him. At the word of command, all the characters of this great author passed in review before him, "with the rapidity of a drama," and as if they were creations of his own. His conversation, never dull or wearisome, was, on this and kindred subjects, in the highest degree entertaining and profitable. He was naturally a man of superior judgment, and careful and high culture of his fine mind had refined and elevated his taste, until he was no mean critic. A scholar of the first order, he graduated with high honors at Kenyon College, Ohio, one of the noblest seats of learning in this country. He was also a member of several literary societies now well known to educated men all over the land. He was also a graduate in nicclicine, ami we ne\er ilnuliU-d his aciiuirint,' niarilanted twenty years ago. An autobiographical sketch must be done with address, or it may seem egotistical when it is only intended to be confidential. The fact, that I have been remembered all these years, is a proof that the old attachment, that made the Class of '62 the most envied one of (jur time, still unites its members with a sympathy that distance cannot divide, and I therefore write to you frankly of myself, and what the years have brought to me. After a course of law in the office of my brother-in-law, John M. Harlan, who then lived at Frankfort, Kentucky, and who is now an Associate Justice . of the Supreme Court of the United States, I was admitted to the bar of this, my native city, and began the practice of law early in 1863. It was most uncongenial to my tastes, and, after two years of experiment, I went to Europe in 1865, traveled extensively over the continent, and finally settled down to study in the fine old city of Brunswick, where I devoted myself to — 30 — the German language, with a view to matriculating as a citizen of the University of Berlin, which I did early in 1867. Here I remained three terms, returning home in 1868, after an absence of about three years and a half. Findii% my brother George, proprietor of the Daily Courier, I became associated with him in the publishing business, to which I have devoted my energies since, at least during the greater part of the time. In 1870, I was nomin- ated by the Democratic county convention for the Legislature, but the county being hopelessly Republican, I was defeated with the rest of the ticket. In 1878, I was nominated for Secretary of State, and elected. After serving two years, I was nominated for re- election ; but it was not the Democratic year in Indiana, so I returned to Evansville, and again mounted the tripod. On June, 14th, 1879, three years ago to-day, I was married to Gertrude Arms Avery, a daughter of Mr. B. F. Avery, of Louisville, Ky., and in June of the following year a daughter was born to us, whose name is Susanna Avery. These are the main incidents of my career, which has not been so eventful as to be remarkable ; and yet, m^ life has been as free from misfortunes and as full of enjoyments as are given to the lot of most men. My brother George is still a bachelor, and lives with me. We have never been separated, except during the years I was abroad, and often in our leisure hours we beguile the time with recollections of the jolly days we spent at old Kenyon. How I should love to be with you in reality, as I shall be in thought and feeling, at this re-union I I can hear the campus ring with the shouts of those who forget that they are men, surrounded by the scenes and friends of twenty years ago. All the old haunts will be revisited, and the spirits of departed companions invoked as the pipes are lighted and the glasses filled, and memory is allowed an unchallenged sway. I can see it and feel it all in imagination, and I raise my voice with yours in the chorus, " Vive la re-union, vivc la compagnie'' ' /.'.' Very sincerely your friend and classmate, \ J. G. SHANKLIN. I JACOB STAMP, M. D. I so- ls dead — 31 — 51.— MARCUS JAMES STAMP. All we know of Mark is thai he is living somewhere in Colorado. 52.— WALTER SCOTT STARK. Not heard from. 53.— JOSEPH ROCKWELL SWAN, Jr. The following letter has been received from Joe.: 75 Genesee St., Utica, N. Y., June i, 1882. My Dear Blake : ' Your esteemed favor of the 21st of April eame duly to hand, and I have delayed answering it in the hope of being able to answer affirmatively your very kind invitation to join in the re-union of the old Class of '62. I find, however, that my engagements v.'ill be such as to render it impossible for me to be with you on an occasion that I can well imagine will have its sad, as well as its happy features. Nothing, I can assure you, would give me greater pleasure than to once more see the familiar faces, which, twenty years ago, met daily on the campus and in the class room — to hear the story which each must have to tell of twenty years experience — to know where each has drifted, and through what paths each has wandered. But what cannot, cannot be, and I am compelled to submit to the deprivation. My kindest regards and remembrances remain with each one of you, and when you meet, I hope you will give a kindly thought to your absent classmate. Very Truly Yours, J. R. SWAN, Jr. 54.— THE REV. THOMAS ORKNEY TONGUE. And here is a letter from Tongue, who, by his aljsence, has richly earned the title "Lapsus Lingua'' : Greenport, Suffolk Co., N. Y., June 15, 1882. My Dear Fred : Your kind letters have all been received. I have been waiting to see if I could make arrangements to go to Ohio. I cannot begin to tell you how much I would love to go and see the dear old boys once more, and visit my old college acquaintances. I fear, however, I shall not be able to leave home. I have an invalid wife and a large family, who require my constant care. If I find I can come, I will notify you at the last hour. It may be that I shall come without any notice at all, as I may not know till the hour I start that I can come at all. At all events, I will send you a picture and a letter, and' if the pictures and letters of the dear fellows are to be had, I inust have them. Remember me most affectionately to the "committee" and others. Yours as fresh and warm in love and respect as ever, TONGUE. 55.— PHILEMON BEECHER VAN TRUMP. Nothing heard from him whom good Prof. Trimble used to call "Trumps" for short. 56.— JOHN RANDOLPH VANCE, A. B. Not heard from. 57.— I MATTHEW LOUIS WILSON, A. B. Died the year after graduation. 58.— THE REV. WILLIAM EDWARD WRIGHT, A. ^\., B. I). Wright was on hand, and gave his record, as follows : Is a married man and the father of five boys and three girls, one of whom is in Paradise. Rectus is Rector of St. John's Church, Warsaw, Wisconsin, and Grand Chaplain of the Grand Lodge of Masons and Chapter of the State. After the within, record was finished, and the moistened eyes and aching hearts over our dead classmates had once again been restored, the thanks of the Class were unanimously tendered to Fred Blake, for his efforts in making this re-union successful. At this juncture, the door of the mysterious closet was opened, and an old-fashioned college boys' lunch was brought out for our refresh- ment. It is unnecessay here to give the bill of fare, suffice it to say, — 33 — it was nol ])iii\ied either upon swcel-scented and cream-tinted pajier or satin : tliere was no necessity of such extravagance : tlie provision was good, and the quantity was aiu[)ly sufficient for our needs. The only thing we missed was some of Mailame Sawyer's oyster slev\', concerning which, dear okl Perry used to sa_\-, there were always "/(V/ s/eiC's 1o oiil OYsth-y This hour of refieshnient was rapidly passed, interspersed, as it was, M-iih storv and song. 'J"he President then called the L'lass to order, and l''rcd lilake read the following poem : T)car CUissiiuites. u> wc gallier here tn-day. To talk of those scenes, long since passed away. My thoujihts turn toward n fnniuain fair, which stands, A graceful figure, with mit-stretched hands. Through which the water glides unconsciously To join tides flowing to the far-off sea. For so it .seems, ^uc "take no note of time," As the years drop into th.it gulf suhlimc. Where all the past lies buried out of sight. Save tliat which recollection brings to light. Can it be twenty years since we were boys, ; .■Vnd shared each other's college cares and joys ? Can It be twenty years since "si.\ty-two, ' Bade each other a last, sad, fond adieu ? Can it be twenty years since our old Class Out of the shelter of the port did pa.ss, Each man to steer his own bark through life's sea, Toward that bright haven, where he fain would be? As backward on those years we turn our sight. How few their number seems, how swift their flight. "Pis true, full twelve score months have sped away Since we were parted on Commencement day ; But now, how like a dream their course appears; Or, like the strange mirage, which, when one nears, Dissolves in thinest air and leaves no trace Of all the objects which seemed not in space. Time may h.ave w'ritten wrinkles on each brow. And gray hairs may have come, vvc scarce know how ; Care may have rested heaxily on all. While striving to respond to duty's call : Each man has taken up his work in life. .A.nd thrown himself into its ceaseless strife ; Crrief may have cast a shadow o'er the heart : We may have learned how hard it is to part ^\'ith .some dear loved one of our heart and home : ^\' c may have found how s.ul it is to roam — 34 — Far from our kindred and our dearest friends; That keen disappointment which oft attends Men's efforts, may have fallen to our lot, And even now a dropping tear may blot The mental page, on which we strive to trace Features of classmates, who have run their race. - Yet, e'en though it must be with moistened eye. We gaze on visions of the days gone by. For a short time, we will be boys again. And lay aside the thoughts and cares of men ; We'll sing old songs and bring from out our store Strange tales and merry jests of days of yore. Ah, happy days ! on which the glow of youth Rests, like a halo round the brow of truth ! Feign would we turn to live again those hours. Which once we spent within these classic bowers ! Nor is that so difficult as 'twould seem, We have but to yield to a waking dream. And lo, we stand in that familiar land, Where once we dwelt, a jolly student band ; We have not yet passed the sophomore stage, Though our "sheep skins" have grown yellow with age ; Though close our studies and prolonged our quest. Our wisdom is but foolishness, at best. We may sit and blink like owls in the day, With a show of learning make display. But each in his heart owns himself a fool, , And longs to be back again at that school. Where, though he may "poney" and "stuff" and "cram," He knows there is no use to play the sham ; The eyes of students transfix with a look, And read a man through like an open book ; We had best, therefore, cast off all disguise. And own in "bli.ss 'tis jolly to be wise." As stiff old horses, when they are turn'd out, Kick up their heels and prance and run about. So let us act like youngsters once again, Forgetting our office, study, and pen ; And let the youth that is within us still Come forth and gambol on this classic Hill ; Let him shout and sing and swear by that Class, (Such as ne'er was and never .shall be, alas); Let him bubble over with fun and laughter. Raising his voice until floor and rafter Ring with the sound of his jubilant glee. Till care is dislodged and gloomy thoughts flee. And the worn toiler is as light-hearted As on that day when our Class departed — 35 — From Alma Mater's lialls, to make its way Where there is so much work and little play. None but a Cynic will seek to deride, Because we are not staid and dignified ; Surely no one need dissolve in tears, Because, for a time forgetting our years. We seem to drink of that fabled fountain. Which flows forth from mythical mountain, And renews the youth of him who shall first Discover its source and slacken his thirst. 'And as the mountain climber, with spell-bound eyes. Looks on the fair scene which beneath him lies. So let us turn to feast our longing sight On scenes, mid which we mingled with delight. True, I do not possess the poet's art ; I cannot touch, with strange, mystic power, Those golden springs which lie within the heart; Nor with influence, like summer's shower, Refresh the drooping soul and with new life Revive the spirit, as with longing dreams. It turns away from wearing toil and strife To seek for rest amid these well-known scenes. I cannot backward turn the wheels of time, And with a firm but gentle touch restore That living presence, whose memories chime Within us still, and shall ring forever more ; But, perchance, words may come, which shall recall Records of hours gone down the slope of time, Over which we would not cast oblivion's pall, But rescue, though it be in halting rhyme. The living present hides the past from .sight, And drowns, with its loud din and noisy talk. That still voice, which, murmuring with delight. Steals, like an echo, down the quiet walk. Where recollection moves with stately pace. In pensiveness recalling many a scene. O'er which she lingers with a smiling face, As fancy re-enacts it on the green. Let us then listen for her voice to-day, And as we gather in this dear old hall, Turn our eyes and thoughts completely away From life's corroding cares, and let them fall On those days of yore, when, as students still, We all played our parts on this mimic stage. And dreamed that through study and classroom drill Each was making his mark on wisdom's page. It was, indeed, a vain and foolish dream, 3^^ - Fading out like a spark from life's swift train ; But not for naught, as to some ling'ring theme, Whicli sings within the wrapt musician's hrain. Turn we again to those old student days. Feeling that through glimpses from dream land chime Come strength to work in our respective ways, That duty which the true man owes to time. Wc lift the curtain from the shadowy past. As doves to the window the visions fly, Of former friends, whose lots in life are cast, Remote from tliose in which our duties lie. Again, we seem to hear each well-known .voice, 'I'o see each well-known form engaged in play ; To listen mutely, while our hearts rejoice To the sweet converse of that early day. I'pon the path 'neath maple boughs we walk, Linked .arm in arm with comrades tried and true ; With merry jests enlivening all our talk. Our eyes enraptured by that matchless view. And when shades of evening drop gently round. Strains of music, which to the night belong. Seem to rise up a.'; from the very ground. The old hill re-echoing with our song. Near banks, through which Kokosiiig's waters flow. We stretch at full length on the springing grass, Watching, with half-shut eyes, the changing show Of clouds, in fleecy form or solid mass ; Or turning from those fleets, which sail the sky, We launch upon the tide some dream-land boat, Freighted with many a wish or hope or sigh. Which perish with the bark in which they float. Then, as the humor changes, like the cloud. We shake off the dull torpor of the dream. And swell the number of that merry crowd. Plunging and splashing in the sparkling stream ; Then, clothed again, we take our homeward way, 'Ihrough rustling corn or nodding golden grain. Across those flelds where now the students play 'Mid echoes of the swiftly flying train. Ah I In those deaf old days, when wc were boys, No whistle breaks the stillness of the air. Nor rumbling train, with loud-, discordant noise, Disturbs the silence of our evening prayer. The bustlin.g, struggling world seems far away. And, like old monks within their cloister shade. We dream not by night, nor picture by day, Changes so great as time has made. — 37 - Enough for us, tluit from some wiudow height, We may look out upon those twinkling stars, Which like a crown bedeck the brow of night, And through clouds of smoke from gleaming cigars. Discuss themes too deep for feeble powers. Till the vam argument ends in a jest, Or the near appr