Chapter 6: A Critical Decade

The bright hopes and cheery optimism of the promoters of the University experienced ups and downs during the decade of the 1850's, when the University meant merely the establishment in the erstwhile United States Hotel. After the exhilaration of the opening year came the prosaic round of month by month operations; as the French novelist, Jean Giraudoux, has Cassandra say in Tiger at the Gate destiny "is simply the relentless logic of each day we live."

Throughout, the 1850's the infant institution was plagued by money worries and involved in a grueling struggle to enlarge its resources in order to ensure the fulfillment of its mission and to confound skeptics. The premature death of John N. Wilder in 1858, and the resignation of Robert Kelly as a trustee robbed the University of two stout pillars of its early strength. On the other side of the ledger, the advent of Martin B. Anderson, the acquisition of a comparatively spacious campus and the erection of the first structure on it, a financial grant by the New York legislature, and a small but uneven growth in student enrollment betokened larger potentialities ahead. Through the portals of the original University building, moreover passed men who were to become among the most distinguished ever to win degrees at Rochester.

Until he returned to Albany in 1852, John N. Wilder spent himself on University affairs, but he soon became so entangled in business enterprises that he thought of resigning as president (or chairman) of the board of trustees. Of him, Anderson appropriately said (1855), "When the history of this institution shall be written one person will take his stand among the noblest founders of learning which this state has ever seen. Need I say that man is John N. Wilder?" For reasons that can only be guessed at, the executive chief and the outstanding trustee leader became somewhat estranged shortly thereafter.

A nation-wide financial crisis in 1857 and the dishonesty of a business partner wrought balefully upon Wilder's mind. He died in 1858, aged forty-four, and Anderson in an obituary statement remarked that to Wilder ''belonged, beyond all others, the honor of founding this seat of learning." In like vein, the trustees saluted their departed head as "... the earliest and one of the firmest and most efficient patrons and friends" of the University, who had invested nearly three years of his life in promoting the university interest. For tireless devotion and for monetary contributions, Wilder was entitled to "foremost rank among the noble body of men who laid the foundations of this seat of learning. His name will be for all coming time interwoven with the history of this University...."

Appointed in 1856 a Regent of the State of New York, Robert Kelly withdrew from the Rochester trustee body; his sudden death at the summit of his powers shortly afterward came as a severe shock, and thousands of New Yorkers mourned the departure of this unusual man of high qualities of judgment and knowledge. Speaking for the University, Anderson praised him as "a Founder, a Trustee and Adviser" who "always gave the wealth of his large heart and clear head to the interests of this University... His name is wrought into the history of this University in lines more enduring than brass or marble," and he was pointed to as an individual undergraduates should emulate and thus ensure success in life. Two important original trustees living in Rochester, Whittlesey and Peck, also died, leaving gaping holes in the management circle.

As a replacement for Kelly, his brother, William, a retired business executive, prominent in Democratic party politics and in educational enterprises all over New York, joined the board of trustees and quickly became its most influential personality; reluctantly, he accepted the post of president of the trustees in 1860 and filled the office with distinction for twelve years. To the board in 1857 was added General (more or less a courtesy title) John F. Rathbone, a wealthy manufacturer and leading Baptist layman of Albany, who as a youth had attended school in the Rochester area and had been employed in the city before settling down in the state capital. Very much interested in young men, Rathbone served as a trustee for four decades and gave enduring luster to his name by benefactions to college education in Rochester.

A second prominent Baptist, Matthew Vassar of Poughkeepsie, who built up a fortune in business, brewing of beer especially, often spoke of doing something handsome for the University after election to trusteeship in 1853, but he was presently gripped by the conviction that he was "the instrument of Providence" to found a college for women equal in every respect to existing institutions for men; in that way he would inaugurate a new era in the history of women. The sequel was Vassar Female College, granted a charter in 1861, several of whose trustees were also on the U. of R. board; Raymond, sometime professor at the University, became the first active President of Vassar. Anderson, who was a valued adviser of Matthew Vassar and a charter trustee, rather coveted the money--about $800,000, a sum of unprecedented magnitude for, higher learning in America--that was poured into the Poughkeepsie venture. 1

Until Anderson took up his duties at Rochester, Chancellor Harris presided over Commencement rites and Professor Kendrick headed the academic administration with Dewey in charge while the Greek professor spent a year in Europe. Little known in advance to the undergraduates, the first president was coolly received. "There were murmurs among the upper-class students," one of them remembered, "as if he were not great enough for his place. But they were... instantaneously drowned amid the 'tumult of acclaim,' that he at once commanded.... How immediately he became master of the situation!" The new executive promptly undertook the conduct of chapel exercises, presided at faculty meetings, taught classes, supervised student affairs, prepared annual reports for the trustees, and, much against his expectation and inclination, engaged in fund raising.

As is the way with men, the President received praise or blame for everything that happened in the academic community. From staunch Baptist quarters stern warnings were addressed to Anderson that the University was not sufficiently denominational in tone, that too many concessions had been made to the spirit of non-sectarianism, which would inescapably alienate Baptist patrons of the college. Ardent partisans of Madison University on their part, cautioned New York State Baptists that the Rochester college was "no place for the sons of the plain Baptists of the middling and lower classes, nor is it a place where Baptist principles" would ever be given prominence. 2


Faculty personnel and the varying tastes of the professors brought minor changes, mostly impermanent, in course offerings. For instance, Kendrick (sometimes referred to as the "Principal'' of the University) in 1852-53 went abroad, chiefly to Greece, to regain his health, to make purchases for the University library, and to cultivate his scholarly interests. Upon his return, "the beloved, appreciated and invaluable" master was welcomed at a gala reception by students; in a series of "conversations" he shared his impressions of Greece with Seniors.

When Conant withdrew in 1854 from the staff of the University to concentrate on training theological students, Kendrick took over instruction in Hebrew to undergraduates, coyly observing that "a man who can teach Greek could teach fifty languages like Hebrew." During Kendrick's absence abroad, youthful, tall, and twinkly-eyed Heman L. Wayland, son of Brown's president, taught Greek classes and provoked a storm of protest by reforming the pronunciation of Greek words; indignant students threatened to leave the University, but the tempest subsided when Wayland moved off to the calmer clime of a pulpit.

Restless Professor Raymond, certain that his abilities were neither adequately employed nor appreciated, left Rochester to become administrative head of a technical school in Brooklyn (and subsequently of Vassar College). "I must be captain of my own vessel," said he, "even if it be but a fishing smack;" in his satchel Raymond carried an honorary doctorate of laws from the U. of R. To fill the vacated chair of Belles-Lettres (or Rhetoric) and History, Anderson engaged his friend, Sewell S. Cutting, who both preceded and followed him as editor of the New York Recorder. An ordained Baptist minister, deeply interested in the history and welfare of his denomination, Cutting had been an active promoter of the idea of a university in Rochester, speaking for the cause and assisting in fund-raising. An extremely sensitive man, the slightest movement in the classroom distracted him and he frequently lost the "thread of his discourse" several times in the course of an hour; his prized and widely circulated Historical Vindications (1859) exposed in spirited fashion the main lines of the Baptist historical saga. After thirteen years in Rochester recitation halls, Cutting withdrew to recruit candidates for the ministry as secretary of the American Baptist Educational Commission.

For a short time, Henry Fowler, son-in-law of Dewey, offered instruction in political economy, but money was not available to retain him indefinitely. Senior professors who had come from Madison University discovered that living costs in Rochester were steeper than in Hamilton village and pressed for higher salaries. Richardson in fact thought of turning in his resignation, writing, "If I am to starve, I'll starve elsewhere. It would be a pity to have the University disgraced by the Starvation of one of its Professors...." Happily, the trustees contrived to find funds to raise faculty compensation modestly.

Techniques of instruction pursued their conventional routine, though a scheme of oral and public examinations was given a trial with examiners from outside the faculty taking part, if and when funds permitted. This experiment was intended not only to test the knowledge and understanding undergraduates had acquired, but to appraise the quality of the instruction that was being imparted; written examinations were conducted under close faculty surveillance. Occasionally, interested trustees shared in evaluating Senior essays and visited classes to observe the performance of teachers and taught. Following an experience of that sort Robert Kelly recorded in 1855 that what he had witnessed was "entirely creditable to all concerned... the whole machinery moves with systematic regularity and steady efficiency." He detected no evidence of carelessness or inattention and was duly impressed with the tone of "Christian principle and elevated moral sentiment" that prevailed; cultivation of understanding, he felt, was quite as much fostered as accumulation of knowledge. Toward the end of the 1850's, it had become as plain as could be that the "Kelly" program of degree work in science had not been a success. Not many students actually enrolled in science; of those who did few had the proper preparation for study on the college level and soon chose to invest their energies elsewhere. In 1855 only a single B. S. was awarded, three the next year, and thereafter only one or two annually. 3

From time to time, proposals came before the trustees to broaden the curriculum or to establish professional schools alongside of the college, but invariably lack of money imposed a veto. For instance, undergraduates petitioned for instruction in music, which would improve chapel singing and better equip prospective ministers for their lifework. Trustees debated the desirability of setting up a school of law, but the idea never passed beyond the discussion stage; in 1852, a definite program for an agricultural department, manned by seven professors, was fashioned, but implementation awaited a special endowment, which was never forthcoming.

Anderson in 1860 reverted to the plan for instruction in agriculture and called the attention of the trustees to the distinctive opportunity to prepare youths for the nursery business, which was subtly--and rapidly--transforming the Flour City into the Flower City. Beyond that, the President told the trustees "there is no school of mines worthy of the name in the country, no school of practical science designed to train ironmasters and managers of foundries of various metals." Rochester, he thought, was excellently placed to organize a school of that character and at a comparatively small cost; once more shortage of funds rendered the vision inexpedient. Yet the very suggestion should dispose of the theory, frequently encountered, that Anderson was intransigently opposed to technical education and in fact rejected an offer by Hiram Sibley of Rochester to finance a school of engineering at the University. 4


It was obvious that the young college needed--desperately needed--greater financial resources. A provost of the University of Pennsylvania uttered an unassailable and lasting truth when he remarked that a university ought to be ashamed if its expenditures did not exceed its income, and he believed that the potentialities for usefulness of an institution of learning were so vast and varied that the authorities should do what was desirable educationally and then seek the necessary money. This philosophy was not shared to the full, to be sure, by all the managers of the institution beside the Genesee.

Apart from year to year operating expenses, the University required funds to build a permanent home, to expand educational opportunities, and to increase faculty salaries. Even the janitor complained to the trustees that his modest pay left him at the end of year with less than enough to buy a pair of pants. "Gentlemen, I do not expect to get what it (the job) is worth at present, but I want it so I can live and be an honest man ..." the trustees harkened to the piteous appeal and jacked up his wages.

Certain subscribers to the University endowment fund, who had neglected to meet their obligation, were politely informed that their pledges "to this great and holy enterprise" were urgently needed at once. And four months after his arrival in Rochester, Anderson addressed a ringing appeal for financial help to a set of potential benefactors. Student fees did not pay current university bills and never would. Hired agents, distant forerunners of the professional fund-raisers of the twentieth century again scoured New York State for gifts without meeting with much success; invoking a standard formula, University representatives tried to get patrons to finance "perpetual scholarships," which would entitle the donor, his heirs, or the college faculty to nominate one worthy student for free tuition to the end of time (presumably) in return for each thousand dollars pledged; endowment of professorships was likewise solicited. Competition from the Theological Seminary and the Baptist Bible and other societies handicapped the raising of funds for the University at every turn.

So uncertain was Professor Quinby of the financial solvency of the institution that he feared he might be dismissed; debts he remarked, were piling up at the rate of $3,000 a year. In spite of everything that had been done to attract support by making the college as little sectarian as possible, expectations had been disappointed. "People look upon it as a Baptist institution," the professor commented, and he chided his fellow Episcopalians for the scantiness of their financial help. 5 Like many another ambitious, but hard-pressed college of the time, the University applied to the federal government for assistance. At the request of the President and the faculty, a petition was presented to Congress, on April 5, 1854, asking for the grant of a township of land, or its equivalent, for the benefit of the University; nothing, alas, came of this initiative. 6

Help from Albany appeared to be a better bet and proved to be so in reality. As earlier, so again in 1852, representatives of the University turned lobbyists, and sought to have Rochester remembered in a state-wide college appropriations bill; it was emphasized that the University alone among institutions of higher learning in New York had received no public aid. This effort failed, as did a second attempt in 1854, though Genesee College in nearby Lima was voted a small subsidy. A Madison University officer suggested that his college and Rochester should act in concert to secure state appropriations, but the proposal was still-born. Yet the overture in itself testified that the deep wounds caused by the angry dispute over removal were healing.

In his annual report of 1855 Anderson dwelt in some detail on the urgency of obtaining additional money, stressing that the University was firmly enough established that donors could be sure it would "last as long as our green fields shall wave their harvests in the light of heaven." That year, Trustee Gideon W. Burbank, a prosperous Baptist miller of Rochester, and his son-in-law Lewis Roberts, promised $20,000 to endow the chair of Intellectual and Moral Philosophy, occupied by the president, on the understanding first, that a Baptist "should always be the officer so supported," and, second that an equal sum would be procured from other sources. The challenge was promptly met and the professorship was assigned the name of Burbank; University Presidents deep into the twentieth century held the Burbank title, and then it was bestowed upon a professional philosopher on the faculty. The Burbank gift, the largest sum ever given the University by a single individual to that point, lifted the spirits of Anderson in an especially trying period, or, as he put it, "gave us heart and hope for our future work... in our time of sorest need..." 7

The eyes of the President and his trusted counsellors fastened upon the Albany treasury, as the source to furnish money with which to erect a new educational building and to equip it; they were prepared to have a state grant made conditional upon the University obtaining matching amount. At this point in his administration, Anderson subsumed the case for an appropriation of public funds in this way: the U. of R. was training a growing contingent of men for practical affairs as well as in classical and scientific disciplines; already the young institution had sent nearly a hundred graduates into the world; of the money recently voted by the New York legislature for collegiate education, only five percent had been allocated to western New York, which deserved more equitable treatment.

For two years in a row Anderson, on trips to Albany, flanked at times by Wilder and Sage, solicited votes of lawmakers for a state grant--a chore that was repugnant to his spirit--, and he learned in the process a good deal about the practicalities of politics. "No politician can be trusted further than he is watched," he explained to his wife, and must be paid in some sort of current coin. You can hardly conceive the depth of political corruption existing in this place... A bill must be bought or driven through the house or it never moves." He felt it necessary to linger in the capital "to watch every moment so as to take advantage of everything that comes up. It is plotting and counterplotting..." To reinforce the work of president and trustees, a professional lobbyist was engaged at twenty-five dollars a week.

Success at last crowned the labors, for in March of 1857 the legislature passed a bill appropriating $25,000 to the University to be paid in two annual installments, conditional on the trustees securing an equal sum. It seemed to the legislative committee that had the measure in hand that the University having accomplished so much by itself could "with propriety call upon Hercules (translated as the State of New York) for additional aid." The measure sailed through the Senate smoothly, but in the Assembly strong opposition developed, which was only overcome by "strenuous efforts, " Anderson reported.

News that the Governor had signed the appropriation bill touched off a joyous demonstration in Rochester; the University building was brilliantly illuminated, students indulged in merry song, professors addressed them on the alluring prospects that lay ahead. The executive committee of the trustees voted that anyone who donated $25,000 (to meet the state specification) would have his name affixed to the first University structure that should be erected; responding to the challenge, Trustee Rathbone agreed to convert Pennsylvania woodlands, valued at $25,000, into cash and pass the proceeds along; that he did, though the money was in fact assigned to purchase of books, not to building. Momentarily, a rumor that the Albany treasury would be unable to pay the appropriation caused consternation. 8


Under the experienced direction of Professor A. C. Kendrick the University library expanded steadily--even impressively. Before long, management was entrusted to a library committee consisting of Kendrick, the President, and a trustee. To each book acquired an accession number was assigned and a primitive catalogue [still (1968) preserved] was made up of author slips pasted in large portfolio volumes. Being new, the library was free of "old lumber or trash," and from the beginning the University was a depository for official records and other books published by the federal and the New York State governments. Purchases, which had to be approved by the trustees, totaled nearly a thousand volumes in 1852, and thereafter accessions were made at a rate of one hundred to two hundred a year, many being bought in Germany. Gifts swelled the holdings; for example, the Rev. Frederick W. Holland of Boston, formerly the Unitarian minister in Rochester, donated a large and valuable collection of books and accompanying the gift, a letter recalled how Holland while residing in Rochester had helped "in defeating the Presbyterian effort" to organize a university and had solicited funds for the U. of R. and subscribed personally, so as "to prove my confidence in your unsectarian spirit." In lieu of cash Holland preferred that his pledge should be liquidated by books. From the British colony of Hong Kong, the Rev. William Dean, upon whom the University had conferred an honorary doctorate, dispatched a parcel of books--the classics of Chinese literature, a dictionary, and Christian writings about China--together with an array of idols, shells, and sundry Oriental curiosities, which he intended as the nucleus of a major collection of Chinese objects at the U. of R. Unrecorded benefactors presented a massive Antiquities of Mexico by Lord Kingsborough, other volumes, and a batch of military medals from the Revolutionary and 1812 wars.

Books belonging to the Rochester Theological Seminary were available, of course, to University personnel, and the Seminary scored a real bibliographical coup in acquiring, despite stiff competition from other American theological schools, the great library of Berlin historian, Professor Johann A. W. Neander, who died in 1850. Containing over 2,300 titles in various branches of learning, but chiefly on the Christian faith and church, and including many rare and choice editions, the Neander collection weighed in excess of four tons! According to the first authoritative report on holdings, the University library by July of 1854 possessed 4,500 volumes and the school of theology an even larger number--substantially more than the library resources the Rochester emigre professors had known at Madison University. Prospects for expansion brightened in 1857 with the announcement of the Rathbone fund of $25,000, explained earlier, though the income did not actually become available until 1866; a century later books currently bought out of income from the Rathbone gift were still affixed with a plate carrying the name of the donor.

Since instruction was largely conducted by recitations based on student manuals and less so by lectures, undergraduates made relatively little use of the library facilities; students, it is true, were allowed free access to the shelves, but the room was open for only an hour a day--two on Saturday--and books could only be borrowed at two periods in the week. Apparently, withdrawal of books without proper registration became something of a problem, for the trustees ordered the installation of a new lock on the door of the library quarters and specified that only two keys should be made. 9

To the small stock of equipment for instruction in mathematics and science, a theodolite was added, a surveying and astronomical instrument with a small telescope for measuring horizontal and vertical angles. A rising young geologist, Ferdinand V. Hayden, who had spent his boyhood in the Genesee country, sent from the Smithsonian Institution in Washington a sheaf of valuable maps based upon his explorations in the western United States. The outlook for scientific studies picked up in 1862, when, on recommendation of Professor Dewey, the University acquired a cabinet of minerals and fossils from a young Rochester naturalist, Henry A. Ward.

To expand the curricular offerings in science, Dewey had proposed that Ward should be appointed to the faculty, and that was done. 10


When the University authorities purchased the United States Hotel, it was not supposed that this structure would be the home of the institution indefinitely. As early as July, 1852, a committee of trustees invited proposals for sites, stipulating that land would either have to be donated or bought by special subscriptions, and that no buildings would be erected until money for construction was in sight.

Locations in abundance were recommended, in city and suburb, some of them acreages that had previously been considered, others new. Professor Dewey strongly favored a strip of land owned by the city on the north side of Brown's Square, but critics contended that the proximity of the railway would interfere with study, that distracting urban temptations would be too close at hand, and that a much frequented public breathing-space--"lungs" --would be taken away; friends of a central city site retorted that Yale had done quite well in the heart of a busy city. A youth of a humorous cast of mind, perhaps, proposed that the ideal situation would be two small islands in the Genesee River tied together by a parcel of ground and linked to the mainland by a bridge. A college home could be laid out on one of the islands and a school of theology on the other, and from this aquatic environment students would surely emerge as good Baptists!

A piece of land at the corner of Main and Gibbs Street had its partisans, as did a Livingston Park site, several areas on North St. Paul Street, and very much favored was a healthy and picturesque eminence commanding splendid views on State Street (Lake Avenue) west of the Genesee and near the northern boundary of Rochester. Called Lake View, this "veritable Parnassus" covered about twenty acres and on it stood two substantial structures--one a "water-cure" establishment- -which could be readily adapted for collegiate purposes, it was claimed. [This tract was in the vicinity of the Aquinas Institute (1968) and a public school close by is known as Lakeview.] The merits and disadvantages of each proposed location furnished plenty of copy for the Rochester press; candid correspondents pointed out that property values would certainly rise in the vicinity of any university campus. 11

A public spirited Rochesterian, Azariah Boody, gave the site problem a new twist when he offered in 1853 to donate to the University a parcel of land called Pitkin's Woods. It was well to the east of the center of the expanding city, and it became the core of what was called in 1930 the Prince Street Campus. Previously, Boody had agreed to hand the tract over to a newly-organized Barleywood Female University, of which he was president of the trustee board, on condition that an educational building worth at least $16,000 would be constructed by June, 1853. That specification had not been implemented; in fact, the Barleywood undertaking had mysteriously collapsed. To the University Boody proposed to donate eight acres, two more than he promised to the Female College, but a plot of the same shape and location.

The Boody property was described as "a high, level piece of ground in a salubrious district, which within a few years has become a favorite location for the residences of some of the wealthier citizens" of Rochester. Handsome ornamental grounds, it was pointed out, surrounded a cluster of elegant buildings "and the area possessed all the delightful characteristics of a suburban rural landscape." Yet the distance from downtown Rochester posed a very real drawback.

The trustee committee repeatedly inspected the various sites that were proposed, debated at length the comparative merits of a city or, suburban location, costs, and the like. On recommendation of the committee, a majority of the trustees voted on July 14, 1853, to accept the Boody proposition, Wilder, Sage, and two other trustees dissenting. Additionally, a decision was taken to purchase from Boody land to the south adjoining his gift; for this parcel of nearly seventeen acres the University paid $1,000 an acre, a quarter in cash and the rest covered by a mortgage.

The deed conveying the eight acre donation, valued at $10,000 as a minimum, prescribed that the property should "forever constitute the site and grounds of the ... U. of R., and that the University shall erect and forever maintain thereon the buildings required... so far as said tract shall be adequate [and convenient] for collegiate requirements; a section of the land might be assigned to the Rochester Theological Seminary for a suitable building. In case the property should cease to be occupied by the University, "the same shall revert" to Boody or his heirs, the original deed read; but a second deed, dated 1871 but not actually recorded until seventeen years later, removed the right of reverter, so that the University might dispose of the property as indeed it did in 1955-1956. It was understood that Boody's cows might contentedly graze on the property, presumably until it was ready for academic uses.

All counted, the University estate of almost twenty-five acres had as its boundaries: Riley (later University) Avenue on the south, Boody or Prince Street on the west, about the present (1968) College Avenue on the north, and Goodman Street on the east. Speculators bought up real estate in the surrounding area and the way was opened for what came to be referred to as "the East Avenue colony." 12

An outstanding benefactor of the newly-born institution, Boody, though spoken of as a self-made Yankee, was in fact born in Canada, just north of Vermont, and had quickly accumulated a fortune by constructing railways, canals, and bridges in New England. In 1850, at the age of thirty-five, he moved to Rochester to lay a rail line to Niagara Falls, and he plunged into several local business operations. As his home, Boody purchased a palatial Greek Revival mansion (headquarters of the Boy Scouts in 1968) on Pittsford Road (later East Avenue) whose fields stretched northward nearly to the present College Avenue--so that he still owned a very large acreage after the University transaction. Boody prided himself on a fine stable of horses and was annoyed when on business errands downtown he had trouble finding space to hitch (park) his team.

When Boody ran for Congress on the Whig ticket in 1852, a friendly newspaper hailed him as "one of nature's noblemen, generous, intelligent, high-toned... without a single small black spot to disfigure his escutcheon..." though victorious at the polls, Boody decided that he had no taste for public office and resigned without ever having taken his seat in Washington. The University trustees elected Boody to their board in 1853, yet he seems never to have taken an active part in college affairs. Before long, he settled in New York City, returning to Rochester for short intervals and here he was buried. In a tribute at his death, the University trustees. recalled that his gift of land had come most opportunely, for the college was not only poor, but many Rochesterians still regarded it as simply an experiment in higher learning unlikely to last; Boody's benevolence cleared the atmosphere, physically and psychologically.

A U. of R. rhymer's creative impulse hailed the Boody heritage in a rollicking ballad:

O, Azariah Boody's cows were sleek and noble kine,
They wandered o'er the verdant fields where grew the dandelion.
And when they drove the cows away to build a home for knowledge
They took the color from the flow'r and gave it to the college
. 13

The section of the University tract bought from Boody was divided into house lots to be sold and the proceeds placed in the endowment fund; twenty-eight lots were laid out and the original asking price was $1,000 apiece. To promote sales, streets in the vicinity were improved and fences erected. Actually, not more than seven lots were disposed of, almost all of them to University personnel; one lot was reserved for a presidential mansion in the future. Homes on the campus property had to conform in style and appearance with regulations prescribed by the trustees, though only three were ever built, all facing Prince Street. The last dwelling to survive, built in 1855 as a residence for Professor Quinby and subsequently University administrative offices, came down in 1939. Long since it had been decided that houses marred the beauty of the campus and several wealthy trustees promised that if no more lots were sold, they would hand over to the University treasurer sums equivalent to the sale value of the land, but the pledges were not in fact fulfilled. 14

During the discussions concerning a permanent University site, it seems to have been agreed that only two buildings would initially be required: a structure for classrooms and a fireproof library. Student living quarters were excluded from the plans, for Anderson in particular profoundly disliked ''herding students in one building, which afforded "every facility for the propagation of evil principles and habits." That dire peril could only be overcome by converting professors into policemen and spies, which would surely arouse undergraduate antagonism--all of which was repugnant to the President. From that position regarding dormitories Anderson never budged.

It was reported that Trustee Matthew Vassar would finance a University library, but his zeal for higher education was soon concentrated, as already noted on the women's college at Poughkeepsie. Trustees cast about for ways and means to construct a building on the Prince Street grounds and managed, as has been seen, to wrest an appropriation for that purpose from the legislature in Albany. 15


Before state financial aid was assured, the University managers started to lay plans for an educational structure on the Boody tract. Anderson kept complaining that bigger classes and the inadequacy of library facilities made a new building imperative, yet he was unwilling to incur debt for the purpose. He devoutly wished that a wealthy friend of the University would "feel disposed to make his name immortal" by financing the cost of a building in return for having his name attached to it. Certain trustees and students chafed over the delay in getting construction underway, one undergraduate drily commenting, "... the [Prince Street] grounds afford pasturage for cattle on a thousand hills and fields for the exercise of the various Ball-Clubs."

The money made available by the state and basic architectural philosophy determined the character of the proposed structure, since it was reasoned that "large or elegant edifices do not make an efficient institution of learning." The President inspected the Yale and Harvard campuses and conferred with professors at both places in order to get first-hand impressions on the best in academic architecture and internal layout. By July of 1859 planning had sufficiently matured to warrant the appointment of a joint trustee-faculty committee to scrutinize designs in terms of economy and convenience. Two main sets of blueprints were seriously examined and lively controversy ensued, for opinions differed on which of the two was preferable. On September 14, 1859, however, a majority of the committee voted for a design prepared by a Boston architect, Alexander R. Esty, who would be compensated with a fee of five percent of the cost of construction. Contracts were awarded to Richard Gorsline and Son--a firm responsible for several major public buildings and private residences in Rochester--for the stone and brick work, and to Edwin Taylor for the wood and slate work. 16

The building, eighty by a hundred and fifty feet in dimensions, was erected on the northern edge of the university park. The facade had three stories, while a basement gave the north side the appearance of four stories. The roof reflected the mansard tradition and dormer windows admitted light into attic quarters; the design permitted the addition of another floor, should it ever be needed. For the outer walls, plain brown stone, called "Medina Sandstone," quarried not far from Rochester, was used; it was reputed to be as durable as the finest product of New England quarries.

In the finished form, on the first floor of the structure, opposite the entrance from the campus, quarters capable of holding 30,000 books were reserved for the library; flanking it were rooms for instruction in science, and two additional recitation rooms were laid out. Two staircases, sheathed in wood, led to the second story, containing an office for the president, his classroom, rooms for the teachers of the classics, and a spacious chapel above the library. The chapel had a dais on the north end, with a reading stand, an organ, and chairs for the faculty; for the undergraduates, who would be seated by classes, wooden benches were installed.

One room on the second level and several on the floor above were not occupied, at first, and space on the third story was set aside for oratorical performances and for the two literary societies. The two lodge rooms were similar in appointments with a carpeted rostrum, a long table at one end, and a chair for the president with the motto of the club carved out in Greek; furniture and the general appearance were elegant in contrast to the somber halls of the societies in the abandoned downtown University building. Yet the societies had lost a good deal of their original elan and would very shortly pass from the academic scene.

Except for kerosene lamps in the basement dwelling of the janitor, rooms were not equipped for artificial illumination, so they could not be, used at night. Heat was supplied by one or two large wood-burning stoves in each room; fuel, stored in the cellar, was hauled from room to room on a wheeled cart. Smoke issued from tall chimneys on the roof, which stood unaltered until 1929-1930 when the Hall was completely reconstructed.

Construction of the new University home proceeded at an exasperatingly slow pace, but in the autumn of 1861 it was ready at last for occupancy. Sewers were laid down and a bog in front of the building was eliminated by a drain that removed water from a spring; much of the rest of the property remained woodland and hay fields and a wooden fence surrounded the campus.

Owing to the outbreak of the Civil War, no formal dedication of the building took place. Instead, on Saturday, November 23, 1861, modest inaugural rites were conducted in the chapel; Rochester clergymen pronounced an invocation and a prayer, a hymn was sung, and the Nineteenth Psalm was read. The President followed along with the history of the building and its financing, alluding to "the days and nights of depression, anxiety, and exhausting care" he had experienced in bringing the structure into existence. "This internal history will never be written," he said, "It is best that it should be forgotten." Answering critics of the sober architecture, he acknowledged that "somewhat practical and unartistic conditions" and slight mistakes had entered into the construction.

Once more Anderson expressed gratitude for the innumerable services to University welfare rendered by the late John N. Wilder. "God forbid," he declared, "that his name and labor should ever be forgotten on any occasion which shall mark the progress of the University in all that shall make it worthy and excellent." Yet forgotten it was until 1966 when his name was affixed to a Tower residence hall on the River Campus.

Treasurer Sage reported that the cost of construction and equipment approached $38,000, in the currency of that day, and read out a trustee resolution that "the new home... mainly obtained by the zeal, the labors, and the self-sacrificing spirit of its noble-hearted president" would be called Anderson Hall. Caught by surprise and deeply moved, the normally austere President could not conceal his emotions, but gravely bowed in response to the hearty applause which the Sage announcement touched off. Professor Kendrick delivered an address, then came another prayer, the singing of Old Hundred, and the aging Professor Dewey, as was his wont at great University occasions, offered the benediction. 17

It was imagined in some quarters that Anderson Hall, with accommodations for more than three hundred and fifty learners, would satisfy all needs for half a century. Judgments on the appearance of the University property and the Hall itself diverged radically; an undergraduate, for example, praised "the majestic building on the 'Campus Academicus' " and rejoiced that "We have exchanged uninviting back yards, and a prospect cut short by brick walls, for blooming orchards and waving fields;" only the occasional rattling of a railway train would disturb the blissful academic environment. A little later, a student lyricist enshrined his sentiments in these lines:

Anderson Hall

Once more bright summer walks the land
In all her wonted splendor,
And see! around our "Hall" expand,
In lustre warm and tender,
The pleasant fields, the distant woods,
Now cheered by many a ditty;
And westward, with its multitudes,
Behold the busy city!

No more within an old hotel,
Amid the city's noises,
We strain our lungs in vain, to quell
Its clamor with our voices.
No more do hens in torture shriek
Through problems mathematic;
No more, three stories up, our Greek
Seems purest kind of Attic.

Here all is calm, and cool, and strong,
And each sedate professor
May sit and talk, the robin's song
Alone is an aggressor,
Save when some engine rushes by,
And, like a brazen giant,
Sends forth its shrill and startling cry,
Loud, warning, and defiant....

Less enthusiastic than the rhymester, a Rochester newspaper commented, "...We are unable to give the technical name designating the style of architecture. It is said to be a mixture of the Norman with others. The general impression which it excites in the mind of the beholder is that of massiveness rather than of grace." But had not Anderson explained that utility, not beauty, had governed decisions on the design of the Hall? A student "flyer" of the time bore a crude illustration of Anderson Hall with the caption "View of the 'Sincere Building.' " Time verified the prediction that the solid structure "will be as good a hundred years hence as at this hour." 18

However contemporaries evaluated the Prince Street campus, it was the focal point of instructional and most collegiate extracurricular activities until 1930 and a quarter of a century longer for undergraduate women. In time other structures, one by one, joined Anderson Hall, all well-loved and fondly saluted by alumni at their class reunions; as the scene of their "bright college years," homecoming graduates looked upon the Prince Street campus with nostalgia, fraught with strong sentimental overtones.

The vicissitudes which the United States Hotel had known before it became the cradle of the University reappeared after the removal to the Prince Street tract. For several years the Theological Seminary occupied sections of the building and then acquired a campus of its own; for a time, a private school was conducted in the former Hotel and among the pupils was George Eastman, the twentieth century Maecenas of the U. of R. Some University students rented rooms there--and indulged in roistering hijinks. In 1867, the University disposed of the property, and the new proprietors partitioned the first floor into small shops and cut the upper stories into some thirty little and cheap tenements. The transom over the principal entrance was salvaged, happily, and ranks among the treasured memorabilia of the U. of R. With appropriate ceremonial in 1928, alumni placed a permanent bronze tablet on the original University center, which reads:


A legal agreement with the owner at that time specified that the chaste plaque should stay there as long as the building stood and that "the same or a similar tablet" would be implanted on any replacement that might be erected on the site in the future. Guests at the dedication of the marker listened to diverting anecdotes on their college experience by two of the three surviving men of the class of 1860, and then wandered inquisitively through the decaying structure.

When the present writer visited the building in June of 1965 (after a century and more of urban change), the ground level contained five small stores, two rented occasionally by charitable organizations for rummage sales; "Sam's Used Appliances and TV's," "Platock's Men's Tailoring and Alterations," and "The Second Hand Clothes Emporium" occupied the other shops. Walls and wooden beams looked as though they would hold up for many decades; the basement, whose floors were littered with miscellaneous debris, preserved the outlines of over a hundred years earlier. In the upper stories, broken windows admitted clouds of wasps and flocks of pigeons; a notice, dated January 15, 1958, proclaimed that Rochester health authorities had prohibited renting quarters to tenants any longer.

To the east of the first University home, a dilapidated "Open Door Mission" flashed a glaring neon sign, "Jesus Never Fails"--it looked decidedly out of place in this erstwhile academic surrounding. It is said that the interior of this historic University landmark could be restored on its 1850 pattern at little expense and that the technical problems of remodeling would not be very great. What a splendid treasure-house and museum for the University it would make! 19


University enrollment fluctuated partly if not largely in correspondence with the peaks and valleys in the national economy. For the academic year 1852-53, the undergraduate body passed the hundred mark, totaling 116, and the high point of the decade was reached four years later with 163, or slightly more than at Hamilton College, for instance, which had been in existence nearly half a century. Numbers declined in the wake of a business recession in 1857, but the lost ground had been fully recovered by 1860. On an average, enrollment hovered around 150, with about a quarter or fewer coming from Rochester itself. In addition, a score or more of holders of the baccalaureate degree, almost all divinity school students, pursued advanced studies at the University in Greek Philosophy and Higher Mathematics especially. 20

It was a small compact student community, and, judging by the scanty biographical data available, recruited largely from Anglo-American middleclass homes--the sons of professional men and farmers. Youths from poor households, who had to earn their college expenses, were often well advanced in their twenties at the time of matriculation; to recruit students, the University published advertisements in New York and New England newspapers as well as in the Rochester press. For a time, as has been indicated earlier, the University treasury provided small subsidies to maintain a preparatory school in Rochester as a "feeder," and when Professor Raymond left for Brooklyn it was urged that he could and should influence comfortably fixed families down there to send their sons to Rochester. An occasional youth, expelled from another college for misbehavior, had little trouble matriculating beside the Genesee. It seemed to one "inmate of the old hotel" that "students were attracted, not by towering structures, but by towering [faculty] men." It is interesting to know that the first triennial catalogue of the University--issued in 1856--listed the names of faculty, alumni, and students in their Latin form. 21

Since a high proportion of the undergraduates were earnest young men with a keen sense of social responsibility and intending to become preachers, disciplinary problems were comparatively light. A degree of student freedom prevailed, unusual in American colleges, which prompted an undergraduate to write, "No mean system of private espionage, professional police, petty inquisitions, or presidential restrictions, have thus far blotted our college records with reprimand or threat, suspension or expulsion;" students fulfilled their classroom obligations and mingled in society "under no higher restraint than the character of true gentlemen." Talking in chapel and out of turn in recitation rooms appears to have been the most serious cause of faculty censure or personal admonition by the President; now and then, the janitor complained that a small minority of undergraduates were "hell-raisers."

Almost from the beginning premiums and prizes were awarded to stimulate students to strive for excellence in one or another branch of learning. There was a Senior essay prize (known after 1881 as the Hull Prize in deference to Robert B. Hull, 1871, who endowed it), a Junior prize for the best composition on a Greek author, a parallel Sophomore award for a paper on a Latin writer, and a Freshman prize in mathematics--all bestowed annually until 1886. For superiority in oratory, Sophomores were given special prizes--called Dewey prizes after 1869 to commemorate the revered and recently deceased professor of the sciences. Prizes ordinarily took the form of books by Milton, Dryden, or some other English man of letters.

Throughout most of the 1850's, the sister literary Societies, Pithonian and Delphic, dominated extracurricular affairs, and alongside of them a short-lived Forensic Union was organized to encourage skill in platform presentation. Beginning in 1856, the literary societies arranged joint evening debates in the chapel on propositions like "The characters of nations are determined rather by their literature than by their physical circumstances."

Far more popular and respected, though, were the annual Junior Exhibitions with participants drawn from the two clubs, and staged in Corinthian Hall; on the model of 1851, already described. A mixed fare was offered, the central feature being original speeches on themes such as "Speculation," "The Genius of Milton," "Independent Thinkers," and "Motive Forces of the Mind"--an improvised orchestra rendered classical tunes. Anniversary exercises of the societies during the Commencement season, as well as the Exhibitions, invariably drew crowds of townspeople, who willingly lingered late to listen. Press reports of the affairs customarily ran on at inordinate length, one reporter concluding, "These regularly recurring exhibitions afford the public a fair sample of the intellect and ability of the University and the benefit of its training and at the same time grant an agreeable variety to the monotony of college life."

A long remembered feature of the 1857 Anniversary was a lengthy, sprightly, and entertaining poem, entitled "Rochester," by John N. Wilder, which subsequently was printed as a booklet. After agreeing to perform, Wilder had lively misgivings, writing, "I was a goose to accept but will try to have some fun." Not only the versifier but the packed audience in Corinthian Hall had fun, lots of it, as Wilder swept his "rambling and resounding lyre" across the glories of classical antiquity and of Rochester, "the garden city of the fertile West." It seemed unnecessary to recount the past of the Flour City, in detail,

For this capacious and convenient hall,
Contains a brief epitome of all.

Yet ladies' styles then in vogue caused seating perplexities, which the designer of the Corinthian Hall had in no wise anticipated. Wilder expressed the situation this way:

Oh! could he, with prophetic eye, have seen
The vast expansion of the crinoline;
That space absorbers, known as hoops,
Would not
Stop, 'till they filled a full ten acre lot,
The startling vision would have made him wilt,
And this Corinthian Hall had not been built.
Oh! that some fashionable spirit's raps
, 22
Would cause this fashion forthwith to collapse;
Then would those gentlemen about the door,
All find good seats upon this ample floor.
Comfort and taste would hail the change as blessed;
Man's wrongs be right, woman be redressed.

Salutes to the University faculty came next, the venerable professor of science being pictured as

The genial Patriarch of the numerous flock,
throwing the sunshine over plant and rock;
Inviting all, who fear that truth is dry,
In DEWEY paths to rove with him and try....

In a sober vein, Wilder prayed that the stirring watchword, "Liberty and Union," would somehow silence the divisive controversy between North and South then threatening to rend the United States in twain. If and when unity had been restored, the American way of life could spread around the globe. This presentation parenthetically, was almost the last appearance of Wilder at a University function. 23

The literary activities of the societies delighted professorial spirits, but they reacted quite differently to small printed burlesque leaflets (spoken of as "mock schemes") satirizing, in text and crude woodcuts, anything and nearly everything connected with the college, the faculty being the preferred targets. "Cutting and Cos. Impersonations of Orators, Living and Interred" read one of the tamer headlines. Intended to demonstrate the facility of the students in depicting the lighter side of college life, the humor in the leaflets sometimes degenerated into bad taste, which provoked professorial protestations--but to little purpose.

The main nemesis of the Pithonian and Delphic Societies was not, however, the professors, but the social fraternity, five of which the--"old nationals" they were called--came into existence in the first decade of University life and they remained thereafter an organic feature of the college. Though the fraternity had certain remote resemblances to the Burschenschaften that burgeoned up in German university centers in the early nineteenth century, it was essentially an American phenomenon, attuned to a country which has been aptly described as "a nation of joiners."

Bringing together in small groups more or less congenial young men, the fraternity appealed by means of its secret meetings, mystic rites, secret handclasps, distinctive insignia of membership, and chapters in other colleges. Nearly four decades elapsed before fraternities erected chapter houses at Rochester; originally, lodge rooms, whose location was not always known outside of the brotherhoods, were engaged in the central area of the city and equipped with a pine table, uncomfortable wooden benches, and mystic regalia.

In a manner of speaking, the first fraternity chapter, Alpha Delta Phi, belongs among the many bequests of Madison University to Rochester. Eight undergraduates there, in defiance of faculty rules, but in anticipation of removal to Rochester, were initiated into the Hamilton College chapter of Alpha Delta Phi; no charter was granted of the fraternity and no meetings of the fraternity were ever held at Madison University. Two of the original initiates graduated at Madison, but seven more were inducted (probably at Hamilton College) and all thirteen enrolled at the U. of R. They met as a corporate body for the first time in September of 1851--in the janitor's quarters of the University building; thereafter, meetings were held on every other Monday evening and the records have come down in an unbroken series.

Prayers and odes, essays and debates were standard features of Alpha Delta Phi meetings, held in total secrecy, and it became customary for brothers who were scheduled for Sophomore Declamations or upper-class orations to speak their pieces in chapter sessions and revise them in the light of criticism, before public performances. New members were taken into the fraternity before the national society issued a charter in May of 1852 to the Empire (after 1870 Rochester) Chapter; a founding-father of Alpha Delta Phi, Andrew L. Freeman, 1851, was one of the most devoted Rochester alumni for over half a century.

Delta Psi, which prided itself on extraordinary secrecy, tight-knit fraternalism, and reluctance to expand its chapter roll made its Rochester debut in 1851, and Delta Kappa Epsilon, which paraded its literary character, was chartered five years later by the parent chapter at Yale. Its principal sponsor, George P. Draper, 1857, solicited the cooperation of "Deke" acquaintances at other colleges in winning approval for a chapter at the U. of R.; nine initiates comprised the original group. An Innominata Society, organized in 1853, set as its goal admission to Psi Upsilon, and five years thereafter a charter was secured thanks to the help of several Psi U's residing in Rochester; fifteen men were inducted in this western outpost of the fraternity.

These four groups were strictly secret societies, and pitted against them was the Equitable Fraternity or Anti-Secret Confederation, later called Delta Upsilon, dating from 1852. A delegation of D U's from Hamilton College journeyed to Rochester to organize the chapter of seven men, whose leading spirits were Fordyce Williams, 1853, and Tilson C. Barden, 1854. Bitter strife developed between this "open" society and the secret fraternities, which, allegedly, tried to destroy their rival. Not much can be learned about the Ouden Adelon (nothing secret) club, referred to as "woodens," which lasted only a short time, and possibly was only a nickname for D U's. 24

Almost from the beginning the desirability of having secret societies attached to the University provoked controversy inside the faculty and without-and the debate persisted. Professors who had come from Hamilton, with the exception of Kendrick, regarded the "Greeks" with hostility, but that mood softened rather quickly into a posture of harmony and mutual helpfulness. On behalf of the fraternities it was claimed that they encouraged high standards of character and academic achievement among the brothers, and that through literary exercises (when they were executed) fraternities cultivated intellectual interests once monopolized by the literary societies.

Fraternities nourished close friendships that would stand for a lifetime, it was also held, and strengthened mutually pleasant bonds with collegians in chapters at other seats of learning. It was contended, too, that they fostered good manners, rubbed off the rough edges of unsophisticated youths, provided healthy social diversions and opportunities for leadership, which would be an asset in post-collegiate living. Assurances to prospective freshmen that they would be invited to join a prestige fraternity if they matriculated at the University, certainly brought to the institution some students who might not otherwise have come.

On the other side, it was argued that the "Greeks" split the undergraduate body into competitive cliques and that the annual unseemly scramble to pledge new members --"rushing," it was called--rasped the sensibilities of rival organizations. To that it was added that membership was expensive, and that men (some of them) displayed stronger institutional attachments to their fraternity than to the college itself. Fraternities were also accused of fostering attitudes that contravened democratic values, and of handicapping rather than promoting scholarship within the brotherhoods because of an excessive number of parties of one description and another, idling, and generally dissolute habits.

Perhaps the heaviest item on the bill of indictment was that many a student who was not pledged--"barbarian" was the word for it--withdrew from Rochester and enrolled elsewhere, or wholly abandoned the quest for college a degree. Whatever the argumentation the fraternity regime prevailed and shared in the common fortunes of the college. By and large, alumni who belonged to fraternities demonstrated greater zeal in advancing the interests of the University than "outsiders."


Fraternity men of the class of 1859 launched in their junior year a college periodical, Interpres Universitatis, which was intended to be "a translator, an interpreter of the movements of college life, and of the students themselves." It was a large-size, four-page venture whose columns were loaded with Greek membership rolls, their insignia, the names of the trustees, faculty, officers of the alumni society, the names and addresses of members of the literary societies, of clubs organized for recreation of the Bedlamites--who chose music as their province--and the University calendar.

Subsequently, a smattering of editorial opinion crept into the Interpres and snippets of college news and advertisements; pride in the character of the publication was pompously flaunted in the very first issue. "The material which fills up our paper," we read, "is more precious than the gold of Ophir, or the venerable wines of the Madeiras ... our [literary] gems... will glitter and dazzle in transcendant brilliancy like jewels heaped or scatter'd on Africa's strands."

Aspirants to fame in letters sometimes preferred to contribute their creative efforts to the publication of one of the literary societies. Pages of the Delphic Oracle in particular reveal what passed for undergraduate wit and humor.

Question: When is a bed not a bed?
Answer: When it is a little buggy.

or Who is the shortest man the Bible speaks of? Knee-high-miah (Nehemiah).

Why is a Senior in College like Moses of old? Because he has an air on (Aaron). 25

The Christian orientation of the University, together with the large percentage of men who intended to become ministers, had ample reflection in the undergraduate style of life. Dominated as many students were by the twin convictions of a wicked secular society and the approaching day of judgment, they felt that extracurricular religious observances were quite as important as class recitations; prayer meetings in college classes were standard ritual, and the Judson Society, earlier alluded to, stimulated undergraduate interest in missionary endeavor. In consonance with sister institutions, Rochester observed an annual day of prayer for colleges; at nine in the morning, concerned students congregated in the chapel to pray, at ten thirty a formal religious service began, the president or a professor ordinarily delivering the sermon. After lunch, faculty and students assembled for a Conference on religious matters, and in the evening a public meeting was conducted in a Rochester church.

Out of the day of prayer (or spontaneously), waves of revivalism sometimes swept the student body. Among the saints, there were sinners. What must have happened to other youths besides himself, John R. Howard, 1857, recounted in his interesting recollections. By the Senior year, certain youths had grown lax in their personal conduct, self-indulgent, addicted to cards, tobacco, "and the conviviality of vinous and spirituous excitement."

Howard fully understood that he was personally guilty of some of these behavioral divergences; his roommate persuaded him to attend a revival being conducted in the city by the fiery evangelist, Rev. Charles G. Finney. If Howard was not converted in any precise sense of the word, he asked in any case to be prayed for; he resolved "to follow Christ in his word and work" and debated entering the ministry, but decided in the negative. 26

If they chose to do so students could listen to the foremost American lecturers in the golden age of platform eloquence. Upon orators like Emerson and Beecher, and leading exponents of the antislavery cause--Horace Mann, Charles Sumner, William Lloyd Garrison--the city of Rochester acted as a magnet. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Bayard Taylor, and lesser men of letters also displayed their wares in the Genesee community. Horace Greeley represented the "fourth estate," William M. Evarts, the realm of practical politics, and Trustee and ex-Governor Marcy presented a highly inspirational address to the collegians urging upon them the virtue of diligence in their studies and manliness in their behavior. The best known American scientists of the day, J. Louis R. Agassiz of Harvard (newly come from Switzerland) and Benjamin Silliman of Yale gave series of popular lectures on their intellectual specialties. Whether many undergraduates attended these lectures there is no way of telling, of course, but the opportunities were at hand. If such testimony as has come down is reasonably accurate, students generally spent little time reading newspapers or periodicals, manifested indifference indeed concerning public affairs until late in the 1850's, and positively shunned the theater.

Individual appetites and initiatives shaped the recreational diversions of the students. Certainly the President and the professors were not enthusiastic about collegiate sports; though not explicitly stated, they reasoned that games especially of the competitive kind encouraged hostility, bad temper, selfishness, and that athletic rivalries tended to grow into personal feuds. But another theory, exposed by nationally respected educational and religious leaders, gathered momentum in the 1850's; namely, that a sound mind required a sound body. At the end of the decade, Amherst College blazed new trails in academic society by erecting a structure worthy to be called a gymnasium and by creating a department of hygiene and physical education to improve the health and physical vigor of undergraduates.

No facilities for sports, whether outdoor or indoor, existed at the University. If they desired students might take exercise and strengthen "every part of the muscular system" at "Professor" William R. Shadders gymnasium in the city or indulge in ball-throwing at Brown's Square or in skating on the river--no one, it seems, swam on the placid, unpolluted bosom of the Genesee. At about 1860, the Coquette Boat Club was organized, headed by a captain, "a man of long experience upon the waters," which afforded "not only one of the most pleasant amusements, but, at the same time, a most healthy stimulus for the body." 27

A significant part of collegiate education was derived from association with fellow students, which proceeded without regard to facilities, in literary society, in fraternity, and in informal gatherings, often termed "bull-sessions," by later generations. Springtime strolls or sleighing parties with comely Rochester maidens added spice to the academic experience, more so for students who lived in the city perhaps or who were guests of townspeople. Heavy-duty thinkers organized a Quinby Chess Club and a Minstrel Band, whose instruments were of ancient vintage or damaged (or both), furnished a modest amount of frolicsome entertainment in the guise of serenades.

Roysterers sometimes foregathered in the chapel before morning prayers and sang "We won't go home until morning" and similar light melodies; the appearance of the President cut short the singing abruptly. On one occasion chapel exercises were brought to a complete standstill when students, who had taken heavy pinches of a newly created catarrh snuff, broke out in a chorus of sneezing.

True to the temper of the time, parents of undergraduates from out of the city begged University officials to protect their offspring from exposure to pernicious influences and habits; even so worldly-wise a man as Chancellor Harris, for example, entrusting his son, William, to the University, requested Anderson to keep an eagle eye on the youth and to inform the father promptly of any shortcomings that were detected. For its educational value, Harris arranged for his son to eat at a boarding house frequented by several professors. 28 On the other side, parents were warned by University authorities to restrict the allowances given to their sons, since too much spending money was detrimental to sound deportment and application to studies.


Costs of obtaining a Rochester education increased slightly as the 1850's moved along. By successive stages tuition-charges advanced to $37.50 for an academic year with about $2.50 additional for incidentals; diploma and Commencement exercises cost graduating students ten dollars. Approximately, a third of the undergraduates benefited from tuition scholarships--forty candidates for the ministry and a dozen youths from the Rochester community. A bedroom in the University building could be engaged for less than $5.00 for three terms; and some students banded together in eating clubs to keep expenses down. Lodging and food in private homes could be secured for between $2.00 and $3.00 a week. A student who was to make his mark in University annals, Otis H. Robinson, 1861, kept a careful account of his college expenses, which amounted to $1,033.50 for the four years. Small though the cost may appear it ran higher than at competing Madison University, giving that college a certain advantage in attracting students from Baptist homes across the state.

For undergraduates who were hard pressed to make ends meet, the President had a small fund at his disposal to dole out, and many a student earned money during term time or in the long summer vacation, or took leaves of absence to replenish his resources and returned to the books later. Employment was found as tutor, waiter, janitor, what not... "Is there any way to 'work my way through'?", a country lad inquired. "I would as soon sweep chimneys as anything. I am a Yankee and could saw wood, make wooden clocks, and being a mechanic I can make almost anything which is made of wood..."

Summer jobs, by exposing youths to the practical aspects of living, might help them, of course, in choosing a vocation. Ministerial students frequently spent their holidays constructively by distributing tracts or preaching, which had direct bearing on their future life plans. Teaching school, either before entering the college or by interrupting the four-year program, was a popular method of financing an education. One student who had been employed six hours daily to defray expenses requested permission to quit for a time, so that he might take a job as lecturer "with the Diorama of the Holy Land at $10 a week and expenses." As soon as he had saved enough money, he intended to resume his studies. 29


Commencement festivities, closely patterned on the routine of 1851, hardened into stereotyped practice. An announcement in 1853 that Anderson had been chosen president and his installation the following summer were special Commencement week episodes; held in mid-July, ceremonies started with a sermon on Sunday evening at the First Baptist Church before the Judson Society. On Monday evening Sophomores competed in prize declamations at Corinthian Hall, the scene likewise of other major events of the week, and invariably crowded beyond capacity; women guests often fainted in the heat of summer. The literary societies on Tuesday evening presented an orator and a poet of national renown; on Wednesday morning the graduation rites were conducted, a long, dignified procession, wending its way from the University building to Corinthian Hall, organized as for the 1851 affair, save that alumni in order of graduation were added to the parade. Only the President and "Billy" Sage, carrying the diplomas, wore caps and gowns; proposals for other participants to wear academic costumes were vetoed as snobbish, undemocratic.

Inside the Hall, each graduating Senior delivered an original speech, "before a finer audience than many of them will face again," a newspaperman confidently predicted. Degrees were conferred and, starting in 1854, Anderson customarily addressed the graduates on their duties to society-- "Aim not to be great or distinguished, but to be useful"--or another appropriate theme. Honorary doctorates were then conferred and it was always sticky business to decide who should be thus honored; some recipients of doctorates were men of inconspicuous merit, who were friends of trustees of who were rewarded for financial or other services rendered the college or because it was fancied they would induce young men to matriculate at the institution "I perfectly abhor this system of buying influences as it is practiced in this country," a trustee lamented, "but what can we do in our infancy, when all the older institutions of the land are pursuing it?" True enough, fully qualified individuals, like Trustee Robert Kelly and the Reverend James B. Shaw of Brick Church, were awarded doctorate recognition, but eminent Francis Wayland of Brown, who was present at Commencement in 1853, was strangely passed over. Singing of "Old Hundred" and the Doxology and the benediction brought the exercises to a close. An evening reception at the home of the President signalized the end of the Commencement festivities. 30

In 1854, a group of alumni convened in the University chapel and strengthened the foundations of a graduate organization that had been loosely laid in the previous year, two years, incidentally, after the first class graduated; Andrew L. Freeman, 1851, was elected president and Ezra J. Fish, 1853, secretary; it was one of the earliest associations of its kind in the country. And in 1855 the custom began of holding an annual alumni meeting and dinner in a hotel, enlivened by an abundance of toasts. Class reunions, which presently introduced a spirit of carnival into Commencement solemnities, started early in Rochester history; a toast to the men in the pioneer class of 1851 at its fifth reunion declared, "To them our Alma Mater speaks in the language of Israel's poet 'My first-born--higher than the kings of earth.' " On Anderson's completion of four years as head of the college, the alumni conferred a bachelor's degree upon him, Professor Kendrick reading a gay Latin citation.

After it was certain that Anderson Hall would be constructed, the graduating class of 1858 inaugurated the tradition of planting a class tree on the Prince Street Campus. The ceremony was attended by literary exercises after which each Senior tossed a shovel of dirt over the roots of an elm sapling, all joined hands while a hymn was sung, and an orator delivered a farewell eulogy; many later graduating classes perpetuated the custom. Returning for their twenty-fifth reunion, the men of 1858 gathered "under our tree. How handsome it was in form and color, how symmetrical.... Of every son of Rochester may it be said," declared the class orator, "'He shall be like a tree planted.'" 31


As the tree planted in 1858 grew and flourished so did the graduates of 1858. Twenty-four men earned baccalaureates in this blue-ribbon class, five of them dying before attaining full maturity. Of the remaining nineteen, five were deemed worthy of recognition in the Dictionary of American Biography, that elite compilation of Americans of highest distinction; it is improbable that any other class in any other civilian institution of higher learning in the entire history of the country had alumni thus recognized in anything like the proportion of the Rochester men of 1858.

A poetically inclined member of the class penned in 1904 these lines:

'Twas a squadron proud on the sea of life
That was built and launched that day
When in '58 we manned our ships,
And sailed o'er the seas away.

And he limned in half a dozen more verses the unusual attainments of his classmates; most of them were hardy, too, for seven of ten survivors attended their fiftieth reunion, all over seventy years of age.

William Harkness, son of a Rochester clergyman, chose the theme of "Light" for his1858 graduation speech, which turned out to be prophetic of his lifework as an astronomer. Though trained for medicine, he accepted an appointment at the United States Naval Observatory, advancing in time to be its astronomical director. Harkness traveled all over the globe to observe and record celestial phenomena, winning international renown for his contributions to science, and being elected president of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, the highest accolade at the disposal of American men of science. He retired with the rank of Rear-Admiral and it was written of him that there was "hardly a piece of apparatus in the [Naval] Observatory which was not, the work of his mind or which did not embody essential features which he had suggested." In 1946, the university commemorated the achievements and distinction of Admiral Harkness by attaching his name to a hall on the River Campus in which naval training for undergraduates were centered.

Also Rochester-bred was Lt. General Elwell S. Otis, who studied for the legal profession, but upon the coming of the Civil War he raised a company of volunteers, which wrote an outstanding record. Choosing to remain in the army permanently, Otis filled several important commands, including successful campaigns against trouble-making Indians on the advancing frontier, and he crowned his army service as military governor of the Philippine Islands. On his return to Rochester from the Far East in 1900, the forceful and distinguished-looking commander received a popular welcome which for splendor and enthusiasm surpassed anything the Genesee city had witnessed to that time.

To the work of the Baptist denomination the class of 1858 gave Lemuel Moss and Henry L. Morehouse. At various times an editor of Baptist publications and a college professor, Moss assumed the presidency of the first University of Chicago and subsequently of Indiana State University; it is said that Anderson wished him to be his successor at Rochester. As an author, Moss interpreted the Christian faith along broad lines, albeit as a staunch adherent of fundamental Baptist doctrines; his Alma Mater honored him with doctorates in divinity and law.

As was true of about a third of the University alumni in the 1850's, Morehouse, an upstate New York farm boy, who was "converted" while an undergraduate, pursued professional studies at the Rochester Theological Seminary. Noted as an eloquent and persuasive preacher, he was a gifted editor as well and a writer of books and poetry. It was as a statesman of his church, however, that Morehouse gained widest acclaim, directing Baptist home missionary enterprise for nearly forty years, trying to heal the deep schism between northern and southern Baptists caused by Negro slavery, and promoting a retirement plan for clergy and missionaries. He is remembered, too, as a key figure in the refounding of the University of Chicago.

Settling in Illinois as a newspaperman immediately after graduation, William O. Stoddard hitched his fortunes to the political star of Abraham Lincoln, who, not long after entering the White House, rewarded him with the post of an assistant private secretary; to the President, his handsome aide was known familiarly as "Stod." After two years of duty as United States Marshal in Arkansas, Stoddard concentrated on editorial tasks and writing, composing four works on the Lincoln saga, and turning out scores of inspirational books for boys, which were huge successes in terms of circulation.

Almost equal in distinction to these five alumni of 1858 was Almon C. Bacone, who established a famous school, later a college for Indians in what became the State of Oklahoma; to the institution and the community in which it was located, the name Bacone was given. Francis B. Palmer presided over the New York State Normal School at Fredonia and less well-known "Fifty-Eighters" won renown as army officers during the Civil War. 32

The men of 1858 held no monopoly on the Rochester graduates of the critical decade who were assigned niches in the Dictionary of American Biography. From the class of 1852--the second to be sent into the world--were Stephen H. Carpenter, outstanding university professor and author, and Justin D. Fulton, fiery editor and preacher. Before taking the chair of logic, rhetoric, and English literature at the youthful University of Wisconsin in 1868, Carpenter held several educational and civil service offices in the Middle West; at the University of Wisconsin, he attained international recognition as a pathfinder in philological study of the English language. Very competent in the classroom, Carpenter attracted applause in England as well as in America by his books, English of the Fourteenth Century and Elements of English Analysis, which had wide reading in learned circles. When offered the presidency of the University of Kansas, Carpenter declined, choosing to remain at Wisconsin.

It was said of his classmate, Fulton, that his voice on a church platform "had force enough to turn all the mills for miles." A passionate friend of the emancipated Negro, this stern, unbending moralist also developed an irrational phobia of Roman Catholicism, and he assailed what he conceived to be a dangerous ecclesiastical challenge to the American heritage in uncompromising language. Galusha Anderson, 1854, headed the first University of Chicago, and like Moss before him, in that city he came into prominence as a courageous pulpit orator, and he later presided over Denison University. A Canadian by birth, Malcolm MacVicar, 1859, made himself a distinguished leader in New York state secondary education and in the management of teacher training schools; he added to his laurels as a college teacher and as an academic and church administrator.

A powerful voice in Manhattan journalism and in Democratic party circles in New York state and indeed the nation was Manton Marble, 1855. An Albany boy, called "the finest scholar and most promising" pupil in his school, he obtained a Rochester scholarship with the help of friends who were university trustees. Becoming editor and owner of the New York World in 1862, Marble supported the Lincoln Administration when he thought it was right, criticized it acidly when he felt otherwise. Impassioned diatribes against Tammany Hall and the notorious Tweed Ring heightened the national reputation of Marble and he remained active in public and literary affairs almost to the end of a long and productive life. 33

Other alumni who distinguished themselves as educators include John C. Overhiser, 1854, Latin and Greek scholar, William W. Fay, 1855, for thirty-six years a greatly beloved teacher of English and Moral Philosophy at the United States Naval Academy, Alonzo J. Howe, 1856, mathematician at the first University of Chicago, David H. Robinson, 1859, long-time Professor of Latin at the University of Kansas, and William C. Wilkinson, 1857, authority on English poetry and literary criticism at the second University of Chicago, who wrote a large number of books. Likewise widely respected as an author was Ezekiel W. Mundy, 1860, who switched from the pulpit to the city librarianship of Syracuse, an office he held for thirty-five years; Rochester rewarded him (1910) with an honorary doctorate of literature.

Among other graduates of the first decade worthy of special note were Edwin Oren Sage, 1853, son of Deacon Oren Sage, the first alumnus to be elected a trustee of the U. of R.; and a leading businessman and humanitarian of Rochester. Also Scottish-born Henry Strong, 1854, and William H. Harris, 1858, both of whom achieved distinction in business affairs in the Middle West. Outstanding, too, was William W. Gilbert, 1861, nephew of Mrs. Martin B. Anderson, a brilliant scholar who enlisted in the Union army upon the outbreak of the Civil War. After a gallant career during the war, Gilbert spent most of his life as an army officer and was even reinstated for active duty in the First World War.

One of Rochester's most respected barristers, Francis A. Macomber, 1859, sat for fourteen years on the New York state Supreme Court bench; Alma Mater conferred an honorary doctorate on him, and Joseph M. Bailey, 1854, who served as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Illinois, was similarly honored. His son, Charles O. Bailey, 1880, a leading lawyer of South Dakota, was elected to the presidency of the bar association in that state.

Then there was Simon Tuska, 1856, who, while still an undergraduate, prepared the first book ever written by a Rochester alumnus. Entitled The Stranger in the Synagogue, this small volume described the rites and ceremonies of Jewish worship for the enlightenment of Christians; it contained short foreword by the Rev. Henry W. Lee, rector of St. Luke's Episcopal Church, and was dedicated to the Rochester expert in Hebrew, Professor Conant. Tuska's, father, a recent immigrant from Hungary, acted as spiritual leader of the newly founded congregation of B'rith Kodesh in Rochester, and the son was in the first set of three youths who won a competitive city scholarship to the University. To train for the rabbinate, Simon studied at a celebrated theological institution in Breslau, Germany (Polish Wroclaw after the Second World War), the first known American to go to Europe for that purpose; upon his return to the United States, Tuska served as a rabbi in Memphis, Tennessee.

Representative of many unsung heroes who went forth from the young University was Cyrus A. Chilcott, 1861. Though as poor as the proverbial church mouse--he is reported to have lived on as little as fifty cents a week--this farm lad from Upstate New York graduated with high standing as a scholar and a writer. Active as an undergraduate in the Judson Society of Inquiry, Chilcott determined to invest his life in a mission field; he said he was eager "to repeat the story of the Cross, in the ears of those who have never been gladdened by even so much as the name of Jesus." Upon completion of professional studies at the Rochester Theological Seminary, he sailed to Bangkok, Siam (Thailand). His evangelistic labors in that tropical, unhealthy community were cut short by an attack of fever, who soon carried him to "the other shore." 34

During its first ten years, the University granted about 237 baccalaureate degrees, over a third of them to men who found their lifework in the service of the Christian church in one capacity or another; far fewer were teachers, lawyers, and business men in that order. Viewed in the retrospect of a century, the alumni of the first decade of University history compiled an enviable record in which later generations could take legitimate pride. By 1860 a critical period in the life of the new-born college had been triumphantly outridden, but immediately ahead lay the storm and stress of the agonizing ordeal at arms between the North and the South.

Footnotes to Chapter 6

  1. R U&A. July 16, 17, 1858. Trustee Records, Executive Committee Minutes (hereafter cited as Executive Committee Minutes), July 16, 1858. Wallace Buttrick, "John F. Rathbone" (Albany, 1901), a memorial address. For
  2. William C. Wilkinson, 1857, in Interpres, XLII (1900), 56-57. Elisha E. L. Taylor to M. B. Anderson, Oct. 24, 1853. Anderson Papers, Box II. Smith Sheldon to W. N. Sage, July 1, 1852. Sage Papers.
  3. Lloyd, op. cit., pp. 304-305. J. F. Richardson to A. C. Kendrick, Oct. 20, 1852. Kendrick Papers. Cathcart, op. cit., I, 305. Report of Robert Kelly, July 9, 1855. Anderson Papers, Box X.
  4. Trustee Records, July 13, 14, 1852. "Petition in Respect to an Agricultural Department," July, 1852. Rhees Library Archives. R DD, August 2, 1852. Rosenberger, Rochester, pp. 142-143. RAR, XVIII (1939-1940), no. 2, 13.
  5. James Noble to Trustees, July, 1852[?].Sage Papers. William N. Sage to Delinquent Subscribers, Nov. 19, 1853. Ibid. M. B. Anderson to his wife, July 22, 23, 25, 1855. Anderson Papers, Box VI. Isaac F. Quinby to his wife, July 9, 1854. Quinby Papers, Rhees Library Archives.
  6. D. Carpenter to M. B. Anderson, March 25, April 6,1854. Anderson Papers, Box II. R DD, April 11, 1854.
  7. P. B. Spear to M. B. Anderson, Nov. 14, 1854. Anderson Papers, Box II. RHSP, X (1931), 205-206. Carl Lauterbach to George B. Sedgeley, December 7, 1927. Rhees Papers, Rhees Library Archives.
  8. M.B. Anderson to his wife, April 3, 1856, January 17, February 21, 23, 24, 28, March 2, 1857. Anderson Papers, Box VI. M. B. Anderson, "A Statement of Some Reasons for an Appropriation by the State of New York to the U. of R.," probably 1857. Ibid., Box X. M.B. Anderson to W. N. Sage, a series of letters and telegrams, February and March, 1857. Sage Papers. Documents of the Assembly of the State of New York, 80th Session (1857), III, no. 148. M.B. Anderson to Lorenzo Burrows, December 10, 1857. Anderson Papers, Box XII. William Kelly to W. N. Sage, February 15, 1859. Sage Papers. So seriously did the business recession of 1857 upset the finances of the Anderson household that the President wondered whether he could "get money enough to pay our grocer's bills for six months to come." M. B. Anderson to his wife, October 14, 1857. Anderson Papers, Box VI.
  9. RHSP, XVI (1937), 101-105. F W. Holland to W. N. Sage, Aug. 13, 1851. Sage Papers. William Dean to John F. Richardson, Jan. 26, 1852. Ibid. William N. Sage to Robert Kelly, Jan. 28, 1852, Ibid. R DD, March 18, Oct. 31, 1852.
  10. Robert Kelly to W. N. Sage, January 26, February 7, 1853. Sage Papers. C. Dewey to M. B. Anderson, July 30, 1860. Anderson Papers, Box III. Henry A. Ward to Anderson, May 1, 1861. Ibid., Box IV.
  11. R DD, Apr. 14, 1853. R DA, Apr. 14, 21, May 9, 1853. R U&A, April 15, 26, 28, May 2, 10, 12, 1853. Kendrick, op. cit., pp. 133-134.
  12. Azariah Boody to D.R. Barton, May 8, 1853. Rhees Library Archives. "Report of Meeting of Committees Appointed to Locate the U. of R.," May 10, 1853. Sage Papers. Trustee Records, I, July 13, 1853. R U&A, July 15, 1853."Conveyance of Land from Azariah Boody to the U. of R., " undated, Rhees Library Archives. Edward I. Cristy to Raymond L. Thompson, January 3, 1952. Ibid. See, Blake McKelvey, "East Avenue's Turbulent History," Rochester History, XXXIII (1966), 3-7.
  13. Azariah B. Sias, The Sias Family in America (Orlando, Fla., 1952), pp. 81-84. R DD, Oct. 20, 1852. R U&A, Nov. 19, 1885. New York Times, Nov. 19, 1885. "The Dandelion Yellow'' by Richard L. Greene, 1926.
  14. President's Report, 1880. Anderson Papers, Box XIII.
  15. M. B. Anderson to J. S. Withall, Sept. 20, 1854. Anderson Papers, Box XII. Smith Sheldon to Anderson, Sept. 21, 1853. Ibid., Box II
  16. Martin B. Anderson to his wife, Apr. 10, 1859. Anderson Papers, Box VI. M. B. Anderson to W. N. Sage, July 29, Aug. 4, 1859. Sage Papers. Trustee Records, I, July 12, 1859. Executive Committee Minutes, I, Sept. 14, Oct. 13, Nov. 29, 1859, Apr. 21, May 8, 1860. R U&A, Oct. 14, 1859. W. N. Sage to M. B. Anderson, Aug. 23, 1859. Aug. 11, 1860. Anderson Papers, Box III. Alexander R. Esty to Anderson, Aug. 24, 1859. Ibid.
  17. R U&A, November 25, 1861. In terms of prices at the mid-1960's, the cost of construction would be something like six or seven times higher than a century earlier. Campus, XLIX (December 14, 1923); Ibid., LIV (May 2, 1929). RAR VII (1929), no. 4, 101.
  18. Interpres, IV (1861), V (1862). Rosenberger, Rochester, p. 147.
  19. Executive Committee Minutes, I, March 21, 1867. W. N. Sage to William Kelly, March 30, 1867. Sage Papers. RAR, VI (1928), no. 5, 135. Rochester Times-Union (hereafter cited as RT-U), October 27, 1950., Life, XXXVI, April 26, 1954, 155.
  20. The statistics cited are not necessarily correct in an absolute sense. Records were not scrupulously kept and many youths who attended for a few terms only were not counted in the official reckoning. Upon the death of Freshman George I. Newell in 1852 at the home of Deacon Oren Sage, a college memorial service was conducted, and for his interment the trustees purchased a large lot in Mt. Hope Cemetery, which became the University burial ground.
  21. Interpres, XLII (1900), 58.
  22. An allusion to the spiritualistic seances for which Rochester at the time was notorious.
  23. R U&A, Feb. 13, 1858. J. N. Wilder to W. N. Sage, Jan. 9, 1857.Sage Papers. John N. Wilder, Rochester (New York, 1857).
  24. Harvey F. Morris, 1902, "A History of the Rochester Chapter of Alpha Delta Phi, " manuscript, 1936 (hereafter cited as "Alpha Delta Phi"), 1-15. Rhees Library Archives. Eugene G. Zacher, 1930, "A History of Delta Upsilon Fraternity at the U. of R.," May, 1968. Ibid. Campus, XV (1889), February 8, March 4, May 6, 1889. University Annual, VI (1876), 16-17. Interpres, LXXV (1934), 167, 171.
  25. Interpres, I (1858). Delphic Oracle, X (1860). Campus, V, June, 1879.
  26. John R. Howard, op. cit., pp. 57-64.
  27. Interpres, 1858-1860, passim. Rosenberger, Rochester, 134-135.
  28. Ira Harris to M. B. Anderson, Sept. 13, 1854.Anderson Papers.
  29. Otis H. Robinson, Account Book, Rhees Library Archives. J. H. James to A. C. Kendrick, March 3, 1851; O. R. L. Crozier to U. of R. Faculty, Oct. 31, 1851. Kendrick Papers.
  30. See, for example, R U&A, July 7, 14, 1858. R D&A, July 14,15, 1858. Morey, Papers, I, 121-129. Smith Sheldon to A. C. Kendrick, June 13, 1853. Kendrick Papers.
  31. R DU, July 8, 1856. Alumni Minute Book,1854-1913. Rhees Library Archives. Interpres, XLII (1900), 57.
  32. R D&C, October 18, 1953. Photograph Album: 1858, Rhees Library Archives. DAB, VIII (1931), 266 (Harkness). Ibid., XIV (1934), 94 (Otis). Interpres, XLIX (1907), 8-9, 62-98 (this issue was dedicated to Otis). DAB, XIII (1934), 281 (Moss). Ibid., XIII (1933), 159 (Morehouse). Ibid., XVIII (1936), 60 (Stoddard). RAR XXIII (1946), no. 8, 7 (Harkness). William O. Stoddard, ed., Lincoln's Third Secretary (New York, 1955). Lathan A. Crandall, Henry Lyman Morehouse (Philadelphia, 1919).
  33. DAB, III (1929), 513 (Carpenter). Ibid., VII (1931), 68 (Fulton). Ibid., I (1928), 264 (Anderson). Ibid., XII (1933), 171 (MacVicar), 267 (Marble). Smith Sheldon to W.N. Sage, December 22, 1852. Sage Papers. Merle Curti and V. Carstensen, The University of Wisconsin (2 volumes, Madison, Wisconsin, 1949), I, 343. Frederick L. Anderson, Galusha Anderson (n.p., 1933).
  34. D&C, January I2, 1904 (Sage). RAR, III (1925), no. 4, 118 (Gilbert), 131. Ibid., XVII (1939), no. 3, 8. Anon., Ezekiel Wilson Mundy (Syracuse, 1917). Cyrus J. Wood, 1883, "Three Notable Baileys, RAR, IV (1926), no. 3, 84. Abraham J. Karp, "Simon Tuska Becomes a Rabbi, Publication of the American Jewish Historical Society, L (1960), 79-97; U. of R. Alumni Proceedings: 1866, pp. 47-51.