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The men march laughing, talking, nodding to friends in the cars, in the motors, in the carriages which fly past them; the bands play; the houses are faced with people come to see the show. The amphitheatre of Yale Field is packed with more than ten thousand. The seniors are there with their mothers and fathers, their pretty little sisters and their proud little brothers the flower of the country.

"The game is lost!" "Sure." "Yale has not scored since the second inning." "That's right. She made one in the first and three in the second, and then comes four beautiful whitewashes. Harvard hasn't missed a trick, and the score is eleven to four in her favor." "Lewis, this is awful!" "Right you are, Jones. Hear those Harvard rooters whoop up! It gives me nervous prostration."

This has helped to keep Hope alive within me during my most discouraged moments, and has ever since made the accomplishment of my purposes seem easy and sure. On the thirtieth day of June, 1897, I graduated at Yale. Had I then realized that I was a sick man, I could and would have taken a rest.

If you were at Yale, on what is known as "Tap Day," you would view in wonderment the solemnity and seriousness of the occasion. An election to a senior society is Yale's highest honor. As you sit on the old Yale fence you realize what it means to Yale men.

William and Mary College, and even the University of Virginia, as compared with Harvard and Yale, became provincial institutions; and instead of the Washington or Jefferson of an earlier day now began to be nourished such a leader as "Bob" Toombs, who for all of his fire and eloquence was a demagogue.

Ezra Stiles, afterwards President of Yale College, and suggested the possibility of educating Negro students, perhaps two at first, who would later go as missionaries to Africa.

Recalling the student brawl at the Harvard commons which cost the historian Prescott his sight, and the riot at the Harvard commencement which blocked the way of President Everett and the British minister; recalling the fatal wounding of Tutor Dwight, the maiming of Tutor Goodrich, and the killing of two town rioters by students at Yale; and recalling the monstrous indignities to the president and faculty at Hobart of which I was myself witness, as well as the state of things at various other colleges in my own college days, I can testify, as can so many others, to the vast improvement in the conduct and aims of American students during the latter half of the nineteenth century.

"Put a 'sir' on that!" commanded one of the other lads. "Yes sir!" Andy took his own time with the last word. He knew the rites and customs of Yale, at least by hearsay, and was willing to abide by the unwritten laws that make a first-year man demean himself to the upperclassmen. It would not last long. "That's better," commented the third lad. "Never forget your manners er what's your name?"

I said to Johnny Baird, Princeton quarterback: 'Princeton is great to-day. We have played ten minutes and you haven't scored. Johnny, with a look of determination upon his face, said, 'You fellows can play ten times ten minutes and you'll never score, but the Princeton football hangs in the Yale trophy room. "I have always claimed that Charlie de Saulles put the Yale '97 team on the map.

Now would come the first line-up, and it would be seen how Yale could buck the crimson. "Signal!" Andy could hear their quarterback yell, and then the rest was swallowed up in a hum of excitement in the songs and cheers with which the students sought to urge on the defenders of the blue. There was a vicious plunge into the line, but the gain was small.