O

CHAPTER XIV

COLLEGE LIFE

N the first Monday in September, 1868, I bade farewell to my friends in my boarding-house,

turned my back upon the secular world of business and pleasure, and entered upon my preparation for the work of a minister of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The opening scene of this preparation was Annandale-onHudson, the site of St. Stephen's College. This institution was of recent foundation; it owed its existence to one John Bard, upon whose estate it was situated. Like all great things, its beginnings were humble, as I discovered on the day of my arrival at this seat of learning.

My directions were to take the morning train from New York and leave the train at a station called Barrytown. It was a slow train, stopping at every station, so that, leaving New York at nine, we did not get to Barrytown until nearly one. When I alighted from the train at Barrytown I looked about for St. Stephen's College, but there was no college to be seen, only steep cliffs running up from the riverside and wooded hills above. Sorely perplexed, I asked the station-master the way to St. Stephen's College. The man looked at me in a puzzled way for a moment, and then he said, "Oh, I guess you mean 'Bard's Skule'; take the road up the hill till you come to Annandale, then take the left-hand road and you'll come to the skule, a redbrick buildin' on the hill and a stone church in the holler." This direction puzzled me, but before I could ask further questions the station-master went up the track to look after some express.

122

72

I, with my bag and travelling-case in my hand, began to climb the hill, saying to myself, "Bard's Skule.' 'Bard's Skule'; whatever did that man mean by talking about 'Bard's Skule'?" I learned afterward that "Bard's Skule" was to St. Stephen's College as the seed to the plant; it was in the "Skule" that the college had its origin; which was on this wise. I was at that moment walking through the estate of John Bard; the road was a public road, but the land was John Bard's land on either side. The man himself lived in a mansion in his manor at the top of the hill. As his name makes manifest, John Bard was by blood an Englishman, by accident an American. He was a typical squire and as a matter of birth was a member of the Established Church; it is true that there was no Established Church in America, but a daughter of that ancient mother carried on the life and traditions of the family in the new country. This Church was known in law as the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States of America, which would have been called the English Church in America, but the successful revolt of the American Colonies against the British Crown made that impossible. This Church centres its life in its bishops; it's from bishop to bishop that the power of God descends through Christ and Peter and all the Apostles to rule Holy Church. Without the bishop there can be no Church. Such was the English Church, with its cathedrals and bishops' palaces. The American bishops derived their orders from the English bishop, and so were the custodians and rulers of the only true Church in America. As the English squires and lords of the land were the natural patrons of the English Church, so were the American squires and landholders and rich merchants of English descent the natural members and patrons of the Episcopal Church. John Bard was of English descent, a large landholder and a man of wealth and per consequens a member of the Episcopal Church.

He was, moreover, a liberal patron of that Church. He had built upon his estate a beautiful Gothic church free to the neighbourhood, of which, at the time of its opening or soon after, he appointed the Reverend George F. Seymour to the rectorship. Mr. Seymour, afterward Doctor Seymour, Professor of History in the General Theological Seminary, and later Bishop of Quincy, Illinois, made use of his leisure time in teaching young men, whom he received into his home, Latin and Greek and mathematics, preparatory to their entering the theological seminary to study for the sacred ministry of the Protestant Episcopal Church, these young men coming from business life at an age which forbade their taking a full collegiate course. As these students increased in number, Mr. Seymour suggested to his patron, Mr. Bard, the foundation of a college to carry on this work of preparing business and professional men for entrance into the study of theology. Mr. Bard received this suggestion with enthusiasm, interested various of his friends, secured a charter from the State, and so brought into being St. Stephen's College.

But long before this college was so much as thought of, Mr. Bard, in true English fashion, had established a parish school for the children of his estate and the neighbouring village-of this the rector of the parish, and after its foundation the warden of the college, was the superintendent. Now this school was known throughout the country-side as "Bard's Skule," and when the college was built the whole plant was known as "Bard's Skule."

As I took the winding road up the hill to Bard's School, I forgot my journey's end in the intense enjoyment of the journey itself. The road wound up a hill and on either side of the road was a virgin forest of indigenous trees. Mr. Bard, as a true English gentleman, loved his trees, and there they stood as they had been standing for a hundred years and more, ancient elm and maple, spruce

and pine. The great economic sin of America has been the wanton destruction of the forest; of that sin Mr. Bard was guiltless; he cut away dead trees and branches for his fire-wood, but this was not to destroy; it was to preserve the forest.

As I made my way up the hill I had glimpses of the waters of the Hudson River dancing in the sunlight and of vague shadows in the Western sky-all motionless as mountains; and mountains they were. The whole scene was that of veiled beauty seducing the soul with desire for the lifting of the veil, that the hidden beauties might be uncovered to the gaze. When I came to the top of the hill, to the village of Annandale, I turned to the North, as directed, and walked along the ridge of the hills above the trees, and the hidden beauties were revealed and I fell in love with them. There lay open to my gaze the Hudson River from Kingston to Catskill, the wavelets of the river breaking into crests of golden light; the broad bosom of the river carried with ease steamer, yacht and rowboat, the traffic and pleasure of a continent of which this river was the servant. Beyond the river the Catskill range of mountains lay at ease against the sky, resting its feet upon the foothills, looking down with indifference upon the pygmy hamlets and towns which the pygmy man had built to shelter him from the wrath of the mountain. I have seen. the White and the Green Mountains; I have seen the Alps and the Apennines; all these I have admired, but the Catskill range is my first and only love. I have seen her coming out of the clouds of the morning, as a housewife ready for her tasks. I have seen her glowing under the noonday heat. I have seen her at eventide, lying in languorous ease waiting for the night, that she may conceive and bring forth the children of the wood.

But now I hear my impatient reader cry, why is this boy loitering along the road; why doesn't he get on to school?

Patience, dear reader, patience. Did you ever know a boy that did not loiter on his way to school? And I was only a boy; scared out of his wits as he looked up and saw "Bard's Skule" on the hill-side.

As I stood gazing at that prison-like structure, I was startled out of my dream of love and terror by the opening of a gate near at hand. I lifted up my eyes and saw a man coming out of the gate. He looked at me and I looked at him. I do not know what he saw, but before me was a short, stout figure, with sandy hair and shaggy eyebrows; underneath the brows were light blue eyes, between the eyes a short nose; under the nose a wide mouth, an iron jaw, a rounded chin. He was clothed in black, his collar was buttoned behind, and his waistcoat, which the vulgar call a vest, was buttoned close to his collar; if he wore a shirt, it was a useless waste; he didn't need it. As I looked at him I thought of Elisha Sackett and his prophecy. But he soon scared me out of all idle thinking; in a voice with a rich burr he said, "Who are you?" I said, "I am Crapsey." "Where are you going?" "I am going to St. Stephen's College." "Who sent you?" "Doctor McVickar." Puff! "I'd like to know what right McVickar has to send a man up here without letting me know." "He told me he would write of my coming.' "Well, he didn't the college is full. There's no room for you." At this I had a mixed feeling of joy and sorrow; joy at the thought that I needn't go to "Bard's Skule"-sorrow at the realization that I had nowhere else to go. As I turned away to seek my fortune once more in the wide, wide world the burring voice cried, "Stop!" I stopped. "Go up to the college; I will see what I can do." I obeyed; went up to the college; the little Scotchman found room for me, and he and I made friends together.

This irascible gentleman was none other than the Reverend Doctor Robert Brinkerhof Fairbairn, warden of