A Visit to Hanover
Here are some of the nicest compliments that Dartmouthever received. A journalist comes to town and writes hisimpressions of us in Hanover with a very kindly pen. Hefinds everything picturesque, our stage coaches, our newlibrary, Wilson Hall one of the finest in America, our observatory, our medical school. And he is entertained by ournotable literary figure, A. S. Hardy, and doubtless spentmany afternoons at tea with professors and their families.He met President Bartlett and all our professors, amongthem Henry E. Parker, James L. Colby, and John K.Lord. He was present at the post office where the collegealways gathers at 2 o'clock to get the Boston mail.
ONE of the pleasantest weeks out of the whole year is passed, year after year, in this interesting little college town. I feel that I cannot return home this time without telling you something of this little New Hampshire town, and without giving expression to the pleasure and charm that the place has for me.
The stranger, as he approaches Hanover by rail, cannot fail to be delighted in the beauty of the scenery as the short train hitches along over the Passumpsic rails, and follows the winding course of the Connecticut River. If he approach Hanover from the north, from Wells River, he will wonder at first why each of the stations along the line have two names, such as Thetford and Lime; but on second thought he will remember that he is on the Vermont side, and that one name is for the Vermont station and the other for the New Hampshire town. So the train bumps over the rails and the engine wheezes away, as if it was glad enough to stop to gain breath at the station of Norwich and Hanover, which a sharp turn in the road now reveals. The train halts before a little dingy depot, and when you have alighted upon the platform you feel that this must be a portion of the Mojave Desert, although there is not even a cactus plant to break the monotony of the arid soil, rather than the picturesque little town of Hanover. But you are a great deal reassured as you see stage coaches, and one in particular which bears the name on the side of the "Wheelock," for you remember that this is your destination, the hotel at which you are to stop.
YOU RIDE IN A COACH
When you have climbed into the coach, the driver starts the horses and the stage ploughs through the sand. A ride of a short distance brings you again into full view of the river, and at this point a long bridge crosses it from one State to another. The driver at once reins his sturdy grays from a trot to a measured walk. The old bridge creaks under the weight of the coach. You see through the diamond-shaped windows, which have been cut at equal distances along the sides of the bridge to admit the light, the bright tints of the autumnal foliage mirrored in the river below. But the coach soon rolls from darkness into light, from the bridge into the muddy road again. You are no longer on the soil (if it is soil) of the Green Mountain State, but you are now in the Granite State. The horses tauten the traces as they drag the coach through more of the Mojave Desert; up a steep hill of about half a mile, over, through and in sand.
As you near the top of the hill you begin to see a little something of the college town. On your left stands the Smith estate, whose late owner was the predecessor of President Bartlett. Above this estate, and on the same side, stands the little Episcopal stone church. When you have gained the last rise in the road you are brought into full view of the college town. It is a typical New England college town, with its campus of five or six acres; and with its colonial houses of white paint and green blinds surrounding it, the houses of the senior professors and the earlier residents. One side of the square is taken up by the college buildings; another side, the side at the head of the street leading towards the station, is taken up by the Bissell Gymnasium and the Wheelock Hotel, which is a modern brick building and excellent in all of its appointments. The street running at right angles with this side extends down into the urban part of the town, and forms the corner on which the hotel is built. Opposite the Wheelock, and on the other side of the campus, stands the Congregational church, which is a typical New Hampshire church, with its steeple in front, doors on either side, white paint and green blinds. Near the corner diagonally opposite the church stands the new brick building, the Wilson Library, which has one of the largest collections of books of any college in New England. From the Wilson Library along the side of the street by the campus extends the college buildings, among which are Reid, Dartmouth, Thornton, Wentworth halls, and at the other end stands the new building, Rollins Chapel. Back of this line of college buildings a hill rises. At the top of this is erected an observatory, which contains a telescope of nine inches objective. Professor Young at one time worked here, but he afterwards went to Princeton, where he now is.
THE MEDICAL SCHOOL
On this hill, not far from the observatory, stands the Dartmouth medical college, which is one of the oldest medical colleges in the country, and deserves a brief mention. Among the professors who lecture here are— C. P. Frost, M.D., resident physician and dean of the faculty; P. S. Connor, M.D., LL.D., of Cincinnati (surgeon); Harry M. Field, M.D., of Newton, Mass. (therapeutics); Edward Cowles, M.D., of the McLean Asylum, Somerville (dementia); Paul F. Munde, M.D., of New York city (gynecology); Lyman B. How, M.D., of Manchester, N. H. (anatomy); William T. Smith, M.D., of Hanover, and son of the late president (physiology); William H. Parish, M.D. (obstetrics); Edwin J. Bartlett, son of the president (chemistry); Franklin A. Hooper, M.D., of Boston (throat affections) .
While going through this college a few years ago, and looking at the plaster casts of the cerebrum and cerebellum, etc., I was surprised to find an old plaster cast marked "0. W. Holmes." It seems that Dr. Holmes was at one time connected with this college. Mr. Hiram Hitchcock, who is one of the trustees of Dartmouth College, has recently given a large sum of money for the erection of a hospital. Such a building has long been needed, and when it has been built will be one of the finest in the State.
Besides the medical college, there are other departments connected with the academical course—college of agriculture and mechanical arts, Chandler School of Science and the Arts, and the Thayer School of Civil Engineering.
Among the faculty of Dartmouth College proper are the names of Samuel C. Bartlett, president; Henry E. Parker, Latin; Charles H. Hitchcock, geology and mineralogy; Louis Pollens, German and French; Gabriel Campbell, philosophy; Charles F. Emerson, natural philosophy and astronomy; John K. Lord, associate professor of Latin; Arthur Sherburne Hardy, mathematics; Rufus B. Richardson, Greek; Rev. Marvin Bisbee, professor of divinity; Edwin J. Bartlett, M.D., chemistry; James L. Colby, political economy, law, etc.
Although there are many things of interest about the college which I have had to omit because of limited space, I must not fail to mention, in passing, the college park, which is on and at the foot of the hill back of the college buildings. Many of their class-day exercises are held in this park, in places dear to the associations of the boys.
Hanover is Dartmouth College, and Dartmouth College is Hanover. It is a place of no mercantile importance whatever, but it is an exceedingly social town. When it is known that you are in the place, they take an early opportunity to call upon you, or to extend to you the hospitality of their homes. It is a pleasure to observe the apparent love that these people have for their country, for their river and its beautiful drives, for the Vermont hills, and the old Ascutney and Moose Mountain. They walk and ride a great deal. And then, too, the professors' wives are thoroughly alive to the situation, their hearts are in their husbands' work. What time is not taken up with domestic cares is occupied with their social, literary and scientific clubs.
THE BOYS ARE IDEAL
The boys for the most part, and I may say to an unusual degree, are well-behaved and industrious. Theyhave very little lime or money to spend on hats or canes;they have come here to work and most of them do work.The temptations of other colleges which occur from havinga city near by are removed, here. The busy time of the day,the time when there is the most life, is at two o'clock in theafternoon, when the Boston mail arrives. Then it is thatthe street is alive with two streams of men going to or fromthe post office. Perhaps there will be a group of boys returning from the post office with their mail in their handsand books under their arms while they whistle a tune fromsome light opera which does not cease until they see anapproaching professor. Erminie is at once stopped; theypull themselves together, lower or straighten their hats ontheir heads and then all eyes are directed towards the approaching "prof." (as he is called). As he passes everyboy touches his hat very respectfully while the professorsbow with much dignity, yet courtesy.
It is astonishing the excitement, the confusion, almost to the extent of a panic, that a quiet, peaceful Vermont farmer will arouse by simply driving into town with his old horse of two-score summers, hitched to a cart laden with nothing but little barrels. The explanation of the shouts, cheers and general pandemonium may be told in two words: sweet cider. The boys, when anything of this sort comes into town, rush from their rooms with pitchers, pails and jugs in their hands, and swarm about the cart as bees would around a hive, while the poor old farmer has about all he can attend to in watching his barrels, drawing off the cider and making change with the boys.
Within the last five or ten years homes of professors and other residents have been built on ground which twenty years ago was called the "outskirts." Noticeably among these homes is the pleasant one of Professor Hardy, who perhaps is better known in Boston circles as the author of "But Yet a Woman," and his last work, "Passe Rose," which appeared last winter in the Atlantic Monthly, in serial form. I have always remembered him very pleasantly in connection with a remark he once made to me. He had a very beautiful setter, "Dan," which I admired very much. He responded to my apparent interest with equal enthusiasm as he said that he preferred a dog to any other pet, because, unlike other animals, it chooses the companionship of man to one of its own species. On one occasion, while in his home, I stepped into his library or study. The shelves were well filled with books, particularly French works, such as those of Voltaire and Balzac, as well as containing extended works on the higher mathematics.
THE CAMPUS SOUTHWEST CORNER-WHEN THE FLAGPOLE STOOD THERE
TUCK DRIVE-AS SOME OF US REMEMBER IT
*An article in the Boston Transcript, 1889,
