... June 28, 1893. I was a sophomore, and sat half a dozen seats directly behind him. He came in as usual — it was the day he had been chosen class poet, by one or two votes (I think) over my cousin John Ware --and seemed to regard the occasion as wholly complimentary to himself. His handsome face was richly suffused with the purple glow of youth, and wreathed in smiles, as he rose,--my venerable grandfa...