Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1891-07-15
THE OLD COACH.
&" There goes his coach !"
HTba coaob n

A group Of half a dozen boys stood in
the shadow of one of the white pillared,
brick paved, cloister-like colonnades. or
"rows," watching an old-fashioned chaise,
as it came up the road from the town and
passed around to the rear Of one of the
professors W&. reSidenoeS-that Of Professor
When the vehicle had disappeared be-
hind the row the six young students
sauntered off in pairs to continue their
conference in the seclusion of one Of those
curious old serpentine brick walls which
are counted among the sights Of the
place.
For the scene we are describing was at
the University Of Virginia, at Charlottes-
vile, an institution with history.
A few miles down the Rivanna river,
under the shadow of the Little Mountain,
stood the colonial homestead where
Thomas Jefferson was born 147 years ago.
The future Trainer of the Declaration Of
Independence and third President Of the
United States was, from all accounts, an
exceedingly live and spirited youth. His
student days was spent at Williamsburg,
the colonial capital Of Virginia, down in
the peninsula or southeastern portion Of
the state, midway between the York and
James rivers. Here was the seat of the
renowned William and Mary College, the
most ancient institution in this country
u.
prominently in many a college escapade,
and in letters of his, which are still pre-
served, he habitually calls the venerable
town Devilsburgh."
When Jefferson became aman he realized
at least one of the dreams Of his youth by
acquiring the magnificent lands upon and
around Monticello italian for Little Noun
tain), and building upon the summit the
classic and stately mansion that was his
6J1r 10 nj ~ ic nd
illuStrious life.
In the same elegant and substantial
style of architecture as his own mansion
he drew the plans for what he intended
should be the noblest university buildings
on this continent. The construction of
these buildings, on the opposite edge of
Charlottesville from Monticello, Jefferson
personally superintendent and watched
eagerly from the portico of his homo on
the mountain, four or five miles away. He
was in every sense of the word the
Father of the University of Virginia -
a title beloved by him and embodied in the
simple epitaph prepared by him for his
tomb, which even omits mention of the fact
that he was the President Of the United
States of America.
Considering how much of Tom Jeffer-
sons own buoyant personality went into
the organization of the university, it is
not surprising that traditions of mirth
and jollity should have been handed down
from one generation Of students to an
other, even unto this day. 1t has been
alma mater of many of the South's most
brilliant men, including the poet Edgar
Allan Poe. Each one of these, without
q doubt, left the impress of his popularity
upon the unwritten chronicles Of the insti-
tution's merry making, and when on a
modern field day or festival you see rak-
ish looking student wearing blue ribbon
badge with some such mystic inscription
as Eli Banana" you may be sure he is up
to considerable amount of surreptitiouS
fun.
The half dozen hopeful youths introduced
at the opening of this sketch were not I'M
worthy inheritors of the traditions Of
Charlottesville. Two of them carried in
their pockets bits of iron that had once
been part of the hour-hand of the great
clock over the main portico below the
dome of the rotunda and which had been
purloined at dead of night at the immi-
nent risk Of somebody's neck.
Not one or the six was a stranger upon
Vinegar HILL a locality known to students,
and where the midnight oil is burned not
necessarily over books and study.
So they stood in the curve Of the brick
wall and discussed their plan of campaign
with all the directness and audacity of
veterans.
was saying, land the old trap will run
easily"
"As noiselessly as q ghost" put in
second.
This allusion to supernatural travellers
did not seem to be relished by others of
the party, one Of whom remarked as he
glanced at the sky:
"It won't be pitch dark, will it? We want
to be able to see our way, you know"
"Oh, don't you fret" spoke out ZaOh
Blakey, who was apparently the organizer
and leader Of the enterprise in hand. The
gravestones are white, anyhow, and it'll
have to be pretty black midnight when
we can't see them. Now remember the
signal: When the tree toad croaks three
times you fellows are to glide like spectres
from your StudiouS chambers, fit along
under the inky shadows of the passages
and join me under the old tulip tree back
Of the professors row. Then and there
will begin the nights work destined to be-
come historic as The Mystery of Old WIS
Coach. Let every man do his duty and
NUNS the word
Each boy placed his forefnger upon his
sealed lips in token Of inviolable secrecy,
and so they dispersed amid the deepening
shades of the sombre autumn twilight.
just before the stroke of midnight three
distressful sounds, which a powerful
Imagination might possibly have credited
to the vocal organs of very dissipated
tree toad, might have been heard-and
were heard by at least five pairs of anx-
iously listening ears-proceeding from the
gloomy shadows Of an antique tulip tree
that stood little distance back of one of
the brick rows bounding the lawn, or
campus, on each side. A moment or two
after five suspicious looking figures
emerged from as many diff rent quarters
and made stealthily for the spot where
Zach Blakey was impersonating the tree
toad, "for this occasion only" with such
Indifferent success.
No time was lost in conference. The
time for action had arrived.
The six students glided on tiptoe into
the shed where reposed in vanished dig
nifty the ancient " one-horse shay" that
was the pride of Professor WIS heart, the
wonder of Charlottesville. and the tradi-
tional stock subject for gibe and witt
cisms among the students at the univer-
sity.