sounding, a classmate called to us across the yard: "General Lee has
surrendered!" There was a busy hum of voices where the three converging
lines of students met in front of Appleton Chapel, and when we entered
the building there was President Hill seated in the recess between the
two pulpits, and old Doctor Peabody at his desk, with his face beaming
like that of a saint in an old religious painting. His prayer was
exceptionally fervid and serious. He asked a blessing on the American
people; on all those who had suffered from the war; on the government of
the United States; and on our defeated enemies. When the short service
had ended, Doctor Hill came forward and said: "It is not fitting that any
college tasks or exercises should take place until another sun has arisen
after this glorious morning. Let us all celebrate this fortunate event."

On leaving the chapel we found that Flavius Josephus Cook, afterwards
Rev. Joseph Cook of the Monday Lectureship, had collected the members of
the Christian Brethren about him, and they were all singing a hymn of
thanksgiving in a very vigorous manner.

There were some, however, who recollected on their way to breakfast the
sad procession that had passed through the college-yard six months
before,--the military funeral of James Russell Lowell's nephews, killed
in General Sheridan's victory at Cedar Run. There were no recent
graduates of Harvard more universally beloved than Charles and James
Lowell; and none of whom better things were expected. To Lowell himself,
who had no other children, except a daughter, they were almost like his
own sons, and the ode he wrote on this occasion touches a depth of pathos
not to be met with elsewhere in his poetry. There was not at that time
another family in Cambridge or Boston which contained two such bright
intellects, two such fine characters. It did not seem right that they
should both have left their mother, who was bereaved already by a