In very truth the University may be looked upon as his monument. It emerged from swaddling clothes under President Caldwell; it passed through a vigorous youth into a splendid manhood under President Swain. But whilst the stranger stands upon the earth and beholds the monument of the great architect in the magnificent pile whose tall fane overtops the loftiest domes and spires of the greatest city in the world, he who would fully comprehend the great work of David Swain's life would have to stand upon the battlements of heaven and survey the moral world with an angel's ken. I know of no man of his day, surrounded by so many inducements to return to the paths leading to highest distinction in active public life, who so completely put them all away, and adhered so strictly to his accepted work. As we have seen, his career as a politician and a lawyer had been remarkably successful while he was yet at a very early age, and if he had desired further honors he had all the qualities which are supposed to fit men for the attainment of these objects. Had he been possessed of a passion to accumulate wealth, almost any other course in life would have fed this desire more than the presidency of the University. From all these fields of distinction and of wealth, the public sentiment of his time desired that the officers, and especially the chief officers, of the University should be isolated. This expectation Governor Swain filled, and more than filled. For the good of the institution, he not only laid aside whatever of ambition he may have had in the directions usually chosen by able men, but he subordinated many cherished convictions, and refrained from doing many things which he, no doubt, most ardently desired to do. In the nature of things, this course, so essential to the success of an institution entirely dependent on popular favor, begot many misconceptions of his character. It has been said that he was undecided in his opinions, and timid in the expression and maintenance of them. I believe such an impression does his memory great injustice. His nature was essentially gentle, his manners mild, his temper was cautious; but I cannot believe that he was either timid or undecided. I had the honor--and I consider it both an honor and a happy fortune--to be on terms of confidential intimacy with him from my first entrance into the University until his death. We were in the utmost accord on all questions pertaining to church and state, and during my subsequent career, especially in those troublous years of war, I consulted him more frequently perhaps than any other man in the State, except Governor Graham. So affectionately was his interest in my welfare always manifested that, many people supposed we were relatives, and I have frequently been asked if such were not the fact.