CAMBRIDGE IN 1876 was essentially the same peaceful village it had been for more than two hundred years. The occasional shriek of a horsecar's wheels around a sharp corner, the slap of cement on bricks, the hiss of hydraulic dredges down by the marsh, warned that a noisier age was on its way, but as yet these sounds only accentuated the general sleepy calm, so soothing to academic nerves. In the center of the village stood the ivy-hung buildings of Harvard Yard, widely spaced with lawns and gravel walks, securely surrounded with iron railings, an oasis within an oasis. Through these railings could be glimpsed the intellectual elite of New England, men whose very nomenclature suggested the social exclusiveness, and inbred quality, of America's oldest cultural institution. was essentially the same peaceful village it had been for more than two hundred years. The occasional shriek of a horsecar's wheels around a sharp corner, the slap of cement on bricks, the hiss of hydraulic dredges down by the marsh, warned that a noisier age was on its way, but as yet these sounds only accentuated the general sleepy calm, so soothing to academic nerves. In the center of the village stood the ivy-hung buildings of Harvard Yard, widely spaced with lawns and gravel walks, securely surrounded with iron railings, an oasis within an oasis. Through these railings could be glimpsed the intellectual elite of New England, men whose very nomenclature suggested the social exclusiveness, and inbred quality, of America's oldest cultural institution.4 The eight hundred students of Harvard College echoed, in their dress, mannerisms, and behavior, the general parochial atmosphere. Although President Eliot's revolutionary new administrative policies had freed them from the hidebound conformity of former years, they still tended to wear the same soft round hats and peajackets, quote the same verses of Omar Khayyham, smoke the same meerschaum meerschaum pipes, walk with the Harvard "swing" (actually an indolent saunter), and speak with the Harvard "drawl," with its characteristic hint of suppressed yawns. Their pose of fashionable languor was dropped only on evenings "across the river," when they would drink huge quantities of iced shandygaff in Bowdoin Square, and make loud nuisances of themselves at variety shows in the Globe Theater. pipes, walk with the Harvard "swing" (actually an indolent saunter), and speak with the Harvard "drawl," with its characteristic hint of suppressed yawns. Their pose of fashionable languor was dropped only on evenings "across the river," when they would drink huge quantities of iced shandygaff in Bowdoin Square, and make loud nuisances of themselves at variety shows in the Globe Theater.5 They cultivated a laissez-faire attitude to the outside world and its problems, elegantly summarized by George Pellew, class poet of Theodore's senior year, in his "Ode to Indifference": They cultivated a laissez-faire attitude to the outside world and its problems, elegantly summarized by George Pellew, class poet of Theodore's senior year, in his "Ode to Indifference": We deem it narrow-minded to excel.We call the man fanatic who appliesHis life to one grand purpose till he dies.Enthusiasm sees one side, one fact,We try to see all sides, but do not act....We long to sit with newspapers unfurled,Indifferent spectators of the world.6 These lines do not appear to have offended the future apostle of the Life Strenuous, when he heard them recited at the Hasty Pudding Club. He had other things on his mind at the time. Even so, it is surprising that he did not react to them as furiously as he did to the jeer, and the whizzing potato, of the Hayes demonstration. No philosophy, certainly, could be more foreign to his ardent nature than that of Indifference; as President he would wax apoplectic over much milder material.

The truth is that "Roosevelt from New York" was much more comfortable with the languid fops of Harvard than his apologists would admit. He not only relished the company of rich young men, but moved at once into the ranks of the richest and most arrogantly fashionable. Within a week of his arrival in Cambridge, he forsook the bread-slinging camaraderie of meals at Commons and joined a dining-club composed almost exclusively of Boston Brahmins.7 Showing the self-protective instinct of a born snob, he carefully researched the "antecedents" of potential friends. "On this very account," he wrote Corinne, "I have avoided being very intimate with the New York fellows." Showing the self-protective instinct of a born snob, he carefully researched the "antecedents" of potential friends. "On this very account," he wrote Corinne, "I have avoided being very intimate with the New York fellows."8 Although his class numbered some 250-each of whom could, on graduation day, consider himself privileged above fifty thousand American youths-Theodore considered only a minute fraction to be the "gentleman-sort,"9 and took little notice of the rest. But his personality was too warm, and his manners too good, for him to ignore them completely. "Roosevelt was perfectly willing to talk to others," recalled a member of the lower orders, "when the occasion arose." and took little notice of the rest. But his personality was too warm, and his manners too good, for him to ignore them completely. "Roosevelt was perfectly willing to talk to others," recalled a member of the lower orders, "when the occasion arose."10 As a result of this attitude, his popularity at Harvard was confined to the minority who could call him "Teddy." Partly because he gave so little of himself to the majority, and partly because the variety of his interests kept him constantly on the move, vignettes of him during those early days at Cambridge are sketchy and dissimilar. Yet all are vivid. He trots around Holmes Field in a bright red football jersey, "the man with the morning in his face." Flushing with indignation, he leaps to his feet during roll call, and protests harshly the mispronunciation of his name; he drops from a horsecar in the Square, "thin-chested, spectacled, nervous and frail"; he hunches over a book in a roomful of noisy students, frowning with absorption, oblivious to horseplay around his chair, and to the fact that his boots are being charred by the fire; he stands in the door of Memorial Hall, talking vehemently, stammering, baring his teeth; he actually runs runs from one recitation to another, although it is not considered Harvard form to move at more than walking speed; again and again he leaps to his feet at lectures, challenging statements and demanding clarifications, until a professor shouts angrily, "See here, Roosevelt, let me talk. from one recitation to another, although it is not considered Harvard form to move at more than walking speed; again and again he leaps to his feet at lectures, challenging statements and demanding clarifications, until a professor shouts angrily, "See here, Roosevelt, let me talk. I'm I'm running this course." running this course."11 Perhaps the most revealing anecdote is that of Richard Welling, who was, at this time, the strongest student in the records of Harvard Gymnasium. His first impression of Theodore was "a youth in the kindergarten stage of physical development," drearily swinging between vertical poles. Later that winter, when the youth invited him to go skating in bitter weather, Welling changed his mind. Theodore escorted him to Fresh Pond, which was too big and too unprotected from the furious winds to be good skating ground, rough ice, dull skates, wretched skaters scuffling about, mostly arms waving like windmills in a gale-and when any sane man would have voted to go home, as the afternoon's sport was clearly a flop, Roosevelt was exclaiming, "Isn't this bully!"-and the harder it blew, and the more we skated, the more often I had to hear, "Isn't this bully!" There was no trace of shelter where we could rub our ears, restore our fingers to some resemblance of feeling, or prevent our toes from becoming perhaps seriously frostbitten. Never in college was my own grit so put to the test, and yet I would not be the first to suggest "home."Nearly three hours passed before Roosevelt finally said: "It's too dark to skate any more," (as though, if there had been a moon, we could have gone on to midnight)...I recall my numbed fingers grasping the key to my room and unable to make a turn in the lock. That afternoon of so-called sport made me realize Roosevelt's amazing vitality.12 Theodore Senior, admitting to an "almost sinful" interest in his son's progress, worried sometimes about the physical phenomenon he had helped create. "His energy seems so superabundant that I fear it may get the better of him in one way or another."13 Clearly, the young man was going to have to do something about his temper. Arguments at his eating club provoked him to furious volleys of food-throwing, and on one occasion he slammed a whole pumpkin down on the head of an adversary. He reacted to personal abuse with instant fisticuffs, even punching friends who tried to restrain him.14 At first the social butterflies of Harvard did not know what to make of this hornet in their midst. His name was too foreign, his manner too "bumptious" to win instant acceptance. However, it did not take the Minots and Saltonstalls and Chapins long to discover that he was the brother of Bamie Roosevelt, the charming Knickerbocker who had summered in Bar Harbor, Maine, the last few years, and that his bumptiousness was a side-effect of his uncontrolled enthusiasms. They found it hard to dislike someone so supremely unconscious of his own peculiarity. "Teddy" happened to be a fascinating, if spluttery, talker: he could analyze lightweight boxing techniques, discuss the aerodynamics of birds and the protective coloration of animals, quote at will from the Nibelungenlied Nibelungenlied and the speeches of Abraham Lincoln, and explain what it was like trying to remain submerged in the Dead Sea. He was "queer," he was "crazy," he was "a bundle of eccentricities," but he was wholly interesting. and the speeches of Abraham Lincoln, and explain what it was like trying to remain submerged in the Dead Sea. He was "queer," he was "crazy," he was "a bundle of eccentricities," but he was wholly interesting.15 It was the custom in those days for members of Harvard's more exclusive clubs to wander through the streets after election meetings, and serenade each new addition to their rolls. At least a dozen times, during the years 187680, the name that floated up through the night air was that of Theodore Roosevelt, Jr.16

FEARING THE DAMPNESS OF ground-floor dormitories, to which freshmen were traditionally assigned, Theodore took a room on the second floor of Mrs. Richardson's boardinghouse at 16 Winthrop Street, about halfway between the Yard and the Charles River. Furnished and decorated by Bamie, it was already "just as cosy and comfortable as it could look" when he moved in on 27 September 1876. Four big windows, facing north and east, supplied all the light an amateur taxidermist could wish for. The walls were tastefully papered, the carpet deep and warm. Cushions and a heavy fur rug awaited him on the chaise longue. There were his birds under domes of glass, and his bowie knives crossed over the mantel. A massively carved table stood in the center of the room, under the gas jet, along with the hard, bare chair which New Englanders considered appropriate for study. Theodore gazed about him in delight. "When I get my pictures and books," he assured Bamie, "I do not think there will be a room in College more handsome." ground-floor dormitories, to which freshmen were traditionally assigned, Theodore took a room on the second floor of Mrs. Richardson's boardinghouse at 16 Winthrop Street, about halfway between the Yard and the Charles River. Furnished and decorated by Bamie, it was already "just as cosy and comfortable as it could look" when he moved in on 27 September 1876. Four big windows, facing north and east, supplied all the light an amateur taxidermist could wish for. The walls were tastefully papered, the carpet deep and warm. Cushions and a heavy fur rug awaited him on the chaise longue. There were his birds under domes of glass, and his bowie knives crossed over the mantel. A massively carved table stood in the center of the room, under the gas jet, along with the hard, bare chair which New Englanders considered appropriate for study. Theodore gazed about him in delight. "When I get my pictures and books," he assured Bamie, "I do not think there will be a room in College more handsome."17 As he settled in, and felt for the first time the joy of adulthood, he overflowed with gratitude to the parents who had brought him thus far. "It seems perfectly wonderful," he wrote Mittie, "looking back over my eighteen years of existence, to see how I have literally never spent an unhappy day, unless by my own fault. When I think of this and also of my intimacy with you all (for I hardly know a boy who is on as intimate and affectionate terms with his family as I am) I feel I have an immense amount to be thankful for."18 Another letter dating from the early months of his freshman year is full of documentary detail: Another letter dating from the early months of his freshman year is full of documentary detail: Perhaps you would like me to describe completely one day of college life; so I shall take last Monday. At half past seven my scout, having made the fire and blacked the boots, calls me, and I get round to breakfast at eight. Only a few of the boys are at breakfast, most having spent the night in Boston. Our quarters now are nice and sunny, and the room is prettily papered and ornamented. For breakfast we have tea or coffee, hot biscuits, toast, chops or beef steak, and buckwheat cakes. After breakfast I study till ten, when the mail arrives and is eagerly inspected. From eleven to twelve there is a Latin recitation with a meek-eyed Professor, who calls me Rusee-felt (hardly any one can get my name correctly, except as Rosy). Then I go over to the gymnasium, where I have a set-to with the gloves with "General" Lister, the boxing master-for I am training to box among the lightweights in the approaching match for the championship of Harvard. Then comes lunch, at which all the boys are assembled in an obstreperously joyful condition; a state of mind which brings on a free fight, to the detriment of Harry Jackson, who, with a dutch cheese and some coffee cups is put under the table; which proceeding calls forth dire threats of expulsion from Mrs. Morgan. Afterwards studying and recitation took up the time till halfpast four; as I was then going home, suddenly I heard "Hi, Ted! Catch!" and a baseball whizzed by me. Our two "babies," Bob Bacon and Arthur Hooper, were playing ball behind one of the buildings. So I stayed and watched them, until the ball went through a window and a proctor started out to inquire-when we abruptly separated. That evening I took dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Tudor, and had a very pleasant home-like time...When I returned I studied for an hour, and then, it being halfpast ten, put on my slippers, which are as comfortable as they are pretty, drew the rocking chair up to the fire, and spent the next half hour toasting my feet and reading Lamb.19 From time to time, as Theodore sat writing, he could glance over his shoulder and see the firelight reflected in the eyes of salamanders. He had established an impromptu vivarium in the corner of the room, where animals awaiting execution had an opportunity to review their past lives. At first this collection was small enough to reassure his landlady, but its population gradually expanded to include snakes, lobsters, and a giant tortoise. The latter managed to escape from its pen while Theodore was out, and wandered through the house in search of freedom: Mrs. Richardson, stumbling upon it, was frightened into hysterics. Rooseveltian eloquence presumably saved the day, for Theodore continued to reside at 16 Winthrop Street throughout his college career.20 In addition to boxing, wrestling, body-building, and his daily hours of recitation, the young freshman attended weekly dancing-classes, hunted in the woods around Cambridge, taught in Sunday school, stuffed and dissected his specimens, organized a whist club, took part in poetry-reading sessions, followed the Harvard football team to Yale ("The fellows...seem to be a much more scrubby set than ours"), and, in time-honored undergraduate fashion, caroused with his friends, making the night hideous with his harsh, unmusical singing.21 He developed a sudden, and ardent, interest in the girls of Boston, and, thanks to his excellent local connections, was soon seeing many of them. Hardly a week went by, in those early months of 1877, without its round of matinees, theater parties, and balls. Theodore reported them all enthusiastically to his family, along with assurances that he was not neglecting his studies, and at least one guilty protestation that he remained faithful to Edith Carow. He developed a sudden, and ardent, interest in the girls of Boston, and, thanks to his excellent local connections, was soon seeing many of them. Hardly a week went by, in those early months of 1877, without its round of matinees, theater parties, and balls. Theodore reported them all enthusiastically to his family, along with assurances that he was not neglecting his studies, and at least one guilty protestation that he remained faithful to Edith Carow.22 Although he had not lacked for female company hitherto in his life, it had been confined mostly to the Roosevelt family circle. Even his intimacy with Edith had the quality of a brother-sister relationship. Sickly and reclusive as a child, preoccupied with travel and self-improvement in his teens, he had had little opportunity to knock on strange doors. Now, doors were opening of their own accord, disclosing scores of fresh faces and alluring young figures. Understandably Theodore was dazzled. Almost every girl he met is described in his letters as "sweet," "bright," or "pretty."

What the girls thought of him, with his crooked spectacles, grinning teeth, and alarmingly frank conversation, was another matter. The evidence is that they tolerated him (to one debutante, he was "studious, ambitious, eccentric-not the sort to appeal at first") until they found they had grown fond of him.23 It might be mentioned here that neither during his student years, nor indeed at any time in his life, did Theodore show the slightest tolerance for women (or for that matter men) who were anything but "rigidly virtuous." His judgments of people lower down the moral or social scale could be particularly prudish. "Have just received a letter telling me that [cousin] Cornelius has distinguished himself by marrying a French actress!" he wrote in his diary one day. "He is a disgrace to the family-the vulgar brute."24 Sex, to him, was part of the mystical union of marriage, and, however pleasurable as an act of love, its function was to procreate. Outside marriage, as far as he was concerned, it simply did not exist. Sex, to him, was part of the mystical union of marriage, and, however pleasurable as an act of love, its function was to procreate. Outside marriage, as far as he was concerned, it simply did not exist.25 Of the inclinations that naturally beset a young man when he returns, hot from the intimacies of a sleigh-ride, to his private room, it is perhaps unnecessary to speak. There are erasures and pages torn out of Theodore's diaries, yet also the ecstatic declaration, when he finally fell in love, "Thank Heaven, I am...perfectly pure."26 At the same time that he became a ladies' man, he developed into something of a fashion plate, or, as he preferred to describe himself, "very swell." Invited away for the weekend, he was suddenly ashamed of his hat, and sent home for a beaver. Selecting a new wardrobe, he agonized for days over his afternoon coat, "being undecided whether to have it a frock or a cutaway." He complained that his washerwoman did not act squarely "on the subject of white cravats."27 He sported one necktie so brilliant it cast a glow upon his cheeks, and combed his whiskers until they swayed in the breeze. Sniggers could be heard in the Yard, as he marched dazzlingly by. But Theodore, in the manner of all dandies, pretended not to notice he was being noticed. He sported one necktie so brilliant it cast a glow upon his cheeks, and combed his whiskers until they swayed in the breeze. Sniggers could be heard in the Yard, as he marched dazzlingly by. But Theodore, in the manner of all dandies, pretended not to notice he was being noticed.28

WHEN HE ASSURED his parents that he was not neglecting his studies, he was telling the truth. Indeed, he got through prodigious quantities of work. Iron self-discipline had become a habit with him, and he plotted every day with the methodism of a Wesleyan minister. The amount of time he spent at his desk was comparatively small-rarely more than a quarter of the day-but his concentration was so intense, and his reading so rapid, that he could afford more time off than most. Even these "free" periods were packed with mental, physical, or social activity. "He was forever at it," said one classmate. Another marveled: "Never have I seen or read of a man with such an amazing array of interests." his parents that he was not neglecting his studies, he was telling the truth. Indeed, he got through prodigious quantities of work. Iron self-discipline had become a habit with him, and he plotted every day with the methodism of a Wesleyan minister. The amount of time he spent at his desk was comparatively small-rarely more than a quarter of the day-but his concentration was so intense, and his reading so rapid, that he could afford more time off than most. Even these "free" periods were packed with mental, physical, or social activity. "He was forever at it," said one classmate. Another marveled: "Never have I seen or read of a man with such an amazing array of interests."29 Tumbling into bed at midnight or in the small hours, Theodore could luxuriate in healthy tiredness, satisfied that he had wasted not one minute of his waking hours. Tumbling into bed at midnight or in the small hours, Theodore could luxuriate in healthy tiredness, satisfied that he had wasted not one minute of his waking hours.

His regimen was flexible, but balanced. Any overindulgence in sport or flirtation would be immediately compensated for by extra study. When an attack of measles laid him low in February 1877, he made up for lost time by canceling his Easter vacation in New York, secluding himself on a friend's farm, and finishing in five days "the first book of Horace, the sixth book of Homer, and the Apology Apology of Socrates." of Socrates."30 It must not be assumed that Theodore struck any of the Harvard faculty as intellectually remarkable during this stage of his academic career. On the contrary, he was regarded as "an average B man...not in any way distinguished."31 He paled in comparison with the scintillating, sixteen-year-old Bob Bacon, and at least half a dozen of his classmates surpassed him in composing themes. "Roosevelt's writing was to the point," said one instructor, "but did not have their air of cultivation." He paled in comparison with the scintillating, sixteen-year-old Bob Bacon, and at least half a dozen of his classmates surpassed him in composing themes. "Roosevelt's writing was to the point," said one instructor, "but did not have their air of cultivation."32 Like many voluble men, he was a slow writer, painfully hammering out sentences which achieved force and clarity at the expense of polite style. Like many voluble men, he was a slow writer, painfully hammering out sentences which achieved force and clarity at the expense of polite style.

Neither this nor the pessimism of professors prevented him from scoring an average of 75 at the end of his freshman year, with honor grades in five out of seven subjects.33 If it could not be counted a "distinguished" performance, for a boy who had largely educated himself, then it would do for the time being. If it could not be counted a "distinguished" performance, for a boy who had largely educated himself, then it would do for the time being.

BEFORE LEAVING H HARVARD for the summer of 1877, Theodore played host to several guests from New York, including Edith Carow. The latter, perhaps aware that she had local rivals, flirted with him and his classmates so successfully that he exclaimed afterward, "I don't think I ever saw Edith looking prettier; everyone...admired her little Ladyship intensely, and she behaved as sweetly as she looked." He begged Corinne to pass on the word that "I enjoyed for the summer of 1877, Theodore played host to several guests from New York, including Edith Carow. The latter, perhaps aware that she had local rivals, flirted with him and his classmates so successfully that he exclaimed afterward, "I don't think I ever saw Edith looking prettier; everyone...admired her little Ladyship intensely, and she behaved as sweetly as she looked." He begged Corinne to pass on the word that "I enjoyed her her visit visit very very much indeed." much indeed."34 But within a day or two he was praising other girls again. When college broke up on 21 June, he hurried, not to the parlors of New York City, but to the lonely forests of the Adirondacks, "so as to get the birds in as good plumage as possible."35 Possibly Edith, hearing this, heaved a quiet sigh. She could compete with the belles of Boston, but what were her charms compared with those of the orange-throated warbler, red-bellied nuthatch, and hairy woodpecker? Possibly Edith, hearing this, heaved a quiet sigh. She could compete with the belles of Boston, but what were her charms compared with those of the orange-throated warbler, red-bellied nuthatch, and hairy woodpecker?

IN MID-JULY, THEODORE joined his family at Tranquillity, and soon afterward published his first printed work, joined his family at Tranquillity, and soon afterward published his first printed work, The Summer Birds of the Adirondacks The Summer Birds of the Adirondacks. This scientific catalog was the fruit of three expeditions dating back to August 1874, on the last of which he had been briefly joined by Harry Minot, his best friend from Harvard. Minot contributed a few observations and was listed as co-author, but the title-page typography left no doubt as to who took full credit. Ninety-seven species-some unknown even to longtime residents of the area-were described in precise thumbnail sketches, remarkable for their emphasis on song as well as plumage. Theodore's acute ear had been ravished, in the Adirondacks, by a wealth of melody such as he had never heard before. His notebooks, upon which Birds Birds was based, are so full of auditory observations that visual ones are sometimes forgotten. Spectacles or no spectacles, sound always meant more to him than color. One rhapsodic passage shows how sensuously he reacted to it: was based, are so full of auditory observations that visual ones are sometimes forgotten. Spectacles or no spectacles, sound always meant more to him than color. One rhapsodic passage shows how sensuously he reacted to it: Perhaps the sweetest bird music I have ever listened to was uttered by a hermit thrush. It was while hunting deer on a small lake, in the heart of the wilderness; the night was dark, for the moon had not yet risen, but there were clouds, and as we moved over the surface of the water with the perfect silence so strange and almost oppressive to the novice in this sport, I could distinguish dimly the outlines of the gloomy and impenetrable pine forests by which we were surrounded. We had been out for two or three hours but had seen nothing; once we heard a tree fall with a dull, heavy crash, and two or three times the harsh hooting of an owl had been answered by the unholy laughter of a loon from the bosom of the lake, but otherwise nothing had occurred to break the death-like stillness of the night; not even a breath of air stirred among the tops of the tall pine trees. Wearied by our unsuccess we at last turned homeward when suddenly the quiet was broken by the song of a hermit thrush; louder and clearer it sang from the depths of the grim and rugged woods, until the sweet, sad music seemed to fill the very air and to conquer for the moment the gloom of the night; then it died away and ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Perhaps the song would have seemed less sweet in the daytime, but uttered as it was, with such surroundings, sounding so strange and so beautiful amid these grand but desolate wilds, I shall never forget it.

This Keatsian passage, composed when Theodore was only eighteen, foreshadows the best of his mature writing in its simplicity and atmospheric effects. Yet he kept it and other such effusions strictly private: in his published works he seemed determined to be scholarly. Summer Birds Summer Birds was followed in due course by a similar study, was followed in due course by a similar study, Notes on Some of the Birds of Oyster Bay Notes on Some of the Birds of Oyster Bay. Thirty-five years later, when the ex-President was writing his memoirs, he would look back fondly on these "obscure ornithological publications," which formally launched him on his career as a professional natural historian.36 That career was the subject of a solemn discussion between father and son during the late summer of 1877. Theodore's courses in his freshman year had all been prescribed; now, as his sophomore year loomed, he could choose some of his own-and begin to follow his future course in life. Summer Birds Summer Birds, which was favorably reviewed, must have convinced Theodore Senior that his son was already one of the most knowledgeable young naturalists in the United States.37 The boy's collection of birds and skins, now numbering well into the hundreds, was probably unequaled in variety and quality by any American of his age. He was regarded as "a very promising taxidermist, appeared in a national directory of biologists, and very likely had no peer, as a teenage ornithologist, in his knowledge of bird coloration, courtship, flight, and song. The boy's collection of birds and skins, now numbering well into the hundreds, was probably unequaled in variety and quality by any American of his age. He was regarded as "a very promising taxidermist, appeared in a national directory of biologists, and very likely had no peer, as a teenage ornithologist, in his knowledge of bird coloration, courtship, flight, and song.38 His future as a scientist would therefore seem to be assured. Yet Theodore Senior gave him surprisingly little encouragement. His future as a scientist would therefore seem to be assured. Yet Theodore Senior gave him surprisingly little encouragement.

My father...told me that if I wished to be a scientific man I could do so. He explained that I must be sure that I really intensely desired to do scientific work, because if I went into it I must make it a serious career; that he had made enough money to enable me to take up such a career and do non-remunerative work of value if I intended to do the very best work that was in me; if I intended to do the very best work that was in me; but that I must not dream of taking it up as a dilettante. He also gave me a piece of advice that I have always remembered, namely, that, if I was not going to earn money, I must even things up by not spending it. As he expressed it, I had to keep the fraction constant, and if I was not able to increase the numerator, then I must reduce the denominator. In other words, if I went into a scientific career, I must definitely abandon all thought of the enjoyment that could accompany a money-making career, and must find my pleasures elsewhere. but that I must not dream of taking it up as a dilettante. He also gave me a piece of advice that I have always remembered, namely, that, if I was not going to earn money, I must even things up by not spending it. As he expressed it, I had to keep the fraction constant, and if I was not able to increase the numerator, then I must reduce the denominator. In other words, if I went into a scientific career, I must definitely abandon all thought of the enjoyment that could accompany a money-making career, and must find my pleasures elsewhere.After this conversation I fully intended to make science my life-work.39 Returning to Harvard as a sophomore in the fall of 1877, Theodore elected two courses in natural history: elementary botany, and comparative anatomy and physiology of vertebrates. (His instructor in this course, which he found "extremely interesting," was William James.) He also chose two courses of German and one of French, and was prescribed courses in rhetoric, constitutional history, and themes. In this demanding schedule he was to surpass the record of his freshman year with an excellent average of 89. He scored 96 and 92 in German, 94 in rhetoric, 89 in botany, and 79 in anatomy. His average would have been even higher, but for a hairs-breadth 51 in "that villainous French." Even so, with six honor grades out of eight, he once again confounded his academic critics, and there was no more talk of scholastic mediocrity. "He distinctly belonged," said Thomas Perry, instructor in themes, "to the best twenty-five in a very brilliant class."40 With respect to the other two hundred and twenty, Theodore gradually relaxed his rather snobbish standards. "My respect for the quality of my classmates has much increased lately," he wrote Corinne, "as they no longer seem to think it necessary to confine their conversation exclusively to athletic subjects. I was especially struck by this the other night, when after a couple of hours spent in boxing and wrestling with Arthur Hooper and Ralph Ellis, it was proposed to finish the evening by reading aloud from Tennyson, and we became so interested in In Memoriam In Memoriam that it was past one o'clock when we separated." that it was past one o'clock when we separated."41 His best friend continued to be Harry Minot, but as time went on he showed an increasing fondness for Richard Saltonstall, a large, shy boy from the highest ranks of Boston society. With Bob Bacon, too, he maintained an easy friendship, and was invited with him to join the prestigious Institute of 1770. His best friend continued to be Harry Minot, but as time went on he showed an increasing fondness for Richard Saltonstall, a large, shy boy from the highest ranks of Boston society. With Bob Bacon, too, he maintained an easy friendship, and was invited with him to join the prestigious Institute of 1770.42 About the time he turned nineteen in October 1877, Theodore was informed that his father had been appointed Collector of Customs to the Port of New York by President Hayes. He dutifully expressed "the greatest interest" in subsequent movements toward confirmation by the Senate, but the interest was personal rather than political.43 Since his appearance at the Hayes demonstration a year before, he had shown no further concern for politics; his letters of the period, so full of bubbling curiosity about other aspects of life, are bare of any reference to national affairs. Now, however, events conspired to force politics brutally upon his attention. Since his appearance at the Hayes demonstration a year before, he had shown no further concern for politics; his letters of the period, so full of bubbling curiosity about other aspects of life, are bare of any reference to national affairs. Now, however, events conspired to force politics brutally upon his attention.

Theodore Senior, who had himself just turned forty-six, was as politically naive as his son. He assumed at first that the Collectorship was a reward for distinguished services to New York City, but disillusionment came rapidly. President Hayes, it turned out, had chosen him merely as a symbol of the Administration's commitment to Civil Service Reform. By elevating this decent and incorruptible man up to public office, Hayes hoped to embarrass Senator Roscoe Conkling, boss of the corrupt New York State Republican machine, who was demanding the reappointment of Chester A. Arthur as Collector. The fact that Arthur was himself decent and incorruptible only increased the savagery of the resultant battle for Senate confirmation. Roosevelt lay helpless as a pawn between the clashing forces of Old Guard "Spoils-men" and Reform Republicans.

Since Boss Conkling happened to sit on the Senate committee that must consider the appointment, it was subjected to endless delaying tactics. Yet Hayes would not withdraw his nomination, and Roosevelt, as a patriotic citizen, had no choice but to remain at the President's disposal.44 He loathed Conkling with all his soul, and felt contaminated by any contact with the machine. Theodore Senior belonged to a class and a generation that considered politics to be a dirty business, best left, like street cleaning, to malodorous professionals. Humiliated by the scrutiny of his inferiors, exhausted by week after week of worry, he began to deteriorate physically under the strain. He was racked by mysterious intestinal cramps, which worsened as the struggle dragged on into December. By then the "Collectorship row" was making nationwide headlines, and while the nomination seemed doomed, suspense continued to torture the nominee. He loathed Conkling with all his soul, and felt contaminated by any contact with the machine. Theodore Senior belonged to a class and a generation that considered politics to be a dirty business, best left, like street cleaning, to malodorous professionals. Humiliated by the scrutiny of his inferiors, exhausted by week after week of worry, he began to deteriorate physically under the strain. He was racked by mysterious intestinal cramps, which worsened as the struggle dragged on into December. By then the "Collectorship row" was making nationwide headlines, and while the nomination seemed doomed, suspense continued to torture the nominee.

His son, following daily developments in Cambridge, grew increasingly worried. "Am very uneasy about Father," he wrote on 16 December, after the nomination had been finally rejected in the Senate by a vote of 25 to 31. "Does the Doctor think it is anything serious?"45 Two days later Theodore Senior collapsed with what was diagnosed as acute peritonitis. For a while he lay desperately ill, but as Christmas approached he began to recover. The Roosevelts celebrated with exhausted relief, vowing to have no more to do with politics. Two days later Theodore Senior collapsed with what was diagnosed as acute peritonitis. For a while he lay desperately ill, but as Christmas approached he began to recover. The Roosevelts celebrated with exhausted relief, vowing to have no more to do with politics.46

BACK AT H HARVARD early in the New Year, Theodore recorded in a private diary his father's parting assurance "that after all I was the dearest of his children to him." early in the New Year, Theodore recorded in a private diary his father's parting assurance "that after all I was the dearest of his children to him."47 As always, the deep voice and all-seeing eyes inspired a determination to be worthy of "the best and most loving of men." He was cramming hard for his semiannual examinations when, late on the afternoon of Saturday, 9 February, an urgent summons arrived from New York. As always, the deep voice and all-seeing eyes inspired a determination to be worthy of "the best and most loving of men." He was cramming hard for his semiannual examinations when, late on the afternoon of Saturday, 9 February, an urgent summons arrived from New York.48 Theodore ran to catch the overnight train, knowing that his father must have suffered a relapse, yet unaware that screams of agony were echoing through the Roosevelt town house. Theodore Senior's "peritonitis" was in reality a malignant fibrous tumor of the bowel, and since its brief period of remission over Christmas it had grown so rapidly that it was now strangling his intestines. The pain that he suffered had, in a matter of weeks, turned his dark hair gray; even now, as his elder son rushed to his bedside, it was all the other children could do to hold him down. "He was so mad with pain," Elliott recorded, "that beyond groans and horrible writhes and twists he could do nothing. Oh my God my Father what agonies you suffered." Theodore ran to catch the overnight train, knowing that his father must have suffered a relapse, yet unaware that screams of agony were echoing through the Roosevelt town house. Theodore Senior's "peritonitis" was in reality a malignant fibrous tumor of the bowel, and since its brief period of remission over Christmas it had grown so rapidly that it was now strangling his intestines. The pain that he suffered had, in a matter of weeks, turned his dark hair gray; even now, as his elder son rushed to his bedside, it was all the other children could do to hold him down. "He was so mad with pain," Elliott recorded, "that beyond groans and horrible writhes and twists he could do nothing. Oh my God my Father what agonies you suffered."49 Theodore arrived on Sunday morning to find the flags of New York City flying at half-mast. "Greatheart" had died shortly before midnight.50 Alone in his room later that day, the new head of the Roosevelt family drew a thick slash down the margin of his diary for 9 February 1878 and wrote: "My dear Father. Born Sept. 23, 1831." Here his pen wavered and stopped.

WHEN T THEODORE RESUMED writing on 12 February, the words flowed tumultuously, as if to wash away his grief. writing on 12 February, the words flowed tumultuously, as if to wash away his grief.

He has just been buried. I shall never forget these terrible three days; the hideous suspense of the ride on; the dull, inert sorrow, during which I felt as if I had been stunned, or as if part of my life had been taken away, and the two moments of sharp, bitter agony, when I kissed the dear dead face and realized that he would never again on this earth speak to me or greet me with his loving smile, and then when I heard the sound of the first clod dropping on the coffin holding the one I loved dearest on earth. He looked so calm and sweet. I feel that if it were not for the certainty, that as he himself has so often said, "he is not dead but gone before," I should almost perish.

None of the Roosevelts, least of all Theodore himself, could have foreseen how shattered he would be by the premature loss of his father. "He was everything to me." For a while, it seemed as if the youth could not survive without him. Like a fledgling shoved too soon from the bough, he tumbled nakedly through the air; some of his diary entries are not so much expressions of sorrow as squawks of fright.

They give the impression of a sensitivity so extreme it verges on mental imbalance. For month after month Theodore pours a flood of anguish into his diary, although his letters remain determinedly cheerful. Only in private can he allow his despair to overflow, yet the effect is therapeutic. By the end of April he is able to note: "I am now getting over the first sharpness of grief." With perhaps unconscious symbolism, he shaves off his whiskers, and in consequence is "endlessly chaffed by the boys." On the first day of May, with the smell of spring in the air, he is surprised to find that his thoughts of Theodore Senior have suddenly become "pleasant" ones.51 His grief, however, was by no means over. It continued to flow well into the summer, and spasmodically through the fall. Purged of terror, it became sweetened with nostalgia. Memories of his father surfaced in the form of dreams and hallucinations of almost photographic vividness. "All through the sermon," he wrote one Sunday, "I was thinking of Father. I could see him sitting in the corner of the pew as distinctly as if he were alive, in the same dear old attitude, with his funny little 'warlike curl', and his beloved face. Oh, I feel so sad when I think of the word 'never.'"52 Never-it was the word he had repeated over and over again in his childhood diaries, when longing for the unrecoverable past. Inevitably, his earliest and most poignant memory floated up: "I remember so well how, years ago, when I was a weak, asthmatic child, he used to walk up and down with me in his arms for hours together, night after night, and oh, how my heart pains me when I think that I never was able to do anything for him in his last illness!"53 This, of course, was not his fault-early news of Theodore Senior's relapse had actually been withheld from him so as not to affect his studies-but it did not stop him reproaching himself, often in tones of bitter self-contempt. "I often feel badly that such a wonderful man as Father should have had a son of so little worth as I am.... How little use I am, or ever shall be in the world...I realize more and more every day that I am as much inferior to Father morally and mentally as physically."54 After the terror and the nostalgia, it was desire that eventually healed him. Longing for the man who had been his best friend in life was translated into an even more desperate longing to be worthy of him in death. "How I wish I could ever do something to keep up his name!"55 In this ambition he would succeed so well that the name of Theodore Roosevelt would one day become the most famous in the world; ironically its very luster would obliterate the memory of its original bearer. But the large, kindly spirit of Theodore Senior hovered always over the shoulder of his son. In this ambition he would succeed so well that the name of Theodore Roosevelt would one day become the most famous in the world; ironically its very luster would obliterate the memory of its original bearer. But the large, kindly spirit of Theodore Senior hovered always over the shoulder of his son.

"Years afterward," Corinne recalled, "when the college boy of 1878 was entering upon his duties as President of the United States, he told me frequently that he never took any serious step or made any vital decision for his country without thinking first what position his father would have taken on the question."56

ON 23 F FEBRUARY 1878, his first night back at Harvard after the funeral, Theodore noted casually: "I am left about $8000 a year: comfortable though not rich." No doubt, as he penned these words, his mind harked back to the conversation he had had with Theodore Senior the previous summer, when he had been promised enough money to subsidize his career as a natural historian. Now here it was. It had arrived shockingly soon, but his duty was clear. Grief or no grief, he must balance the numerator of independence with the denominator of work. With remarkable self-discipline, given the hysteria of his private emotions, he at once resumed his studies, and within a week had scored 90 percent in two semiannual examinations. Invitations poured in from sympathetic friends in Boston, but he would accept none until May, and kept "grinding like a Trojan" for the rest of his sophomore year. At the same time he continued faithfully to exercise and teach in Sunday school, obedient to a precept of his father's, which he had never forgotten: "Take care of your morals first, your health next, and finally your studies."57 The excellence of his results in the annual examinations was achieved at much physical cost to himself. He was "unwell and feverish" during the latter part of May, and blamed his poor showing in French on "being forced to sit up all night with the asthma."58 The ordeal was over at last on 5 June. Theodore caught the afternoon express to New York, and next morning began what he hoped would be a summer of "nude happiness...among the wilds of Oyster Bay." The ordeal was over at last on 5 June. Theodore caught the afternoon express to New York, and next morning began what he hoped would be a summer of "nude happiness...among the wilds of Oyster Bay."59

NUDE THE SUMMER certainly was-at least in the restricted Victorian sense of the term. Theodore was soon "mahogany from the waist up, thanks to hours of bare-chested rowing." But happiness was long kept at bay by unavoidable associations between Tranquillity and Theodore Senior. In every idle moment the skinny student might see the big, bearded man laughing, praying, snoozing in the shade, jumping into his trap at the station and driving off at a rattling pace, his white linen duster bagging behind him like a balloon. "Oh Father, how bitterly I miss you and long for you!" certainly was-at least in the restricted Victorian sense of the term. Theodore was soon "mahogany from the waist up, thanks to hours of bare-chested rowing." But happiness was long kept at bay by unavoidable associations between Tranquillity and Theodore Senior. In every idle moment the skinny student might see the big, bearded man laughing, praying, snoozing in the shade, jumping into his trap at the station and driving off at a rattling pace, his white linen duster bagging behind him like a balloon. "Oh Father, how bitterly I miss you and long for you!"60 Just as he had distracted himself in college with work, Theodore now whipped himself into a frenzy of physical activity. Throughout July he rowed and portaged such exhausting distances, over such dreary wastes of water and mud-flats, that just to read his diary is to tire. On one occasion he rowed clear across Long Island Sound to Rye Beach, a total of over twenty-five miles in a single day. Rowing, as opposed to the more leisurely sport of sailing, was deeply satisfying to him. As Corinne remarked, "Theodore craved the actual effort of the arms and back, the actual sense of meeting the wave close to." Yet he loved riding even more, and spurred his horse Lightfoot to prodigious feats of endurance, including one twenty-mile gallop. In between rows and rides, Theodore would burn off his excess energy by running at speed through the woods, boxing and wrestling with Elliott, hiking, hunting, and swimming. His diary constantly exults in physical achievement, and never betrays fear that he might be overtaxing his strength. When forced to record an attack of cholera morbus cholera morbus in early August, he precedes it with the phrase, "Funnily enough..." in early August, he precedes it with the phrase, "Funnily enough..."61 Evidence that his heart, if not his body, was repairing itself came on 9 August. "It being Edith Carow's 17th birthday, I sent her a bonbonierre." bonbonierre." The young lady made her annual appearance at Oyster Bay a week later, and Theodore paid her his annual attentions, rowing her to Lloyds Neck, lunching out at Yellowbanks, and picking water lilies with her in Coldspring Harbor. Without reading more into the diary than is actually there, it is possible to discern the mounting excitement he felt in her proximity. On 22 August he let off steam by thundering off on a wild ride "that I am afraid...may have injured my horse." Later the same day Edith joined him for a sailing trip, and in the evening they went to a family party together. "Afterwards," his diary entry concludes, "Edith and I went up to the summer house." The young lady made her annual appearance at Oyster Bay a week later, and Theodore paid her his annual attentions, rowing her to Lloyds Neck, lunching out at Yellowbanks, and picking water lilies with her in Coldspring Harbor. Without reading more into the diary than is actually there, it is possible to discern the mounting excitement he felt in her proximity. On 22 August he let off steam by thundering off on a wild ride "that I am afraid...may have injured my horse." Later the same day Edith joined him for a sailing trip, and in the evening they went to a family party together. "Afterwards," his diary entry concludes, "Edith and I went up to the summer house."62 With this enigmatic remark, a curtain of blank paper descends, and Edith is not mentioned again for months. Whatever happened in the summerhouse, it seems to have kindled some sort of rage in Theodore. Only two days later he was bothered, while riding, by a neighbor's dog; drawing his revolver, he shot it dead, "rolling it over very neatly as it ran alongside the horse."63 On a cruise up Long Island Sound with some male cousins, he blazed away with the same gun at anything he saw in the water, "from bottles or buoys to sharks and porpoises." On a cruise up Long Island Sound with some male cousins, he blazed away with the same gun at anything he saw in the water, "from bottles or buoys to sharks and porpoises."64 With the first chill of fall in the air, Theodore's thoughts turned again to Harvard, and to his future. The uncertainty he had felt ever since committing himself to a scientific career was beginning to worry him, so much so he turned to an uncle for reassurance. But the old gentleman, while sympathetic, was unhelpful, and Theodore's bewilderment increased. "I have absolutely no idea what I should do when I leave college," he wrote in despair. "Oh Father, my Father, no words can tell how I shall miss your counsel and advice!"65

AS IF TO SEEK REFUGE from his doubts, he decided to spend the last few weeks of his vacation in the wilds of Aroostook County, in northern Maine. Arthur Cutler had hunted in the area-one of the last stands of virgin forest in the Northeast-and had suggested that Theodore might like to do the same. There was a backwoodsman there, said Cutler, named Bill Sewall; he kept open house for hunters, and was emphatically "a man to know." Huge, bearded, and full of lust for life, Sewall loved to shout poetry as he fought his canoe through white water, or slammed his ax into shuddering pine trees. No doubt Cutler sensed that this magnificent specimen of manhood might satisfy Theodore's cravings for a father figure. And since Sewall was humbly born, he might rub off some of the boy's veneer of snobbism before it toughened into impenetrable bark. from his doubts, he decided to spend the last few weeks of his vacation in the wilds of Aroostook County, in northern Maine. Arthur Cutler had hunted in the area-one of the last stands of virgin forest in the Northeast-and had suggested that Theodore might like to do the same. There was a backwoodsman there, said Cutler, named Bill Sewall; he kept open house for hunters, and was emphatically "a man to know." Huge, bearded, and full of lust for life, Sewall loved to shout poetry as he fought his canoe through white water, or slammed his ax into shuddering pine trees. No doubt Cutler sensed that this magnificent specimen of manhood might satisfy Theodore's cravings for a father figure. And since Sewall was humbly born, he might rub off some of the boy's veneer of snobbism before it toughened into impenetrable bark.

Island Falls, where Sewall had his headquarters, was so remote from New York City that Theodore took two full days to get there, completing the last thirty-six miles in a buckboard. Two cousins, Emlen and West Roosevelt, and a Doctor W. Thompson accompanied him. The strain of the journey, coming on top of his frenetic summer, caused him to suffer a bad attack of asthma, and when he arrived at Sewall's homestead, late on the evening of 7 September, he was wheezing. Sewall's first impression of him was "a thin, pale youngster with bad eyes and a weak heart."

Doctor Thompson took the backwoodsman aside. "He's not strong, but he's all grit. He'll kill himself before he'll even say he's tired." Sewall agreed that Theodore looked "mighty pindlin'," but soon found out that his appearance was deceptive.66 We traveled twenty-five miles afoot one day on that first visit of his, which I maintain was a good fair walk for any common man. We hitched well, somehow or other, from the start. He was different from anybody that I had ever met; especially, he was fair-minded.... Besides, he was always good-natured and full of fun. I do not think I ever remember him being "out of sorts." He did not feel well sometimes, but he never would admit it.I could see not a single thing that wasn't fine in Theodore, no qualities that I didn't like. Some folks said that he was headstrong and aggressive, but I never found him so except when necessary; and I've always thought being headstrong and aggressive, on occasion, was a pretty good thing. He wasn't a bit cocky as far as I could see, though others thought so. I will say that he was not remarkably cautious about expressing his opinion.67 Theodore, for his part, found Sewall to be a figure straight out of The Saga of King Olaf The Saga of King Olaf. The backwoodsman agreed. "I don't know but what my ancestors were were vikings." vikings."68 Tramping through the woods together, they were an oddly matched yet complementary pair: Sewall slow and purposeful, advancing with bearlike tread; Theodore wiry and nervous, cocking his gun at any hint of movement in the trees, stopping every now and again to pick up bugs. Since both men loved epic poetry, and could recite it by the yard, the squirrels of Aroostook County were entertained to many ringing declamations, including Sewall's favorite lines: Who are the nobles of the earth, The true aristocrats,Who need not bow their heads to kings Nor doff to lords their hats?Who are they but the men of toil Who cleave the forest downAnd plant amid the wilderness The forest and the town?69 The words may have been familiar to Theodore, yet falling from the lips of a man whose father had been a carpenter and whose mother a seamstress, they took on new, defiantly democratic overtones, which were not lost on the scion of the Roosevelts.70

ON 27 S SEPTEMBER 1878, Theodore was welcomed back to Cambridge by his classmates, and to his surprise "was offered the Porcellian." Membership in this club was the highest social honor Harvard could bestow, and he was acutely embarrassed to refuse it. His scruples had nothing to do with the possible disapproval of a Bill Sewall. It was just that he had already been offered the A.D., and had accepted that instead.71 Greatly regretting his hastiness, for he wished very much to be "a Porc man," he turned to the more important business of choosing a schedule for his junior year. Greatly regretting his hastiness, for he wished very much to be "a Porc man," he turned to the more important business of choosing a schedule for his junior year.

It proved to be an ambitious one, covering nine subjects and at least twenty hours a week of classroom and laboratory work. His electives were once again German and two natural history courses (zoology and geology), plus Italian and philosophy. Those prescribed were themes, forensics, logic, and metaphysics. In this formidable curriculum he was to score the best marks of his academic career, averaging 87 and standing thirteenth in a class of 166.72 In two of his electives-philosophy and natural history-he stood first. In two of his electives-philosophy and natural history-he stood first.73 No sooner had Theodore settled down to his familiar routine of recitations, study, exercise, and "sprees" than the Porcellian once more opened its doors to him. Early in October there happened to be a drunken quarrel in the Yard, during which a Porc man told an A.D. man that Teddy Roosevelt, given the chance, would have chosen his his club first. When the taunt became public, the A.D. announced that as its new member had not yet signed in, he was free to reconsider his acceptance. "Of course by this arrangement I club first. When the taunt became public, the A.D. announced that as its new member had not yet signed in, he was free to reconsider his acceptance. "Of course by this arrangement I have have to hurt somebody's feelings," Theodore wrote agitatedly in his diary. "...I have rarely felt as badly as I have during the last 24 hours; it is terribly hard to know what the honorable thing is to do." He decided that honor lay in the direction of the more prestigious club, and accepted the Porc's offer on 6 October. "I am delighted to be in," he told Bamie. "...There is a billiard table, magnificent library, punch-room &c, and my best friends are in it." to hurt somebody's feelings," Theodore wrote agitatedly in his diary. "...I have rarely felt as badly as I have during the last 24 hours; it is terribly hard to know what the honorable thing is to do." He decided that honor lay in the direction of the more prestigious club, and accepted the Porc's offer on 6 October. "I am delighted to be in," he told Bamie. "...There is a billiard table, magnificent library, punch-room &c, and my best friends are in it."74 Perhaps the best of these "best friends," now that Harry Minot had dropped out of Harvard to study law, was Dick Saltonstall, whose family mansion on Chestnut Hill became a second home to Theodore in the fall and winter of 1878. The first invitation to this bastion of Boston society came on Friday, 18 October. The two young men drove out of Cambridge in Saltonstall's buggy, crossed the river, and headed west into a brilliant fall landscape.75 Chestnut Hill lay six miles away. As the buggy creaked toward it, through increasingly luxuriant woods, Theodore could sense the waves of peace and security which flow around the enclaves of the very rich. A private lane curved up the hillside to where Leverett Saltonstall's house lay, huge and rambling, backed by chestnut trees, and fronting on an immense sweep of lawn. The lawn was shared by another, equally imposing mansion, the home of George Cabot Lee; a mere twenty yards of grass, and a token garden gate, separated the one property from the other.76 Dick had doubtless already explained to Theodore that the Lees and Saltonstalls were more than mere neighbors. Mr. Lee was his uncle by marriage, and seventeen-year-old Alice Lee was the inseparable companion of his sister, Rose Saltonstall. Dick had doubtless already explained to Theodore that the Lees and Saltonstalls were more than mere neighbors. Mr. Lee was his uncle by marriage, and seventeen-year-old Alice Lee was the inseparable companion of his sister, Rose Saltonstall.77 Theodore met both girls that evening. In his diary he described them with his usual vague adjectives, "sweet," "pretty," and "pleasant"-the last being reserved for Rose, who was decidedly the more homely of the two. Theodore met both girls that evening. In his diary he described them with his usual vague adjectives, "sweet," "pretty," and "pleasant"-the last being reserved for Rose, who was decidedly the more homely of the two.

He greatly enjoyed himself that weekend, walking through the woods with Alice and Rose, attending church with both families on Sunday morning, and "chestnutting" alone with Alice in the afternoon.78 As always, his soul responded to people of his own class, conversation on his own level, manners whose every nuance was familiar to him. Only a month ago Bill Sewall had convinced him that "the nobles of the earth" were "men of toil"-and probably would convince him again, as he intended to return to Island Falls one day. But in the meantime, the Lees and Saltonstalls were aristocracy enough for Theodore Roosevelt. As always, his soul responded to people of his own class, conversation on his own level, manners whose every nuance was familiar to him. Only a month ago Bill Sewall had convinced him that "the nobles of the earth" were "men of toil"-and probably would convince him again, as he intended to return to Island Falls one day. But in the meantime, the Lees and Saltonstalls were aristocracy enough for Theodore Roosevelt.

ON 27 O OCTOBER, AS HIS second decade came to an end, the young man's thoughts turned to the past, and his grief for his father surged up afresh. To distract himself he took a ramble through the woods with his gun. His diary entry for that night proves, with unconscious humor, that his heart had at last healed: "Oh Father, sometimes I feel as though I would give half my life to see you but for a moment! Oh, what loving memories I have of you! 2 grey squirrel." second decade came to an end, the young man's thoughts turned to the past, and his grief for his father surged up afresh. To distract himself he took a ramble through the woods with his gun. His diary entry for that night proves, with unconscious humor, that his heart had at last healed: "Oh Father, sometimes I feel as though I would give half my life to see you but for a moment! Oh, what loving memories I have of you! 2 grey squirrel."

ON 2 N NOVEMBER 1878, Theodore was initiated into the Porcellian.79 It seems the honor rather went to his head. "Was 'higher' with wine than ever before-or will be again," he wrote. "Still, I could wind up my watch." Then, in a revealing afterword: "Wine makes me awfully fighty." It seems the honor rather went to his head. "Was 'higher' with wine than ever before-or will be again," he wrote. "Still, I could wind up my watch." Then, in a revealing afterword: "Wine makes me awfully fighty."80 A throbbing hangover confirmed his lifelong resolve never to get drunk again, and the evidence is he never did. He continued to enjoy "sprees" at the Porc, including the traditional suppers of partridge and burgundy, and champagne breakfasts on Sundays; but he remained severely teetotal on most of these occasions, and abstemious on the others. As for smoking, he had promised his father to abstain from that manly practice until he was twenty-one, with the result that when the time came he had lost all interest in it. The third vice that appeals to most undergraduates was beneath his contemplation: he remained "perfectly pure" throughout his bachelor years. A throbbing hangover confirmed his lifelong resolve never to get drunk again, and the evidence is he never did. He continued to enjoy "sprees" at the Porc, including the traditional suppers of partridge and burgundy, and champagne breakfasts on Sundays; but he remained severely teetotal on most of these occasions, and abstemious on the others. As for smoking, he had promised his father to abstain from that manly practice until he was twenty-one, with the result that when the time came he had lost all interest in it. The third vice that appeals to most undergraduates was beneath his contemplation: he remained "perfectly pure" throughout his bachelor years.81 His second visit to Chestnut Hill occurred on 11 November, when he drove over to take tea with the Saltonstalls and their ubiquitous visitor from next door, who was "as sweet and pretty as ever." So, of course, was practically every girl that Theodore met. But Alice Lee seems to have merited his praise rather more than any other. When he saw her again, he was a houseguest for Thanksgiving, and already so much a part of the Chestnut Hill circle that she allowed him to call her "Alice."82 As her own first "Teddy" lingered softly in his ears, he vowed, with all the strength of his passionate nature, that he would marry her. As her own first "Teddy" lingered softly in his ears, he vowed, with all the strength of his passionate nature, that he would marry her.83

CHAPTER 4.

The Swell in the Dog-Cart A little bird in the airIs singing of Thyri the fair,The sister of Svend, the Dane;And the song of the garrulous birdIn the streets of the town is heard,And repeated again and again.Hoist up your sails of silk,And flee away from each other.

ALICE H HATHAWAY L LEE was just seventeen when Theodore first saw her on 18 October 1878. "As long as I live," he wrote afterward, "I shall never forget how sweetly she looked, and how prettily she greeted me." was just seventeen when Theodore first saw her on 18 October 1878. "As long as I live," he wrote afterward, "I shall never forget how sweetly she looked, and how prettily she greeted me."1 With his photographic memory, he no doubt carried that first vision of her pristine to the grave. Alice blushing must indeed have been an unforgettable sight, and not only to eyes as worshipful as Theodore's. Contemporary testimonials to her beauty are as unanimous as those in praise of her charm. She was "an enchanting creature" of "singular loveliness"; of "quick intelligence," "endearing character," and "unfailing sunny temperament"; she was "gay," "exceptionally bright," and "the life of the party." With his photographic memory, he no doubt carried that first vision of her pristine to the grave. Alice blushing must indeed have been an unforgettable sight, and not only to eyes as worshipful as Theodore's. Contemporary testimonials to her beauty are as unanimous as those in praise of her charm. She was "an enchanting creature" of "singular loveliness"; of "quick intelligence," "endearing character," and "unfailing sunny temperament"; she was "gay," "exceptionally bright," and "the life of the party."2 Images of sunshine and light recur so often in descriptions of her that one can understand how quickly she bedazzled Theodore, as indeed she bedazzled everybody. Images of sunshine and light recur so often in descriptions of her that one can understand how quickly she bedazzled Theodore, as indeed she bedazzled everybody.

"She seems like a star of heaven...my pearl, my pure flower."

Alice Hathaway Lee when Theodore Roosevelt first met her. (Illustration 4.1) The imagination, stimulated by such universal praise, delights to picture Alice Lee coming through that garden gate more than a century ago: an exquisite, willowy blonde, smiling shyly, moving with the "long, firm step" of a natural athlete. She wears a dress of white brocade that glows in the late-afternoon light.3 Through Theodore's spectacles, as it were, we see, as she draws nearer, that she is tall-five foot seven, only two inches shorter than he-yet holds herself proudly erect. Her hair, drawn up to expose a graceful neck, is honey-colored, but when the sun strikes the water-curls that cling to her temples, or the thick ropes piled high on her head, unexpected highlights of gold shimmer in it. Her eyes are similarly chromatic: at times they seem a very pale blue, at others a pearly gray. Heavy lashes, when she glances down demurely, brush cheeks whose pinkness, blending into a soft pocket of shadow in the corner of her mouth, make her irresistibly kissable. She is, in short, as ravishing a beauty as ever walked across a Boston lawn, or through the pages of any Victorian novel. Theodore, drinking her in at every pore, fell in love with her there and then. Just two more meetings were enough to convince him "that win her I would, if it were possible," and to affirm that "I had never before cared...a snap of my finger for any girl." Through Theodore's spectacles, as it were, we see, as she draws nearer, that she is tall-five foot seven, only two inches shorter than he-yet holds herself proudly erect. Her hair, drawn up to expose a graceful neck, is honey-colored, but when the sun strikes the water-curls that cling to her temples, or the thick ropes piled high on her head, unexpected highlights of gold shimmer in it. Her eyes are similarly chromatic: at times they seem a very pale blue, at others a pearly gray. Heavy lashes, when she glances down demurely, brush cheeks whose pinkness, blending into a soft pocket of shadow in the corner of her mouth, make her irresistibly kissable. She is, in short, as ravishing a beauty as ever walked across a Boston lawn, or through the pages of any Victorian novel. Theodore, drinking her in at every pore, fell in love with her there and then. Just two more meetings were enough to convince him "that win her I would, if it were possible," and to affirm that "I had never before cared...a snap of my finger for any girl."4 So much for Edith Carow. Theodore, when he wrote those words, was in such rapture over Alice that he probably exaggerated his indifference to other women. But whatever spark Edith had kindled in his heart was obliterated by the firestorm of passion which now consumed him. After only one weekend at Chestnut Hill he could afford to be sarcastic about his childhood sweetheart: "...give my love to Edith-if she's in a good humour; otherwise my respectful regards." The suspicion grows that his last interview with that strong-willed young lady, in the summer-house at Oyster Bay, had been a stormy one. "If she seems particularly good-tempered," Theodore went on, "tell her that I hope that when I see her at Xmas it will not be on what you might call one of her off days."5 With that he cast her from his mind, and dedicated himself to the "eager, restless, passionate pursuit of one all-absorbing object." With that he cast her from his mind, and dedicated himself to the "eager, restless, passionate pursuit of one all-absorbing object."6

GIVEN HER EXTREME YOUTH, and the protective aura of wealth and privilege that had always surrounded her, Alice not surprisingly proved to be as elusive a prize as Theodore had ever hunted. His ardor was so violent-in courtship as in everything else-that he periodically frightened her away, like a nervous doe; then he would have to restrain himself, and with soft words and soothing gestures coax her near again. She found him by no means a romantic attraction. The slight stench of arsenic that emanated from his clothes; the tickly whiskers and glittering glasses; the manic bursts of energy which left him white and sick with exhaustion; his geyser-like garrulousness, choked by stammers which would inevitably explode under the pressure of more words boiling up inside him; his exuberant hopping on the dance-floor, so perilous to lace pantaloons; the bloodcurdling stories of wolves and bears; the black eyes from boxing, the nervous diarrhea, the alarming hiss of asthma in his lungs-these were not the things a girl of polite background dreamed about, except perhaps in nightmares. Yet Alice could not help being intrigued by him, and flattered by his adoration. How different he was from those boring young Boston Brahmins-and, so far as she knew, from everybody else in the human race. How sidesplitting he could be, when he told jokes in that curious falsetto of his! Her quick mind rejoiced in his intelligence, and her body, when they skated together, to the masculine hardness of his arms. Even as she sprang away from him, she took care not to spring too far; not that there was any risk of him abandoning the chase. Theodore, like his father before him, "almost always got what he wanted."7

NO SOONER HAD the lovesick junior returned to Winthrop Street after Thanksgiving than he formally entered in his diary the vow that he would marry Alice Lee. the lovesick junior returned to Winthrop Street after Thanksgiving than he formally entered in his diary the vow that he would marry Alice Lee.8 To make it doubly formal, he arranged a "tintype spree," or trip to the photographer's, so that he might pose beside his beloved at the very onset of their courtship. Clearly it would be improper to suggest that Alice come to the studio alone, so Rose Saltonstall was roped in as a convenient third party. There is more than a hint of nervousness in Theodore's first letter to Alice, reminding her of their rendezvous. Even at this stage he seems afraid that his doe might wander. To make it doubly formal, he arranged a "tintype spree," or trip to the photographer's, so that he might pose beside his beloved at the very onset of their courtship. Clearly it would be improper to suggest that Alice come to the studio alone, so Rose Saltonstall was roped in as a convenient third party. There is more than a hint of nervousness in Theodore's first letter to Alice, reminding her of their rendezvous. Even at this stage he seems afraid that his doe might wander.

"Bewhiskered and slim as a reed, he sits between the two girls."

Alice Lee, Theodore Roosevelt, and Rose Saltonstall, 1878. (Illustration 4.2) PORCELLIAN CLUBDecember 6, 1878Dear Alice, I have been anxiously expecting a letter from you and Rose for the last two or three days; but none has come. You must must not forget our tintype spree; I have been dextrously avoiding forming any engagements for Saturday...Tell Rose that I never passed a pleasanter Thanksgiving than at her house. not forget our tintype spree; I have been dextrously avoiding forming any engagements for Saturday...Tell Rose that I never passed a pleasanter Thanksgiving than at her house.Judging from the accounts I have received the new dress for the party at New Bedford must have been a complete success.YOUR FELLOW-CONSPIRATOR9 Alice did not forget, and the group portrait, so momentous to Theodore, survives. Bewhiskered and slim as a reed, he sits between the two girls, carefully clutching his hat and cane. Alice, seated lower, leans toward him, almost touching his right thigh. Her skirts droop sexily over his shoe. She wears a lace-fronted dress and high feathered hat. Her gray eyes gaze dreamily into the camera: she seems unaware of the giant resolve looming next to her.10 By now Alice Lee was occupying Theodore's thoughts through every waking hour, and would continue to do so, according to his own testimony, for the next year and a quarter. At times her girlish waywardness would drive him to despair; in one particular moment of frustration he ripped the pages containing the Thanksgiving vow bodily out of his diary.11 There is a suggestion of sexual torment in Theodore's entry for 11 December 1878, when he asks God's help in staying virtuous, as his father would have wished, "and to do nothing I would have been ashamed to confess to him. I am very..." Here the eager researcher turns the page, only to find a huge blot of ink. Somehow its very blackness and monstrous shape convey more of Theodore's misery than whatever words he had scribbled beneath it. There is a suggestion of sexual torment in Theodore's entry for 11 December 1878, when he asks God's help in staying virtuous, as his father would have wished, "and to do nothing I would have been ashamed to confess to him. I am very..." Here the eager researcher turns the page, only to find a huge blot of ink. Somehow its very blackness and monstrous shape convey more of Theodore's misery than whatever words he had scribbled beneath it.12 Such fits of depression were, however, rare in the early days of his courtship. "Teddy" continued to be welcome at Chestnut Hill, and Alice was quick to atone, with a soft word or look, for any bruise she may have inflicted upon him. At any such sign of favor he positively radiated with joy, and would exult, when alone with his diary, in his youth, his social and academic success, and the luck which had led him to Chestnut Hill. "Truly," he wrote, as 1878 passed into 1879, "these are the golden years of my life."13

IT MUST NOT BE SUPPOSED that Theodore's obsession with Alice Lee caused him to neglect his studies, or that he ceased to partake of the clubby delights of Harvard. "I have enjoyed quite a burst of popularity since I came back," he boasted in a letter home, "having been elected into several different clubs." that Theodore's obsession with Alice Lee caused him to neglect his studies, or that he ceased to partake of the clubby delights of Harvard. "I have enjoyed quite a burst of popularity since I came back," he boasted in a letter home, "having been elected into several different clubs."14 Apart from the Porc and its partridge suppers, he attended regular meetings of the Institute of 1770, and its secret caucus, "the old merry brutal ribald orgiastic natural wholesome Dickey." Apart from the Porc and its partridge suppers, he attended regular meetings of the Institute of 1770, and its secret caucus, "the old merry brutal ribald orgiastic natural wholesome Dickey."15 He presented papers to the Harvard Natural History Society on such subjects as "The Gills of Crustaceans" and "Coloration of Birds." He lectured learnedly on sparrows at the Nuttall Ornithological Club (whose middle-aged members, discomfited by his knowledge, accused him of being vain and "cocksure"). He was put up for the Hasty Pudding early in the New Year, and won election as fifth man in the first nine. He presented papers to the Harvard Natural History Society on such subjects as "The Gills of Crustaceans" and "Coloration of Birds." He lectured learnedly on sparrows at the Nuttall Ornithological Club (whose middle-aged members, discomfited by his knowledge, accused him of being vain and "cocksure"). He was put up for the Hasty Pudding early in the New Year, and won election as fifth man in the first nine.16 When his instructor in political economy asked him to form a Finance Club, he not only did so immediately, but wrote a joint paper, with Bob Bacon, on "Municipal Taxation," and presented it at the club's inaugural meeting. When his instructor in political economy asked him to form a Finance Club, he not only did so immediately, but wrote a joint paper, with Bob Bacon, on "Municipal Taxation," and presented it at the club's inaugural meeting.

"We little suspected," wrote Professor J. Laurence Laughlin many years later, "that we were being addressed by a future President of the United States and his Secretary of State."17 Thus, in February of 1879, Theodore Roosevelt revealed that the political animal within him was at last beginning to stir. About the same time he made his first public speech, at the annual dinner of the Harvard Crimson Harvard Crimson. It was an awkward effort, yet vividly remembered by William Roscoe Thayer: Since entering college I had met him casually many times and had heard of his oddities and exuberance; but throughout I came to feel that I knew him. On being called to speak he seemed very shy and made, what I think he said, was his maiden speech. He still had difficulty in enunciating clearly or even in running off his words smoothly. At times he could hardly get them out at all, and then he would rush on for a few sentences, as skaters redouble their pace over thin ice. He told the story of two old gentlemen who stammered, the point of which was, that one of them, after distressing contortions and stoppages, recommended the other to go to Dr. X, adding, "He cured me."A trifling bit of thistledown for memory to have preserved after all these years; but still it is interesting to me to recall that this was the beginning of the public speaking of the man who later addressed more audiences than any other orator of his time and made a deeper impression by his spoken word.18 Although Theodore continued to dream of being a natural historian when he left college, he confessed that the prospect of three extra years of overseas study-a necessary academic requirement-made him "perfectly blue."19 Politics, on the other hand, was beginning to appeal to him so strongly that he asked Professor Laughlin if he should not perhaps make that his career instead. Laughlin replied that the halls of American government were much more in need of idealistic young men than were zoological laboratories. Politics, on the other hand, was beginning to appeal to him so strongly that he asked Professor Laughlin if he should not perhaps make that his career instead. Laughlin replied that the halls of American government were much more in need of idealistic young men than were zoological laboratories.20 Still, Theodore clung to his imagined vocation, until a softer, more influential voice persuaded him to abandon the chimera forever. Still, Theodore clung to his imagined vocation, until a softer, more influential voice persuaded him to abandon the chimera forever.

Whether it was the prospect of losing her beau to some foreign university for three years, or simply his distressing tendency to produce creepy-crawlies, Alice Lee did not relish the idea of Theodore becoming Professor or Doctor Roosevelt. Her disapproval of his collecting was probably the reason for a startling remark he made to Harry Minot at the end of his sophomore year: "As you know, I don't approve of too much slaughter." Much later Theodore himself admitted that courting Alice "brought about a change in my ideas as regards science."21 Their intimacy ripened slowly during the early weeks of 1879. There were polite teas with the Saltonstalls and dances at the Lees', winter walks and coasting parties (Alice occasionally allowing him to share her toboggan) on the crisp slopes of Chestnut Hill. "I like the two girls more and more every day," he told Bamie, "especially pretty Alice."22 Determined to make himself as irresistible as possible, he nurtured his reddish whiskers to the size of powder puffs, and grew increasingly resplendent in his dress, with high glossy collars, silk cravats and cameo pins, fobbed watch chains, and coats rakishly cut away to show off the uncreased, cylindrical trousers of a man of fashion. Determined to make himself as irresistible as possible, he nurtured his reddish whiskers to the size of powder puffs, and grew increasingly resplendent in his dress, with high glossy collars, silk cravats and cameo pins, fobbed watch chains, and coats rakishly cut away to show off the uncreased, cylindrical trousers of a man of fashion.23

TOWARD THE END OF F FEBRUARY, Theodore began to suffer from a surfeit of polite conversation. The drawing-rooms of Chestnut Hill suddenly became claustrophobic to him: he decided to clear his head, and his lungs, with another vacation in Maine.24 When he reached Mattawamkeag Station on 1 March, Bill Sewall was waiting in a sleigh to escort him to Island Falls, thirty-six miles away. When he reached Mattawamkeag Station on 1 March, Bill Sewall was waiting in a sleigh to escort him to Island Falls, thirty-six miles away.

For hour after hour, as they hissed north over a three-foot shroud of snow, Theodore marveled at a landscape wondrously changed from the one he had explored six months before. "I have never seen a grander or more beautiful sight than the northern woods in winter," he told his mother afterward. "The evergreens laden with snow make the most beautiful contrast of green and white, and when it freezes after a rain all the trees look as though they were made of crystal."25 At Island Falls, he renewed his acquaintance with Sewall's nephew and partner Wilmot Dow, whom he had met only briefly the previous September. Dow, just twenty-three, was as big a man as Sewall, and, by the latter's admission, "a better guide...better hunter, better fisherman, and the best shot of any man in the country." In time this impassive, smooth-faced youth would become as good a friend to Theodore as his uncle.26 For the first few days in Aroostook County, the subzero temperatures troubled Theodore's asthma, or "guffling," as Sewall called it. But after a pung trip to a lumber camp at Oxbow, even deeper in the wilderness, he breathed clear again, and "enjoyed every minute" of his stay.27 The Aroostook lumbermen, many of whom were unlettered, and had spent all their lives in the woods, were the roughest human beings he had yet encountered. Sewall noted how he charmed them and held their interest. The Aroostook lumbermen, many of whom were unlettered, and had spent all their lives in the woods, were the roughest human beings he had yet encountered. Sewall noted how he charmed them and held their interest.

Of course he did not understand the woods, but on every other subject he was posted. The reason that he knew so much about everything, I found, was that wherever he went he got right in with the people...Theodore enjoyed them immensely. He told me after he left the camp how glad he was that he had met them. He said that he could read about such things, but here he had got first hand accounts of backwoods life from the men who had lived it and knew what they were talking about. Even then he was quick to find the real man in very simple men.28 No doubt the emerging politician got great satisfaction out of his ability to converse, on equal terms, with backwoodsmen as well as Boston Brahmins. He asked Bill Sewall, as he had Professor Laughlin, whether he should go into science or politics after he graduated. "You may laugh, but I have a presentiment that some time I may be President."29 More intent on the here and now, Theodore the hunter exulted in chasing a caribou for thirty-six hours through the snowy forest, with neither tent nor blankets to protect him. The naturalist collected specimens, while the sometime invalid worked up "enough health to last me till next summer."30 Last but not least, King Olaf trapped a lynx, and swore that its fur would soon warm the pretty feet of his beloved. Last but not least, King Olaf trapped a lynx, and swore that its fur would soon warm the pretty feet of his beloved.

In mid-March, Theodore was back at Harvard, "doing double work to make up for my holiday."31 Within a week he had breezed through his semiannuals with an average of over 85, and could turn once more to the courtship of Alice Lee. Determined to reenter her life in dramatic fashion, he chose as his stage the floor of the college gymnasium. Within a week he had breezed through his semiannuals with an average of over 85, and could turn once more to the courtship of Alice Lee. Determined to reenter her life in dramatic fashion, he chose as his stage the floor of the college gymnasium.

THE OCCASION WAS THE spring meeting of the Harvard Athletic Association on 22 March 1879. T. Roosevelt, Jr., weighing in at 135 pounds, was entered for the semifinal bout of the lightweight boxing championship, against W. W. Coolidge, at 133 pounds. The winner would presumably take on the defending champion, C. S. Hanks, entered at 133 pounds. spring meeting of the Harvard Athletic Association on 22 March 1879. T. Roosevelt, Jr., weighing in at 135 pounds, was entered for the semifinal bout of the lightweight boxing championship, against W. W. Coolidge, at 133 pounds. The winner would presumably take on the defending champion, C. S. Hanks, entered at 133 pounds.32 Theodore, who was known to possess a wicked right hand, had given Coolidge "a tremendous thrashing" the year before, Theodore, who was known to possess a wicked right hand, had given Coolidge "a tremendous thrashing" the year before,33 no doubt hoped to repeat the performance now for the benefit of Alice Lee. She sat in the gallery with a party of other Boston girls, prettily wrapped in furs, for the gymnasium was freezing. no doubt hoped to repeat the performance now for the benefit of Alice Lee. She sat in the gallery with a party of other Boston girls, prettily wrapped in furs, for the gymnasium was freezing.34 The first bout went well for Theodore. According to the Harvard Advocate Harvard Advocate, he "displayed more coolness and skill than his opponent," and had no trouble in dispatching Coolidge. There was a ripple of delicate applause from the gallery, and he retired to sponge off for the final bout. When he came out, Hanks (who had duly won the other semifinal) was waiting for him. Again to quote the Advocate Advocate, "a spirited contest followed, in which Mr. Hanks succeeded in getting the best of his opponent by his quickness and power of endurance."

These terse words might have been the only record of the afternoon's fighting, except that some students in the audience were so impressed by Theodore's performance that they talked about it the rest of their lives. One of them was the future novelist Owen Wister, destined, like William Roscoe Thayer, to become a biographer of the skinny figure in the ring. His description of the bout has made it perhaps the most celebrated episode in Theodore's Harvard career: We freshmen on the floor and those girls in the gallery witnessed more than a spirited contest; owing to an innocent mistake of Mr. Hanks, we saw that prophetic flash of the Roosevelt that was to come.Time was called on a round, Roosevelt dropped his guard, and Hanks landed a heavy blow on his nose, which spurted blood. Loud hoots and hisses from gallery and floor were set up, whereat Roosevelt's arm was instantly flung out to command silence, while his alert and slender figure stood quiet."It's all right," he assured us eagerly, his arm still in the air to hold the silence; then, pointing to the time-keeper, "he didn't hear him," he explained, in the same conversational but arresting tone. With bleeding nose he walked up to Hanks and shook hands with him.35 According to another spectator, Hanks said good-naturedly, "Hadn't we better stop?" Theodore shook his head like a terrier, bared his teeth, and began punching again. The rest of the bout was "distinctly gory." It was plain that the smaller man was outclassed. Hanks had a much longer reach; his eyesight, moreover, was normal, whereas Theodore was obliged to box without spectacles. "It was no fight at all," another student remembered. "...You should have seen that little fellow staggering about, banging the air. Hanks couldn't put him out and Roosevelt wouldn't give up. It wasn't a fight, but, oh, he showed himself a fighter!"36 One wonders if Alice Lee, shuddering into her furs, admired the bloody Theodore as much as his classmates, however. At any rate, he succeeded in drawing himself to her attention again. As soon as his cuts and bruises healed she accepted an invitation to "a little lunch party" in his rooms. Five other girls and college boys were present, under the benign chaperonage of Mrs. Saltonstall. The lynx rug was presented with great ceremony. Alice announced that she would make Teddy a pair of slippers.37 Their relationship was moving into an intimate, more serious phase, and Mrs. Saltonstall surely reported this fact back to Chestnut Hill. But the Lees did not seem to fear losing a daughter who, at the tender age of seventeen, had yet to make her debut. Their relationship was moving into an intimate, more serious phase, and Mrs. Saltonstall surely reported this fact back to Chestnut Hill. But the Lees did not seem to fear losing a daughter who, at the tender age of seventeen, had yet to make her debut.

With spring sweetening the air, and Alice growing increasingly receptive to his advances, Theodore decided to pay court to her on horseback, in the style of a true gallant. Lightfoot was accordingly shipped to Cambridge. All at once Chestnut Hill seemed so much closer that Theodore took to galloping over the river almost daily, looking (in his own words) "very swell, with hunting crop and beaver."38 He took long walks with Alice, taught Alice the five-step waltz, played whist with Alice, told Alice ghost stories, wrote endlessly in his diaries about Alice, Alice, Alice. The very shape of the word, as it uncurled from his pen, seemed to give him pleasure. All through April and May, he overflowed with happiness as intense as his grief of the previous year. "What a royally good time I am having...I can't conceive of a fellow possibly enjoying himself more." He took long walks with Alice, taught Alice the five-step waltz, played whist with Alice, told Alice ghost stories, wrote endlessly in his diaries about Alice, Alice, Alice. The very shape of the word, as it uncurled from his pen, seemed to give him pleasure. All through April and May, he overflowed with happiness as intense as his grief of the previous year. "What a royally good time I am having...I can't conceive of a fellow possibly enjoying himself more."39

BY RISING EARLY and working before breakfast, Theodore was able to pack six to eight hours of study into the first half of the day, leaving his afternoons and evenings free for romance. Although he defined this as "a life of most luxurious ease," poor Lightfoot cannot have agreed. The animal was not only thundering constantly along the hard road to Chestnut Hill, but had to help Theodore work off his exuberance afterward with marathon gallops through the countryside. When, on 13 May, Theodore was invited to dinner at the Lees', he whipped Lightfoot up to such a pace that he nearly killed both horse and himself. "I rode like Jehu, both coming and going, and as it was pitch dark when I returned (about 10:15) we fell, while galloping downhill-a misadventure which I thoroughly deserve for being a fool." For weeks it seemed that the crippled horse might not recover, and Theodore was obliged to visit his beloved on foot-a twelve-mile tramp every time. and working before breakfast, Theodore was able to pack six to eight hours of study into the first half of the day, leaving his afternoons and evenings free for romance. Although he defined this as "a life of most luxurious ease," poor Lightfoot cannot have agreed. The animal was not only thundering constantly along the hard road to Chestnut Hill, but had to help Theodore work off his exuberance afterward with marathon gallops through the countryside. When, on 13 May, Theodore was invited to dinner at the Lees', he whipped Lightfoot up to such a pace that he nearly killed both horse and himself. "I rode like Jehu, both coming and going, and as it was pitch dark when I returned (about 10:15) we fell, while galloping downhill-a misadventure which I thoroughly deserve for being a fool." For weeks it seemed that the crippled horse might not recover, and Theodore was obliged to visit his beloved on foot-a twelve-mile tramp every time.40 By early June, however, he was once again in the saddle. Pausing only to register a preoccupied 87 percent in his annual examinations,41 Theodore braced himself for the final phase of his courtship of Alice Lee. It was now or never. Only two weeks remained until Harvard shut its doors for the summer. Then, for almost three months, he would be hundreds of miles away from her-while other suitors, perhaps, strolled the lawns of Chestnut Hill. Alice had already given disturbing hints that she liked to flirt. If he did not secure her by Class Day, she might be wooed away. Theodore braced himself for the final phase of his courtship of Alice Lee. It was now or never. Only two weeks remained until Harvard shut its doors for the summer. Then, for almost three months, he would be hundreds of miles away from her-while other suitors, perhaps, strolled the lawns of Chestnut Hill. Alice had already given disturbing hints that she liked to flirt. If he did not secure her by Class Day, she might be wooed away.

It comes as a surprise to flick through Theodore's diary for these momentous final weeks of his junior year and find no hint of crisis in its bland pages. Since ripping out his written vow to marry Alice, he had begun what was to become a lifelong habit, that of simply not recording what was ominous, unresolved, or disgraceful. Triumph was worth the ink; tragedy was not. Until Alice was his, he would continue merely to list the trivial details of their relationship, so that if he failed, posterity would not know it, and even he, in time, might forget his aching desire for her.

His letters home are just as guarded, although one cannot help but admire how subtly, since the New Year, Theodore has made the Roosevelts aware of Alice Lee, and prepared them, subconsciously as it were, for his possible engagement. Casually he suggests the entire family might like to come up to Harvard for Class Day, 20 June. "I want you particularly to know some of my girlfriends now."42 How convenient to have both them and the Lees at hand, should he wish to make an announcement-at the conclusion of his junior year, at the blossoming climax of spring! How convenient to have both them and the Lees at hand, should he wish to make an announcement-at the conclusion of his junior year, at the blossoming climax of spring!

Although it is not certain that Theodore asked Alice to marry him on Class Day, he afterward confirmed that he proposed to her sometime in June, and his unerring sense of place and time would seem to make the evening of the twentieth inevitable.43 He had been tense as a wire the night before, at the D.K.E. Strawberry festivities: "I got into a row with a mucker and knocked him down, cutting my knuckles pretty badly against his teeth." He had been tense as a wire the night before, at the D.K.E. Strawberry festivities: "I got into a row with a mucker and knocked him down, cutting my knuckles pretty badly against his teeth."44 But now his mood was tranquil. Never had he spent such a pleasant day; never had Alice looked "sweeter or prettier." He had ushered at Saunders Hall in the morning, lunched at the Porc, ushered again at the Flower Rush, then escorted Alice to two tea-parties in succession. No doubt much of the student body had admired the tall, honey-haired girl strolling around with "that fellow with whiskers and glasses." But now his mood was tranquil. Never had he spent such a pleasant day; never had Alice looked "sweeter or prettier." He had ushered at Saunders Hall in the morning, lunched at the Porc, ushered again at the Flower Rush, then escorted Alice to two tea-parties in succession. No doubt much of the student body had admired the tall, honey-haired girl strolling around with "that fellow with whiskers and glasses."45 Now, in the twilight, they sat together watching the sway of tinted lamps in the Yard, and listening to the songs of the Glee Club. Now, in the twilight, they sat together watching the sway of tinted lamps in the Yard, and listening to the songs of the Glee Club.

Words, whispered perhaps, passed between Alice and Theodore. At ten o'clock, when the singing ended, they walked over to Memorial Hall and danced till nearly midnight. Then it was time for Alice to go home. Theodore decided, as her carriage-wheels clattered away, that the night was too young for him to go to bed. Accordingly he went to the Porc, and spent a couple of contemplative hours over the billiard-table. He had much to ponder. Alice had rejected him-but in such a way he could not be wholly despondent. She would, he knew, remember him fondly at least through summer, and he had a tacit invitation to resume his suit in the fall.

IF L LIGHTFOOT, LIMPING DOWN the gangplank of the BostonNew York freighter, looked forward to a lazy summer on Long Island, he was soon disillusioned. No sooner had Theodore arrived back in Oyster Bay than the horse was put into harness, and trained to trot and go. the gangplank of the BostonNew York freighter, looked forward to a lazy summer on Long Island, he was soon disillusioned. No sooner had Theodore arrived back in Oyster Bay than the horse was put into harness, and trained to trot and go.46 Mittie Roosevelt, used to her son's sudden enthusiasms, assumed he was merely having fun; it did not occur to her that deadly serious motives lay behind this interest in elegant locomotion. Even his purchase, in August, of a "dog-cart," or tilbury-whose seat was just large enough for two slim people-failed to arouse her suspicions. After all, his twenty-first birthday was approaching, and it was time he learned to drive. Mittie Roosevelt, used to her son's sudden enthusiasms, assumed he was merely having fun; it did not occur to her that deadly serious motives lay behind this interest in elegant locomotion. Even his purchase, in August, of a "dog-cart," or tilbury-whose seat was just large enough for two slim people-failed to arouse her suspicions. After all, his twenty-first birthday was approaching, and it was time he learned to drive.

Theodore spent much of the summer trying to imitate his father's prowess with reins and whip-not altogether successfully, for graceful, balanced movements never came easily to him. But he was not discouraged. "I am leading the most delightful life a fellow well could," he wrote, exulting in his "magnificent health and spirits."47 As usual he passed every spare minute in the open air, rowing, swimming, sailing, shooting (mostly at inanimate targets, out of deference to Alice), and constantly challenging Elliott to physical contests. "As athletes we are about equal; he rows best; I run best; he can beat me sailing or swimming; I can beat him wrestling or boxing; I am best with the rifle, he with the shotgun, &c, &c." As usual he passed every spare minute in the open air, rowing, swimming, sailing, shooting (mostly at inanimate targets, out of deference to Alice), and constantly challenging Elliott to physical contests. "As athletes we are about equal; he rows best; I run best; he can beat me sailing or swimming; I can beat him wrestling or boxing; I am best with the rifle, he with the shotgun, &c, &c."48 Theodore's diaries do not dwell on the nineteen-year-old Elliott's more obvious superiorities, such as good looks, charm, and sexual attractiveness. That fatally flawed Apollo was still, in the summer of 1879, unaware of the demon that would one day destroy him. An adolescent tendency toward epilepsy had been cured-seemingly-by the Rooseveltian remedy for all ills, travel. After a trip to Europe and two long stays in Texas he had returned, vigorous and healthy, to take his place as a young banker in New York society.49 Instantly friends of both sexes flocked to him, as others had done, years before, to Theodore Senior. "Nell" had all of Bamie's poise and none of her severity. He was untouched by Theodore's aggressive egotism. Like Corinne he tended to gush, but his warmth was more genuine. Kindly, open, decent, generous, he indeed was his father's son-were it not for a helpless inability to concentrate on anything but pleasure. Instantly friends of both sexes flocked to him, as others had done, years before, to Theodore Senior. "Nell" had all of Bamie's poise and none of her severity. He was untouched by Theodore's aggressive egotism. Like Corinne he tended to gush, but his warmth was more genuine. Kindly, open, decent, generous, he indeed was his father's son-were it not for a helpless inability to concentrate on anything but pleasure.

As far as girls were concerned, these faults merely added to his appeal. Even Fanny Smith, a lifelong worshiper of his brother, had to admit that "Elliott as a young man was a much more fascinating person than Theodore Roosevelt."50

ON 16 A AUGUST T THEODORE'S EXCELLENT results arrived from Harvard. He was pleased to note that "in zoology and political economy I lead everybody." results arrived from Harvard. He was pleased to note that "in zoology and political economy I lead everybody."51 This double achievement, in two such diametrically opposed subjects, was enough to reawaken his career dilemma of the previous winter. He had rejected Professor Laughlin's advice to make government, not science, his career. But now, perhaps because Alice had included the effluvia of the laboratory among her reasons for rejecting This double achievement, in two such diametrically opposed subjects, was enough to reawaken his career dilemma of the previous winter. He had rejected Professor Laughlin's advice to make government, not science, his career. But now, perhaps because Alice had included the effluvia of the laboratory among her reasons for rejecting him him, he began to wonder if Laughlin had not been right. Actually he had already, as he later confirmed, "abandoned all thought of becoming a scientist."52 From now on politics, not zoology, would preoccupy those parts of his mind not given over to Alice Lee. From now on politics, not zoology, would preoccupy those parts of his mind not given over to Alice Lee.

For thirty-six precious hours, in late August, Theodore was able to worship his beloved in body as well as spirit. En route to yet another vacation in Maine, he stopped off in Boston and spent a couple of nights at Chestnut Hill. Alice accompanied him to a beach party, walked with him through the woods, showed off her graceful prowess on the tennis court, and was his partner at a barn dance. She was "so bewitchingly pretty" he could continue north "only by heroic self-denial."53 Had Island Falls not been beyond the reach of any telegram, Theodore would have undoubtedly canceled his booking with Bill Sewall, and remained at Chestnut Hill to eat lotus fruit with the Lees. Had Island Falls not been beyond the reach of any telegram, Theodore would have undoubtedly canceled his booking with Bill Sewall, and remained at Chestnut Hill to eat lotus fruit with the Lees.54

HARSHER PLEASURES AWAITED HIM in Aroostook County, where the first chill of fall was already in the air. Since his first trip to Island Falls in 1878, Theodore had been longing to climb Mount Katahdin, whose silhouette massively dominated the western windows of Sewall's cabin. in Aroostook County, where the first chill of fall was already in the air. Since his first trip to Island Falls in 1878, Theodore had been longing to climb Mount Katahdin, whose silhouette massively dominated the western windows of Sewall's cabin.55 Forty miles away and 5,268 feet high, Katahdin was the highest mountain in Maine, and was surrounded by some of the most intractable forest in the Northeast. Now the young underclassman felt sufficiently tough and "forest-wise" to answer the challenge on the horizon. Arthur Cutler and his cousin Emlen Roosevelt, who were also vacationing at Island Falls, agreed to join him. After only two days of preparation they helped Sewall and Dow to load up a wagon, and set off southwest into a dank, dripping wilderness. Forty miles away and 5,268 feet high, Katahdin was the highest mountain in Maine, and was surrounded by some of the most intractable forest in the Northeast. Now the young underclassman felt sufficiently tough and "forest-wise" to answer the challenge on the horizon. Arthur Cutler and his cousin Emlen Roosevelt, who were also vacationing at Island Falls, agreed to join him. After only two days of preparation they helped Sewall and Dow to load up a wagon, and set off southwest into a dank, dripping wilderness.56 If nothing else, the events of the next eight days made Cutler withdraw his old doubts about Theodore's stamina. Although conditions were wet and slippery, the young man effortlessly toted a forty-five-pound pack up the ever-steepening mountain. Losing a shoe in a stream, he padded on in moccasins, which protected his feet "about as effectually as kid gloves." Yet despite the pain of tramping over miles of rain-slicked stones, he triumphantly reached the top with Sewall and Dow. Cutler and Emlen remained far below, in a state of collapse.57 That night, as the rain beat their tents and bedding into a sodden mess, Theodore noted in his diary: "I can endure fatigue and hardship pretty nearly as well as these lumbermen." That night, as the rain beat their tents and bedding into a sodden mess, Theodore noted in his diary: "I can endure fatigue and hardship pretty nearly as well as these lumbermen."58 His fellow New Yorkers could not. As soon as the party got back to Island Falls on 2 September they left exhausted for home. His fellow New Yorkers could not. As soon as the party got back to Island Falls on 2 September they left exhausted for home.

Having thus, as it were, flexed his muscles, Theodore set off with Bill Sewall on a second expedition, to the Munsungen Lakes, compared to which "our trip to Katahdin was absolute luxury." It included a fifty-mile, six-day voyage up the Aroostook River in a pirogue, or heavy dugout canoe. Fully half the time they had to drag or push the boat through torrential rapids, pausing occasionally to hack their way through beaver dams and log drifts. They spent ten hours a day up to their hips in icy water, stumbling constantly on sharp, slimy stones. "But, oh how we slept at night! And how we enjoyed the salt pork, hardtack and tea which constituted our food!"59 By way of relaxing after this bruising expedition, Theodore persuaded Sewall and Dow to take a third jaunt, during which they drove or marched over a hundred miles in three days. Rain fell unceasingly, but Theodore continued to delight in his "superb health" and ability to walk, wrestle, and shoot on near-equal terms with backwoodsmen. When Sewall and Dow finally put him on the Boston train on 24 September, he declared he felt "strong as a bull."60 The two big men, watching his skinny arm wave them goodbye, may have had their doubts about that-Sewall for years afterward continued to think of him as "frail"-but they could not fail to be awed by his vitality. The two big men, watching his skinny arm wave them goodbye, may have had their doubts about that-Sewall for years afterward continued to think of him as "frail"-but they could not fail to be awed by his vitality.61 He had taken them on in their own environment, and proved himself as good as they. He had taken them on in their own environment, and proved himself as good as they.

ON THE MORNING AFTER his return to Cambridge, Theodore emerged from breakfast at the Porc and found his new dog-cart outside the door, lamps and lacquerwork gleaming. Lightfoot waited patiently between its curving poles, long since resigned to the indignity of haulage. The staff of Pike's Stable had done a good job: Theodore could see that both horse and cart were in fine condition. His whip stood ready in its sprocket. Neatly folded under the seat lay a rug just large enough to wrap two pairs of touching legs. Climbing up carefully (for the dog-cart had a notoriously erratic center of gravity) he shook the reins and was soon rolling down Mount Auburn Street in the direction of Chestnut Hill. his return to Cambridge, Theodore emerged from breakfast at the Porc and found his new dog-cart outside the door, lamps and lacquerwork gleaming. Lightfoot waited patiently between its curving poles, long since resigned to the indignity of haulage. The staff of Pike's Stable had done a good job: Theodore could see that both horse and cart were in fine condition. His whip stood ready in its sprocket. Neatly folded under the seat lay a rug just large enough to wrap two pairs of touching legs. Climbing up carefully (for the dog-cart had a notoriously erratic center of gravity) he shook the reins and was soon rolling down Mount Auburn Street in the direction of Chestnut Hill.62 To his delight, the rig went beautifully, Lightfoot breaking only at the occasional roar of a locomotive. Theodore was conscious of the stares of passersby, and presumed that he was cutting a fine figure: "I really think that I have as swell a turnout as any man."63 If by If by any man any man he meant his fellow students, he understated the case; for this was the first dog-cart ever seen at Harvard, and remained the only one throughout his senior year. With such stylish equipage, he could hardly escape the amused notice of his classmates. Hitherto, he had managed to keep his visits to Chestnut Hill fairly secret, but now rumors began to fly. he meant his fellow students, he understated the case; for this was the first dog-cart ever seen at Harvard, and remained the only one throughout his senior year. With such stylish equipage, he could hardly escape the amused notice of his classmates. Hitherto, he had managed to keep his visits to Chestnut Hill fairly secret, but now rumors began to fly.64 The amorous Don Quixote, spurring Rocinante across the plain of La Mancha, was no more comic a courtier than Theodore, as he wobbled on tall wheels over the Charles River Bridge. In the words of his classmate Richard Welling: The amorous Don Quixote, spurring Rocinante across the plain of La Mancha, was no more comic a courtier than Theodore, as he wobbled on tall wheels over the Charles River Bridge. In the words of his classmate Richard Welling: Some of us were surprised, senior year, when we saw our serious friend Teddy driving a dog-cart, and, between you and me, not a very stylish turnout. Among the fashionables there was in those days an exquisite agony about a dog-cart which stamped it as the summit of elegance. The driver should hold the reins in a rather choice manner as though presenting a bouquet to a prima donna, and the long thorn-wood whip with its white pipe-clayed lash should be handled in a graceful way, like fly casting, to flick the horse's shoulder. The cart should be delightfully balanced so that, although the horse trotted, the driver's seat would not joggle. The driver was thus serenely perched on his somewhat elevated seat, and holding his whip athwart the lines, acknowledge the salutes of friends by gently raising his whip hand to his hat brim, his poise never for an instant disturbed. In short, in a horse show where the judges were passing upon fine points of equipment and technique, I fear Roosevelt would have been given the gate.65 History does not record what Alice Lee thought of this apparition as it creaked to a halt outside the Saltonstalls' house. Presumably she was not as dazzled as Theodore had hoped, for he studiously avoids mentioning her in his diary entry for the day, 26 September 1879: "...they were all so heartily glad to see me that I felt as if I had come home." On the next page Theodore writes: "Dr. and Mrs. Saltonstall are just too sweet for anything, and the girls are as lovely as ever."

Something is obviously wrong. For the rest of September, all of October, and most of November, he shows a strange reluctance to refer to Alice, even obliquely. Her name appears but once, in a list of his guests at an opera party on 16 October. Two pages are ripped out just prior to that date. There is also a reduction in the flow of Theodore's perpetual cheerfulness. Yet the evidence is that he continued to drive over to Chestnut Hill, and his relationship with the rest of that sociable community remained as warm as ever. Only Alice, apparently, was cool.

If he was not happy during these first months of his senior year, Theodore was too busy to be depressed. "I have my hands altogether too full of society work," he mildly complained, "being Librarian of the Porcellian, Secretary of the Pudding, Treasurer of the O.K., Vice President of the Natural History Soc., and President of the A.D.Q.; Editor of the Advocate." Advocate." His diary makes frequent reference to theater parties and suppers-"I find I don't get to bed too early." His diary makes frequent reference to theater parties and suppers-"I find I don't get to bed too early."66 Although he had purposely arranged a light study schedule (only five courses, as opposed to nine in his junior year), he worked at it six to eight hours a day. Although he had purposely arranged a light study schedule (only five courses, as opposed to nine in his junior year), he worked at it six to eight hours a day.67 He was determined to keep up his three-year average of 82, and in mid-October proudly informed the Roosevelts: "I stand 19th in the class, which began with 230 fellows. Only one gentleman," Theodore added, with a fine regard for social distinction, "stands ahead of me." He was determined to keep up his three-year average of 82, and in mid-October proudly informed the Roosevelts: "I stand 19th in the class, which began with 230 fellows. Only one gentleman," Theodore added, with a fine regard for social distinction, "stands ahead of me."68 He was still, for all the influence of Bill Sewall, an unabashed snob. His idea of a good time, during this period of estrangement from Alice, was to pile six fashionable young men into a four-in-hand, "and drive up to Frank Codman's farm where we will spend the day, shooting glass balls &c." He was still, for all the influence of Bill Sewall, an unabashed snob. His idea of a good time, during this period of estrangement from Alice, was to pile six fashionable young men into a four-in-hand, "and drive up to Frank Codman's farm where we will spend the day, shooting glass balls &c."69 Alice was not at Theodore's side when he turned twenty-one on 27 October 1879. But his adoring family was, and he saw no reason to be despondent. He would get his girl-he knew it. If still not altogether certain about his career, he at least knew roughly what he would like to do, and his achievements to date, whether social, physical, or intellectual, had not dishonored the memory of his father. For once, he could look back at the past without regret, and at the future without bewilderment. Simply and touchingly, he wrote in his diary: "I have had so much happiness in my life so far that I feel, no matter what sorrows come, the joys will have overbalanced them."70

SORROWS CAME sooner than he expected. Early in November, Alice's resistance to his advances, hitherto always softened with a hint of future compliance, began to show signs of permanent hardening. Theodore was immediately plunged into a state of sleepless, aching frustration. "Oh the changeableness of the female mind!" he burst out in a letter home, a remark which must have caused the Roosevelts some puzzlement, since he did not go on to explain it. sooner than he expected. Early in November, Alice's resistance to his advances, hitherto always softened with a hint of future compliance, began to show signs of permanent hardening. Theodore was immediately plunged into a state of sleepless, aching frustration. "Oh the changeableness of the female mind!" he burst out in a letter home, a remark which must have caused the Roosevelts some puzzlement, since he did not go on to explain it.71 The prospect of failure clearly terrified him. "I did not think I could win her," he afterward confessed, "and I went nearly crazy at the mere thought of losing her." The prospect of failure clearly terrified him. "I did not think I could win her," he afterward confessed, "and I went nearly crazy at the mere thought of losing her."72 As usual he kept despair at bay by burying himself in books (for his birthday he had requested "complete editions of the works of Prescott, Motley, and Carlyle") and studying harder than ever.73 Somehow he managed to conceal his agony from his classmates. Frederick Almy, class secretary, heard Theodore read a paper at the November meeting of the O.K. Society and was impressed by his vigorous, confident manner. "Roosevelt spoke on the machine in politics, illustrating by the recent election in New York. An interesting discussion followed...I have a very high opinion of Roosevelt." Somehow he managed to conceal his agony from his classmates. Frederick Almy, class secretary, heard Theodore read a paper at the November meeting of the O.K. Society and was impressed by his vigorous, confident manner. "Roosevelt spoke on the machine in politics, illustrating by the recent election in New York. An interesting discussion followed...I have a very high opinion of Roosevelt."74 As Thanksgiving, the anniversary of his vow, approached, he made a desperate, last-minute effort to press his suit. Alice would "come out" a week after the festival, and become fair game for all the eligible young men in Boston. He reasoned that his best hope lay in bringing their respective families together, enmeshing Alice in such warm webs of mutual affection (for he was sure everybody would get on famously) that she would be powerless to break away. With considerable skill he managed to arrange four such meetings in twenty days. On 2 November Mr. and Mrs. Lee, Alice, and Rose visited New York and were entertained by the Roosevelts; on 17 November Bamie and Corinne visited Chestnut Hill, and the Saltonstalls gave a dinner in their honor. On 18 November the Lees repeated the compliment. Finally, on 22 November, Theodore held an elaborate, thirty-four-plate luncheon in the Porcellian, at which elders of all three families were represented. The rest of the company comprised the most attractive of his Boston girlfriends and the most fashionable of his college chums. Perhaps because of Alice's youth, or because Theodore did not wish to arouse premature suspicions, he relegated her to the secondary position on his left; the place of honor went to a Miss Betty Hooper.75 This three-week diplomatic offensive paid off handsomely in terms of family goodwill. The Lees were in reported "raptures" over their New York trip, and his sisters had been effusively welcomed at Chestnut Hill. As for his luncheon, "everything went off to perfection; the dinner was capital, the wine was good, and the fellows all gentlemen."76 For a few days Theodore basked in the glow of his achievements, then drove out to Chestnut Hill for Thanksgiving hoping that Alice would now look more favorably upon him. For a few days Theodore basked in the glow of his achievements, then drove out to Chestnut Hill for Thanksgiving hoping that Alice would now look more favorably upon him.

Unfortunately she did not, although she continued, rather heartlessly, to flirt and tease. He returned to Harvard in a melancholy mood. Four days later Alice "came out" in the traditional shower of rosebuds, and Boston's eligible youth began to circle ominously around her. Theodore was a guest at the party, and in the days following could no longer conceal his violent frustration. "See that girl?" he exclaimed at a Hasty Pudding function, pointing across the room at Alice: "I am going to marry her. She won't have me, but I am going to have her! her!"77 As winter settled in, and the long evenings dragged out, Theodore felt the loneliness of unrequited love weigh heavily upon him. Unable to find solace in reading books, he began to write one, entitled The Naval War of 1812. The Naval War of 1812.78 His insomnia worsened to the point that for night after night he did not even go to bed. He wandered endlessly through the frozen woods around Cambridge, declaiming Swinburne. His insomnia worsened to the point that for night after night he did not even go to bed. He wandered endlessly through the frozen woods around Cambridge, declaiming Swinburne.79 After one such excursion he refused to return to his rooms. Seriously alarmed, a classmate telegraphed Theodore's family for assistance. Fortunately James West Roosevelt was staying nearby, and rushed to the aid of his stricken cousin. Somehow, the distraught lover was soothed. After one such excursion he refused to return to his rooms. Seriously alarmed, a classmate telegraphed Theodore's family for assistance. Fortunately James West Roosevelt was staying nearby, and rushed to the aid of his stricken cousin. Somehow, the distraught lover was soothed.80 He did not see Alice at all during the two weeks prior to his Christmas vacation. Returning to New York on 22 December he threw himself determinedly into the usual family festivities. On Christmas Eve he called on at least ten "very pretty girls," as if to erase from his mind the picture of his beloved. Edith Carow was among them. "She is the most cultivated, best-read girl I know."81 All at once, on the day after Christmas, the word "Alice" joyously reappears in his diary. That young coquette had decided to visit New York for a week, accompanied by a retinue of "Chestnut Hillers." Graciously accepting Theodore's invitation to stay, she permitted him to squire her around town, and his delight knew no bounds. They had "an uproariously jolly time," he told his diary, adding in a more reflective moment that her presence at 6 West Fifty-seventh Street seemed "so natural."82 New Year's Day, 1880, dawned calm and sunny, matching Theodore's mood. He drove his guests out to Jerome Park for lunch and an afternoon of dancing.83 Alice bobbed and swayed enchantingly in his arms, and he sensed that his long agony would soon be over. Alice bobbed and swayed enchantingly in his arms, and he sensed that his long agony would soon be over.

Sun., Jan. 25 At last everything is settled; but it seems impossible to realize it. I am so happy that I dare not trust in my own happiness. I drove over to the Lees determined to make an end of things at last; it was nearly eight months since I had first proposed to her, and I had been nearly crazy during the past year; and after much pleading my own sweet, pretty darling consented to be my wife. Oh, how bewitchingly pretty she looked! If loving her with my whole heart and soul can make her happy, she shall be happy; a year ago last Thanksgiving I made a vow that win her I would if it were possible; and now that I have done so, the aim of my whole life shall be to make her happy, and to shield her and guard her from every trial; and, oh, how I shall cherish my sweet queen! How she, so pure and sweet and beautiful can think of marrying me I can not understand, but I praise and thank God it is so. At last everything is settled; but it seems impossible to realize it. I am so happy that I dare not trust in my own happiness. I drove over to the Lees determined to make an end of things at last; it was nearly eight months since I had first proposed to her, and I had been nearly crazy during the past year; and after much pleading my own sweet, pretty darling consented to be my wife. Oh, how bewitchingly pretty she looked! If loving her with my whole heart and soul can make her happy, she shall be happy; a year ago last Thanksgiving I made a vow that win her I would if it were possible; and now that I have done so, the aim of my whole life shall be to make her happy, and to shield her and guard her from every trial; and, oh, how I shall cherish my sweet queen! How she, so pure and sweet and beautiful can think of marrying me I can not understand, but I praise and thank God it is so.84 The engagement was kept secret pending family approval. For several days Theodore could not believe his luck. "I still feel as if it would turn out, as it so often has before, and that Alice will repent." But she did not. Now that her defenses were down, he could kiss and cuddle her as often as he wished.85 In a daze of delight, he rushed to New York to break the news to his family. Mittie Roosevelt was stunned, but, thanks to her prior exposure to Alice, wholly satisfied. The girl had beauty, grace, and humor-qualities for which she herself had been famed in her time. As for Theodore, Mittie had long since recognized that he, not Elliott, was his father's son: decisive and masterful, a man who knew exactly what he wanted. Right now it was "a diamond ring for my darling." In a daze of delight, he rushed to New York to break the news to his family. Mittie Roosevelt was stunned, but, thanks to her prior exposure to Alice, wholly satisfied. The girl had beauty, grace, and humor-qualities for which she herself had been famed in her time. As for Theodore, Mittie had long since recognized that he, not Elliott, was his father's son: decisive and masterful, a man who knew exactly what he wanted. Right now it was "a diamond ring for my darling."86 While he shopped for it, Mittie wrote Alice a delicate, violet-scented note, formally welcoming her into the family. The reply came by return of post, and reassured her that Alice, no longer the coquette, was as deeply in love as Theodore. While he shopped for it, Mittie wrote Alice a delicate, violet-scented note, formally welcoming her into the family. The reply came by return of post, and reassured her that Alice, no longer the coquette, was as deeply in love as Theodore.

Chestnut Hill, Feb. 3rd 1880 1880My Dear Mrs. Roosevelt I feel almost powerless to express my thanks and appreciation of your sweet note received this afternoon, full of such kind assurances of love and welcome, it is more than kind, and feeling so unworthy of such a noble man's love, makes me feel that I do not deserve it all. But I do love Theodore deeply and it will be my aim both to endear myself to those so dear to him and retain his love. I feel almost powerless to express my thanks and appreciation of your sweet note received this afternoon, full of such kind assurances of love and welcome, it is more than kind, and feeling so unworthy of such a noble man's love, makes me feel that I do not deserve it all. But I do love Theodore deeply and it will be my aim both to endear myself to those so dear to him and retain his love.How happy I am I can't begin to tell you, it seems almost like a dream. It is such pleasure to have known all his loved ones, and not to feel that I am going amongst perfect strangers...I just long for tomorrow to see Theodore and hear all about his visit home. I was so afraid you might be disappointed when you heard what he went on for, and I assure you my heart is full of gratitude for all your kindness. With a great deal of love, believe me, Ever yours devotedly Ever yours devotedly,ALICE HATHAWAY LEE87 There remained the problem of reconciling the Lees to the premature loss of their daughter. Although that amiable couple had no objection to Alice's early engagement, Theodore foresaw "a battle royal" in winning their consent to her early marriage. With his usual regard for the calendar, he hoped to announce the former on Valentine's Day, and celebrate the latter on his birthday, 27 October. Even that eight-month interval would likely be too short for Mrs. Lee.88 Alice wanted to press for a fall wedding, but he wisely left the date open when negotiating with her father. Pleased at this show of responsibility, George Cabot Lee made the engagement official on 14 February 1880, and Theodore was free to dispatch a series of triumphant announcement notes to his friends. "I have been in love with her for nearly two years now; and have made everything subordinate to winning her...." Alice wanted to press for a fall wedding, but he wisely left the date open when negotiating with her father. Pleased at this show of responsibility, George Cabot Lee made the engagement official on 14 February 1880, and Theodore was free to dispatch a series of triumphant announcement notes to his friends. "I have been in love with her for nearly two years now; and have made everything subordinate to winning her...."89 Now that Alice was his, Theodore's natural exuberance, so long bottled up, burst out like champagne. His letters and diaries for the months following are awash with adoration. "My sweet, pretty, pure queen, my laughing little love...how bewitchingly pretty she is! I can not help petting her and caressing her all the time; and she is such a perfect little sunshine. I do not believe any man ever loved a woman more than I love her."90 Although the February weather was snowy, he drove constantly to Chestnut Hill, "the horse plunging to his belly in great drifts," impatient to be in the arms of "the purest, truest, and sweetest of all women." When his family arrived in Boston later that month for a round of festive luncheons and dinner parties, Theodore worked himself up to such a pitch of excitement that he went for forty-four hours without sleep. Although the February weather was snowy, he drove constantly to Chestnut Hill, "the horse plunging to his belly in great drifts," impatient to be in the arms of "the purest, truest, and sweetest of all women." When his family arrived in Boston later that month for a round of festive luncheons and dinner parties, Theodore worked himself up to such a pitch of excitement that he went for forty-four hours without sleep.91 For all his joy, there came now and again, cold as ice in his stomach, a reminder that he had very nearly failed. "The little witch led me a dance before she surrendered, I can tell you," he confided to his cousin John, "and the last six months have been perfect agony...Even now, it makes me shudder to think of some of the nights I have passed."92 He remained insecure about Alice long after the Lees agreed, in early March, to a fall wedding. He remained insecure about Alice long after the Lees agreed, in early March, to a fall wedding.93 "Roosevelt seemed constantly afraid," recalled Alice's cousin, "that someone would run off with her, and threaten duels and everything else. On one occasion he actually sent abroad for a set of French duelling pistols." "Roosevelt seemed constantly afraid," recalled Alice's cousin, "that someone would run off with her, and threaten duels and everything else. On one occasion he actually sent abroad for a set of French duelling pistols."94 Planning an Easter visit to New York with Alice, he was naively anxious to impress his local friends at a dinner in her honor: "I want to include everybody, so as to rub up their memories about the existence of a man named Theodore Roosevelt, who is going to bring a pretty Boston wife back to New York next winter." Planning an Easter visit to New York with Alice, he was naively anxious to impress his local friends at a dinner in her honor: "I want to include everybody, so as to rub up their memories about the existence of a man named Theodore Roosevelt, who is going to bring a pretty Boston wife back to New York next winter."95 As the weather softened, and Alice remained faithful, Theodore learned to relax. By 1 April he was able to note smugly that "in spite of being engaged," she was "certainly the belle of the Harvard Assembly." In order to spend every available minute with her, he resigned many of his official positions, including the vice-presidency of the Natural History Society, neglected his editorship of the Advocate Advocate, and began to cut recitations freely. His study hours dwindled from thirty-six to fifteen a week. "My marks were so good the first three years that I can afford to be idle now." Already he was bored with scholastic honors. The fact that he had scored 94 and 98 in two semiannuals, written in the same week he successfully proposed to Alice Lee, did not seem remarkable to him.96

NOW THAT T THEODORE'S romance was common knowledge on the Yard, he not unnaturally became something of a figure of fun. Professor A. S. ("Ass") Hill, his instructor in forensics, was so amused by the "precocious sentimentality" of a Rooseveltian essay that he read it aloud to the class, keeping the name of the author secret. Afterward he waspishly asked Theodore to criticize it, and sat back to enjoy the young man's blushes. romance was common knowledge on the Yard, he not unnaturally became something of a figure of fun. Professor A. S. ("Ass") Hill, his instructor in forensics, was so amused by the "precocious sentimentality" of a Rooseveltian essay that he read it aloud to the class, keeping the name of the author secret. Afterward he waspishly asked Theodore to criticize it, and sat back to enjoy the young man's blushes.97 Theodore's dog-cart and dandified appearance (he now sported a silk hat, regarded as the non plus ultra non plus ultra of college fashion) of college fashion)98 did not escape the satire of Owen Wister, who wrote the songs for the D.K.E. theatricals. During one burlesque production of did not escape the satire of Owen Wister, who wrote the songs for the D.K.E. theatricals. During one burlesque production of Der Freischutz Der Freischutz, the chorus launched into a serenade about The cove who droveHis doggy Tilbury cart...Awful tart,And awful smart,With waxed mustache and hair in curls:Brand-new hat,Likewise cravat,To call upon the dear little girls!99 Wister, gleefully pounding the piano, was unaware that the incensed "cove" himself happened to be in the audience. Next morning, rumors circulated that Teddy Roosevelt was "very angry," and had muttered something about "bad taste." Wister innocently claimed that since Roosevelt's mustache was not waxed, his lyrics were not libelous.100 He might have added that Theodore had no mustache at all, only whiskers. He might have added that Theodore had no mustache at all, only whiskers.

But the latter was too much in love to stay angry for long, and looked puzzled when Wister apologized.101 They soon became fast friends. Theodore was attracted by the sophomore's wit and intelligence, while Wister was one of the first to define the peculiar glow of the mature Rooseveltian personality. During the past few years, this glow had only flickered at sporadic intervals. Now it began to beam forth steadily, throwing Theodore into ever-greater prominence against the muted backdrop of Harvard. "He was his own limelight, and could not help it," Wister wrote many years later. "A creature charged with such a voltage as his, became the central presence at once, whether he stepped on a platform or entered a room." They soon became fast friends. Theodore was attracted by the sophomore's wit and intelligence, while Wister was one of the first to define the peculiar glow of the mature Rooseveltian personality. During the past few years, this glow had only flickered at sporadic intervals. Now it began to beam forth steadily, throwing Theodore into ever-greater prominence against the muted backdrop of Harvard. "He was his own limelight, and could not help it," Wister wrote many years later. "A creature charged with such a voltage as his, became the central presence at once, whether he stepped on a platform or entered a room."102