Cadets love to lay aside the restrictions of their everyday routine life, put on their athletic uniforms and most care-free manners, and wander among the beautiful hills that are all around West Point. They like to enjoy the emotions that spring from a close communion with Nature, both in the winter, when the afternoons are short and the valleys quickly fill up with purple lights, and in the summer, when the country is extravagantly clothed in luxuriant foliage. If the day of the cadet has been warped by all sorts of petty annoyances, all that he has to do is to climb to Redoubt No. 4 or go to Fort Putnam, and feast his eyes upon a scene of unsurpassing beauty in order to have his cramped soul straightened out and to be lifted above his material surroundings. What greater pleasure does his life afford than to lie in the warm spring sunshine of Fort Putnam and drink in the panorama below? All of the cares of his daily existence drop away under the spell of a mysterious kind of an influence that fills his being and stirs his innate nobility. He is thankful that he is privileged to live in such a wonderful and beautiful place. Its effect is like that of some drug that soothes and calms, that gives him a kindly feeling toward humanity, and that makes him glad to be alive. On all sides he is affected by Nature who has done her best to develop all of his spirituality and to awaken his finer sensibilities. Wherever he wanders or wherever the eye roves, there is a scene to admire, almost reverentially. No less appealing than the hills is the river with its many moods.

And there are the buildings whose beauty likewise exerts a subtle spiritual influence and acts as a stimulant to the development of the cadet’s Æsthetic tastes. His Barracks, his Recitation Halls, his Riding Academy, his Gymnasium, his Mess Hall, and especially his Chapel, built as they all are from the natural rock of West Point’s hills, seem to grow right out of their surroundings as if God planted them there as a part of His natural design. Their presence is ever a reminder to the cadet that he has consecrated his life to an ideal, for on their exteriors are carved in conspicuous places the shields of his Alma Mater and of his country, bearing their motto of duty and honor. The walls of the interiors are hung with the portraits of famous sons of the Academy, whose devotion to their country and to an ideal serves as an inspiration to the cadet and makes him sensible to the value of moral qualities.

Hovering over both the grounds and the buildings is the influence of the flag. As a cadet sees it floating from its tall white staff, somehow it has come to have a different meaning from the days when he was a care-free civilian. It seems to him to possess a personality of which he never before was aware. He feels for it a real reverence, because he is conscious of being in the presence of something big, as if beholding the whole power of a nation. He sees in it the emblem of the country’s sovereignty and the symbol to which he has pledged his life’s service. Mingled with his feeling of reverence is his personal affection. Day after day he has watched it silhouetted against the sky and has felt the thrill of patriotism, when it was being lowered at retreat to the accompaniment of The Star Spangled Banner.

It is not to the beauty of Nature and to the flag alone that the cadet must turn for his spiritual refreshment. The Chaplain, a man with a fine grip upon the Corps, gathers together in classes those cadets who desire to come, and explains to them the word of God. His Bible classes today are a continuation of the famous classes that were held at West Point for so many years by Miss Anna Warner. During the summer encampment, she taught her boys in the old chapel after the morning services, where for one hour the cadets received from her sainted lips an interpretation of the Scriptures, and were elevated by contact with her noble character. I can see her before me now, her quaint silk dress, her small delicate body, her ethereal face framed in the neatest and whitest of curls that peeped from out of her charming poke bonnet. Her whole presence radiated goodness and spirituality. Prior to the dismissal of the class she would regularly present to each cadet a fragrant little bouquet of flowers that she had that morning gathered from her modest garden, and arranged into the daintiest of nosegays. These few flowers were simple, like the donor, but they brought into the life of the recipient a spiritual perfume that awakened his memories and took him back home to rose-scented gardens and neat graveled paths where another sainted woman was praying for the welfare of his soul. So he took the little nosegay back to camp with him and put it carefully in his tumblerful of water alongside of his tent, as a reminder of what he should be, and as a check on ignoble impulses. Here and there in his own company streets, he would see his comrades’ bouquets, little dashes of color, the red of the petunia, the blue of the cornflower, the yellow of the marigold, and as they caught his eye they seemed to be a part of Miss Warner still exerting her inspiring influence.

It is regrettable that the cadets of the future will never have the good fortune to know her, for last year (1916) she passed to her reward after ninety years in the service of God. Although it is rare that anyone outside the Academy is buried in the cemetery at West Point, her body was laid to rest there, near the bluff that overlooks the Hudson and in sight of her home on Constitution Island across the river, that a short time before her death she generously gave to the Government. To the Corps of Cadets that she loved, she willed a magnificent original portrait of Washington by Gilbert Stuart, that now hangs in the library.

Her Bible class still goes on. Every Sunday when the weather is fair the Chaplain takes the cadets over to Constitution Island, where, under the trees that Miss Warner loved so well, he continues her work. If Miss Warner sees her “boys” studying the word of God in the shadow of the old Revolutionary House, hallowed by her presence, what pleasure she must feel!

If, however, neither the beauties of Nature nor the interest of the Bible class appeal to the cadet, he cannot help having his spiritual self stirred by the impressive service at the Cadet Chapel. All cadets are required to attend divine service. The large majority go to the Cadet Chapel because it is for all denominations, the building never having been consecrated to any particular faith, but about ten per cent. of the cadets attend service at the Catholic Chapel.

The service at the Cadet Chapel is so impressive and interesting that the majority of the cadets look forward with pleasure to Sunday morning. I suppose that all former cadets will smile upon reading this statement, when they remember the reluctance with which they donned their dress coats and belts for the weekly service, at which they had difficulty in keeping awake while the lessons and sermon were being read. But times have changed since then, due principally to the atmosphere of the new Chapel and the music of its splendid organ. Sir Roger de Coverly would rejoice to behold so model a congregation and to hear such excellent singing.

The interior of the Chapel is worthy of its beautiful service. “Storied windows richly dight” rise majestically to the high Gothic roof and throw upon the gray walls a myriad of delicate lights, pale blues and pinks, saffrons, and deep purples. Two parallel rows of silk flags, the scarlet of the artillery, the somber blue of the infantry, and the gold of the cavalry, hang from the long covered galleries on either side of the nave. The deep rich shades of the magnificent memorial window shroud the chancel in a “dim religious light.” Nor is the service lacking in military pomp. Company after company of gray-clad cadets, their brass buttons shining, file briskly into the Chapel. The tramping of hundreds of pairs of feet up the aisle and the rattling of their buttons against the pews as they take their seats reverberate through the vast hall. The officers, in their uniforms, and their families assemble in the seats along the sides.

The first note from the organ announces the commencement of the service. The choir of over a hundred voices, singing the processional hymn, walk two by two in slow and solemn order up the aisle to their places in the stalls. A wave of music sweeps through the church as the procession moves forward. Last of all comes the Chaplain, immaculate in fresh linen surplice, and conspicuous by his distinguished bearing.

The service proceeds. The Chaplain advances to the reading desk and reads the lessons for the day. Inspiring hymns are then sung, followed by an eloquent sermon upon subjects that touch the daily lives of the cadets. Once again the celebrated organ peals forth, and during the offertory casts with its music a spell over the devout congregation. Two stalwart cadet officers then march quickly up the aisle to the chancel where awaits the Chaplain to receive the offerings. The organ’s music fills the church anew and the hall resounds to hundreds of strong voices singing “Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” followed immediately by the patriotic hymn,

The Chaplain standing upon the steps of the altar pronounces the solemn benediction, which is scarcely concluded when the choir begins to sing the “Amen” to the accompaniment of Holy Grail motif from Parsifal. Faintly at first the singing arises from the stalls, then stronger and stronger, then diminishing in volume until it dies away with a final “Amen.”

Besides the service at the Chapel there is another service held on Sundays. It is the Y. M. C. A., a purely religious body among the cadets and not as in the cities a sort of club house where a swimming pool, assembly rooms, and gymnasium are the main attractions. These advantages are already a part of West Point’s equipment. The Y. M. C. A. at the Academy meets every Sunday evening after supper in a hall over one of the sally-ports, and here after a few prayers, a speaker makes a short address. On week days the hall is frequented by cadets only to read the papers or to play the victrola, and in Lent the Chaplain holds afternoon services. Formerly the Chaplain held these prayers immediately after breakfast, but once a cadet captain, wishing to remind the cadets that the services would take place immediately after the dismissal of the Battalion, mixed up his verbs and announced very emphatically “cadets are cautioned about the ten-minute service in the Y. M. C. A.”! The Sunday service, however, is the reason for the existence of the organization. The prayers are not long and the addresses sometimes most interesting, especially when they relate to the work that the cadet will have to do as an officer. The meetings are usually terminated when the bugler blows the evening call to quarters in the sally-port under the hall. Of all the sounds at West Point, Sunday evening “call to quarters” is the most doleful and depressing. It means that after the break of Saturday and Sunday, the cadet must once more turn to his books and dig out the problems for Monday. When he hears its melancholy, long-drawn-out notes, he has the Sunday evening feeling, which is only a degree more cheerful than the blue Monday feeling, and he reluctantly goes back to his room to begin anew the weekly cycle.

The cadet is really never quite free from the spiritual influences of the Academy. Nature, his Chapel, traditions, precept, and example so arouse and sharpen his insight into things and into himself that his day gradually assumes a new background. These are the influences that, when he is an officer, draw him back to his Alma Mater and make him speak of it always with undisguised affection.