cquired in mathematics, and it was soon forgotten.
I was idle in college, and learnt little; but I led a happy life, and ran into no wildness or excesses.
Indeed, in that village life, there was small opportunity for such things, and those with whom I lived and associated, both in college and in the society of the place, were excellent people.
Of my classmates, Joseph Bell afterwards became an eminent lawyer; Hunt, the father of the artist and the architect, was a member of Congress; Newcombe distinguished himself in the navy.
But the two whom I knew the most were Holbrook—a gentle, careful, but not very successful scholar, who died at the South, where he was a schoolmaster—and Thayer, Sylvanus Thayer, who was the first scholar in the class, and with whom my intimacy, for sixty years, has never been at any time impaired.
He made West Point what it has been to the military character of the country, and is still alive (1869) at a great age,—a man of very great ability, of the h<