Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Olde Cambridge

... I was a sophomore, and sat half a dozen seats directly behind him. He came in as usual — it was the day he had been chosen class poet, by one or two votes (I think) over my cousin John Ware--and seemed to regard the occasion as wholly complimentary to himself. His handsome face was richly suffused with the purple glow of youth, and wreathed in smiles, as he rose,--my venerable grandfather [Rev. Henry Ware, D. D.] had with trembling voice just begun the service,--and bowed, smirking right hand and left, to the surprised congregation. It was the affair of a minute: my recollection is that he was soon persuaded to sit down, and only made one more ineffectual attempt to rise. The short service — it was evening prayer, of course-went through and ended decently and in order. Presumably, “Old Quin” [President Quincy] was in his customary seat, and had a fair view of the proceedings. We soon learned that it had been dealt with quite seriously; by what seemed a hard sentence, he had been suspended till after class day. I suppose the date must have been March or April [1838], but am not sure.