going briskly on, four buoyant classes are all excitement with the
joyous prospects of the season: the seniors look forward to the speedy
coming of the longed-for diploma and the prized commission, for relief
from the restraint of academic life and for the broader field of the
army; the second, the juniors, to reaching the dignity of "first-class
camp," with the highest offices and honors to be achieved so long as
they shall wear the gray; the third, ah! they are the furloughmen, so
soon to be restored for two brief months to home and kindred after the
two years of rigid discipline and ceaseless duty; the fourth, to step at
once and for all from the meekness of "plebedom" and become the envied
"old cadet." June brings bliss for all,--for all but those who fail.

And June brings joy to sisters and sweethearts by the dozen, to fond
mammas, to proud paternals, who throng the hostelries of the Point and
the neighborhood, and swarm in lively interest all over the historic
spot, listening with uncomprehending but tireless patience to
examinations on fortification or grand tactics, mechanics or calculus;
gasping with excitement over dashing charges on the "cavalry plain,"
shuddering over the reckless daring in the riding-hall, stopping their
ears against the thunder of the great guns at the batteries, and beating
time with head and foot to the spirited quicksteps of the band.
Dress-parade, the closing ceremony of each day, concentrates the entire
assemblage along the shaded walk that borders on the west the beautiful
green carpet of the "infantry plain," and, at last, as the four gray and
white companies go dancing off in double-time through the grim
sally-port beneath the barracks, and the carriages and stages whirl away
the watching throngs, and the plumed cadet officers scurry off to
supper, and, group after group, the spectators saunter homewards, the
band disappears below the crest of the plain towards "Bumtown," and
little by little the light turns to violet on the wooded heights across
the swirling Hudson, and silence settles down upon the scene.

Gazing out from under the foliage of the great elms, watching these very
changes, two ladies are seated upon the piazza of the officers' quarters
opposite the southern half of the plain. One is a young matron, whose
eyes once seen are not soon forgotten,--so soft, so deep, so brown, so
truthful are they under the long curling lashes, under the low-arched,
heavy brows. Beauti