straight as an
arrow, and have continued so, I believe, ever since.

I discovered vast treasures of strange reading in the library of the
Princeton Theological College. There was in one corner in a waste-room
at least two cart-loads of old books in a cobwebbed dusty pile. Out of
that pile I raked the _thirteenth_ known copy of Blind Harry's famed
poem, a black-letter Euphues Lely, an _Erra Pater_ (a very weak-minded
friend _actually shamed_ me out of making a copy of this great curiosity,
telling me it was silly and childish of me to be so pleased with old
trash), and many more marvels, which were so little esteemed in
Princeton, that one of the professors, seeing me daft with delight over
my finds, told me I was quite welcome to keep them all; but I, who better
knew their _great_ value, would not avail myself of the offer, reflecting
that a time would come when these treasures would be properly valued. God
knows it was a _terrible_ temptation to me, and such as I hope I may
never have again--_ne inducas nos in temptationem_!

The time for my graduation was at hand. I had profited very much in the
last year by the teaching and friendly counsel of Professor Joseph Henry,
whose lectures on philosophy I diligently attended; also those on
geology, chemistry and botany by Professor Torrey, and by the company of
Professor Topping. I stood very high in Latin, and perhaps first in
English branches. Yet, because I had fallen utterly short in
mathematics, I was rated the lowest but one in the class--or, honestly
speaking, the very last, for the one below me was an utterly reckless
youth, who could hardly be said to have studied or graduated at all.
There were two honours usually awarded for proficiency in study. One was
the First Honour, and he who received it delivered the Valedictory
Oration; the second was the Poem; and by an excess of kindness and
justice for which I can never feel too grateful, and which was really an
extraordinary stretch of their power under the circumstances, the Poem
was awarded to me!

I was overwhelmed at the honour, but bitterly mortified and cut to my
heart to think how little I had deserved it; for I had never done a thing
save read and study that which pleased me and was _easy_. I wrote the
poem (and I still think it was a good one, for I put all my soul into
it), and sent it in to the Faculty, with a letter stating that I was
deeply grateful for their extreme kindness, but that, feeling