“He thought of the long distant time when, as a boy, he played and rolled on the grass plats, forgetful of books and lessons—of scaling the walls, and rambling in the forests.
“Yet year followed year, and he ripened into youth, and passed the collegiate course, a credit to his tutors and himself.
“Fatherless and motherless he knew he was.
“But who had fed and clothed and educated him, were questions he could not answer.
“He never wanted for aught that a gentleman required, yet he felt a pang of pride to think he might be a ‘charity student,’ for in answer to all inquiries the grey-haired President always smiled, took his arm, and said,
“‘Edward, ask no questions—at least not yet; finish your studies as creditably as you have begun—ask for anything you require—know that you are a gentleman by birth, and not a subject of charity, and when you have obtained your degree, put as many questions as you wish. They shall all be fitly answered, and to your satisfaction.’”
“Why, this is my case to a dot,” said Ned, as he still read on.
“Commencement day at the college was always a grand affair, and its many attractions were such, that not only parents and friends, but strangers from all parts flocked thither to hear the orations, inspect the prizes, and see the troops reviewed.
“Such were the crowds that always came on that occasion, that hotels were crammed, and the college theatre was far too small, so that the exercises were always held in the open air.
“The whole of the quadrangle was decorated with flags and banners, and tiers of raised seats, sheltered from the sun by awnings, while in the centre arose the stage, formed like a Grecian temple, with columns of imitation marble, on which, in a semi-circle, the faculty sat in solemn state to confer degrees, while round about the cadets formed a guard of honour, with bands and flags, and brilliant uniforms. Graduates, one by one, had delivered their orations amid great applause.