errand boy. I enjoyed it all immensely, it was such a contrast to the 

 cloistered life I had been leading in Philadelphia. For the remainder of 

 the academic year, I went to "Edgehill," an excellent school, but, unfor- 

 tunately for me, that was its last year in Princeton, as it removed to 

 Merchantsville, N.J. The property was sold to Admiral Emmons and is 

 now the site of the Hun School. My all too brief months at Edgehill 

 were of great value to me, especially in two respects : I had my intro- 

 duction to science in the form of lectures on chemistry, with fascinating 

 experiments, and I was taught to spell. For years, chemistry was my 

 particular hobby and I was allowed to set up my own laboratory. 



In 1869, there began a series of ephemeral boys' schools in Princeton, 

 all of which I attended and which seldom lasted more than a single 

 year. Had the matter not been so serious, it would have been extremely 

 amusing, for, with one exception, these schools were farcical. The 

 exception went on for two years and promised to grow into a large and 

 flourishing school, but the principal, though a good teacher, had a violent 

 and ungoverned temper, which brought him into fatal collision with 

 his pupils and their parents. The wreck of this school was a calamity, 

 for its successor was worse in every particular and finally, in despair, my 

 Mother took me away and put me in charge of private tutors. Had not 

 entrance requirements been much less exacting then than they are now, 

 I don't see how I ever could have got into college. One great benefit I 

 owe to my penultimate and almost successful school and that was the 

 acquaintance of General Karge, a Pole, who was professor of modern 

 languages in the College and also taught French and German in the 

 school. After the break-up, he kept his favourite pupils, several of whom 

 rose to high distinction, for private lessons at his house and he refused 

 to take any fees from us. Though too nervous and irritable to be a 

 successful teacher of a large college class, he was admirable with a small 

 group of boys who wanted to learn and would make reasonable progress. 

 With idleness or stupidity he had no patience and his loud denunciations 

 were often startling. "Ah! You! Your head is filled with sawdust." 

 "You have rice pudding for brains." Nevertheless, he taught us well and 

 I owe him much. 



"The General," as he was always called, had had a wonderful career 

 and the story of his life, as he told it to a group of us, sitting around a 

 campfire in Wyoming, was the most romantic and fascinating tale I 

 have ever heard. I wish I might tell it here, but my memory of it, after 

 more than fifty years, is too vague. He had been in the Prussian army, 

 and, together, with his brother, a Catholic priest, had been involved in 



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