evident respect for and trust in him every one showed.  These impressions, obtained at that time, have never left me.  He was a great favourite in Baltimore, as he was everywhere, especially with ladies and little children.  When he and my mother went out in the evening to some entertainment, we were often allowed to sit up and see them off; my father, as I remember, always in full uniform, always ready and waiting for my mother, who was generally late.  He would then chide her gently, in a playful way and with a bright smile.  He would then bid us good-bye, and I would go to sleep with this beautiful picture on my mind, the golden epaulets and all—­ chiefly the epaulets.

In Baltimore, I went to my first school, that of a Mr. Rollins on Mulberry Street, and I remember how interested my father was in my studies, my failures, and my little triumphs.  Indeed, he was so always, as long as I was at school and college, and I only wish that all of the kind, sensible, useful letters he wrote me had been preserved.

My memory as to the move from Baltimore, which occurred in 1852, is very dim.  I think the family went to Arlington to remain until my father had arranged for our removal to the new home at West Point.

My recollection of my father as Superintendent of the West Point Military Academy is much more distinct.  He lived in the house which is still occupied by the Superintendent.  It was built of stone, large and roomy, with gardens, stables, and pasture lots.  We, the two youngest children, enjoyed it all.  Grace Darling and Santa Anna were with us, and many a fine ride did I have with my father in the afternoons, when, released from his office, he would mount his old mare and, with Santa Anna carrying me by his side, take a five or ten-mile trot.  Though the pony cantered delightfully, he would make me keep him in a trot, saying playfully that the hammering I sustained was good for me.  We rode the dragoonseat, no posting, and until I became accustomed to it I used to be very tired by the time I got back.

My father was the most punctual man I ever knew.  He was always ready for family prayers, for meals, and met every engagement, social or business, at the moment.  He expected all of us to be the same, and taught us the use and necessity of forming such habits for the convenience of all concerned.  I never knew him late for Sunday service at the Post Chapel.  He used to appear some minutes before the rest of us, in uniform, jokingly rallying my mother for being late, and for forgetting something at the last moment.  When he could wait no longer for her, he would say that he was off, and would march along to church by himself or with any of the children who were ready.  There he sat very straight—­well up the middle aisle—­ and, as I remember, always became very sleepy, and sometimes even took a little nap during the sermon.  At that time, this drowsiness of my father’s was something awful to me, inexplicable.  I know it was very hard for me to keep awake, and frequently I did not; but why he, who to my mind could do everything that was right without any effort, should sometimes be overcome, I could not understand, and did not try to do so.