“I think it must have been late in my Freshman career at Amherst College or in my Sophomore. My mind was much stirred and distressed at that time on the subject of religion. In the class above, one Moody Harrington took much interest in me. He was in some respects a remarkable man for profound religious feeling, for fervid imagination, and for remarkable eloquence in exhortation. He lifted me by his personal sympathy and his encouragement out of great despondency and set me on my feet with some tremblings of heart. On one occasion he asked me to walk with him one evening to Logtown to a little prayer and conference meeting. After Harrington had spoken for a while he turned to me all unexpectedly and asked me to make some remarks. I was confounded. I rose and said something—I do not know what, nor did I quite know then, for everything was whirling darkness while I was speaking, but it was the letting out of waters. I never ride past the Dwight house without going out of the cars to look over the place and to bring back to memory that dismal night, and that dismal speech, and the dismal walk back to college, ashamed and silent.” Another important event took place in his Sophomore year, January 2, 1832. He became engaged to Eunice White Bullard, daughter of Dr. Artemas Bullard, of West Sutton, Mass. Of this event, the preceding and succeeding acquaintance, our dear mother has written in a paper entitled “Looking Back,” of which she says: “Of course all this is no help to you in preparing your father’s life, but I sit and dream of the past and write just as it rises before me, as fresh as if but yesterday, hoping by doing so something may come to me that will be of service to you.” We shall give her notes just as she has written them, leaving it for our readers to judge whether or not they are of any service: “LOOKING BACK. “Fifty-seven years ago last May, 1831, my brother Ebenezer, then in his Freshman year in Amherst College, wrote: ‘The term closes this week. I shall walk home (fifty miles), and would like to bring two of my classmates with me. We shall start before the sun and hope to be with you by supper-time. Don’t be at any more trouble than if there were three Ebenezers coming home.’ “No; of course not! Sickness in the village made it impossible to get help that summer, and mother and I were doing the work alone for a very large family, so large that a half-dozen more or less made little difference. “In good time for supper, weary and travel-soiled, my brother and his two friends made their appearance: one a tall, very dark-complexioned gentleman, the other a very verdant-looking youth, a Freshman of not quite eighteen—an age when one is prepared to find a young man awkward and painfully embarrassed, and to look with dismay on the prospect of trying to entertain and make him comfortable.