Now that we did not have to carry palms of the hands to the front we used to walk more about the post. I say walk, because we were not allowed to ride. We found our way occasionally to the Dutchwoman’s,[36] near the postoffice[37] (as no permits were needed to go there in my day), where cadets having a little change, or who, being out of debt, could get ice cream, cakes, pies, etc. On Saturday afternoons we went down “Flirtation Walk,” a beautiful stroll along the Hudson, or up to Cro’ Nest, the highest peak for miles around, or to old Fort Putnam, on a hill west of the Barracks, and once in a while to Kinsley’s orchard.[38] The only reason I can think of having gone to Kinsley’s is, that it was then “off limits,” and the Regulations said cadets caught off limits should be dismissed, or otherwise less severely punished. Christmas season had much in store for us. We received boxes of sweetmeats from home, we had a theatrical performance in the Mess Hall, and some of us, and I was one, had a three days’ “leave” from the Point. This leave was granted to cadets having not over six demerits for the past six months. But few cadets obtained leaves, and those who did were envied by the less fortunate fellows. Everybody enjoyed the boxes from home, because cadets are proverbially generous, and divide their good things with those who do not receive boxes. Many were “skinned” and given demerits for grease upon their floors after the boxes came. The cadets are not now permitted to receive Christmas boxes. An entertainment was given on New Year’s Eve, in the Mess Hall. A temporary stage was erected, and all of the actors, “actresses” and members of the orchestra were cadets. A PARODY ON HOHENLINDEN. At West Point, when the sun was low, All spotless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Hudson rolling rapidly. But West Point saw another sight. Loud groans were heard at dead of night, And plebeians howled with wild affright, Whilst dreaming of Geometry. ’Twas morn, but on that luckless day The morning brought no cheering ray, To pierce the mist of Algebra, Or clear it of perplexity. In glittering armor, bright arrayed, Each teacher drew his battle blade, And furious each plebeian made, To witness such pomposity. Then shook the hills with thunder river, As each plebe to the blackboard driven Despairing of all hopes of Heaven, In view of his deficiency And fainter still his hopes did grow, When he received a big zero; His throbbing bosom rent with woe, The tears came railing rapidly. “Immortals” falter! On! ye brave! Who rush to glory or the grave, Wave! plebeians; All thy banners wave! And charge that Trigonometry. The lesson o’er—the hovering cloud Hath burst in torrents, wild and loud, And buried in one common shroud The essence of stupidity.