Professor Duncan was the genial, humor-loving Irishman. His shillalah was ever ready for any exposed head, but he had no murderous intent, and did not mind when the subject hit back, but rather enjoyed a repartee. A broad smile always foretold his sally of wit, and sometimes it was so slow coming that the victim would have time to "cut." Dear, dear "Old Pad," as we called him, it was hard to say whether he enjoyed most his fun with the boys or his ancient languages, with the love of which he seemed to be fully saturated. A kinder heart never beat in human frame. "Old Jim" (Hardy) presided in the Laboratory on the third story. He was a third-story man every way. Though a young man, and the first alumnus of the College made a full professor, his manner was austere, and hence he had but little popularity with the students. Some excuse for his so appearing was due to the fact that he had to study hard to keep up with the expectations of his classes. "Old Zeke" (Blanch) our tutor in mathematics, was a fine instructor and bright every way. He, too, was fond of humor when out of his lecture-room, but very strict while in it. Oh! for a Dickens to picture Tutor Harris. Pardon me for taking up more room with him than is given all the rest. But such a character is not often found, and deserves the space he takes. My first classical instructor was one of the tutors. He was the first Virginia University man ever elected to fill a chair at the old College. Deeply imbued with a love for his subjects, he looked upon the ancient languages as having, potatoe-like, the best parts at the root. The "particle" was his especial delight. So much absorbed was he in discoursing on it, that he was not particular whether his pupils listened or not. They might go to sleep or do anything, so they did not break the thread of his lecture. It was amazing to see how many learned authorities in the shape of books he would daily lug to the room. Doubtless this digging at the root was very deep and thorough--too much so for the average "fresh." Some of the most scholarly appreciated the exercise, or pretended to do so. To the latter the tutor mainly directed his attention. Not only did the tutor pursue this absorbing search indoors, but it seemed to monopolize all his thoughts, even while going to his meals and returning. It made him oblivious to all else for the time being. He would, while thus absorbed in thought, kick a chip before him for a mile, and would not recognize the best friend he might meet in the way. All he asked then was the full "right of way."