Few men in America have ever been called to teach the abstruse science of Mathematics, who combined in such desirable proportions a thorough knowledge of the science with a faculty of presenting it in a pleasing manner in the recitation room. In the happy adjustment of Professor Young's powers one could but observe a union of quick perception with almost perfect self-control. Whatever the deficiencies of the student, a hasty or unguarded or inappropriate or even an unscientific word was seldom found in Professor Young's vocabulary. His most impressive rebuke was silence. In a commemorative "Discourse," President Lord says: "During his college course he was an earnest and successful student. He carried his work before him, finished it in its time, and did it well. He studied his lessons and a few related books, and scattered not his mind by light, promiscuous, and aimless reading. He gorged not, but thought and digested, and never had a literary dyspepsia. Of course he grew right along. He was resolved, prompt, exact, untiring, and true as steel. Everybody knew where to find him. He studied no popular arts. Though never rough or crusty, he was curt and sarcastic; but no man ever took offense who knew the kindness of his heart. His fellow-students loved him. His abilities and knowledge commanded their respect; his moral excellence secured their confidence, and his example gave him power over their minds and manners. He hated and reproved vice, frowned upon all disorder, disdained artifice and trick, and stood out manfully in support of virtue. Once, in the same entry, a few noisy and vicious young men set up to be disturbers. They particularly insulted a worthy but timid student, who was his neighbor. He took that student to his own room, and gave him countenance and protection. Then they committed outrage upon his room, and threatened personal abuse. When his remonstrance availed nothing, he protested that he would not see such evil perpetrated in college, but would report them. They knew him, believed him, desisted, and gave him then the honor of his disinterested virtue, as virtue always receives its meed of honor when it stands erect on its own prerogative, and is not moved by the contradictions of unreasonable and wicked men. Yet he was no ascetic. He liked companionship, was not fastidious or exacting, never petulant or vindictive, but gentle and forbearing. He had especial tenderness for those 'good-hearted' young men who can never refuse to do wrong when they are invited. A distinguished officer of one of our professional institutions once said to me,--'I was, at one time, when in college, thoughtless, self-indulgent, fell among bad companions, and was nearly ruined. Mr. Young pitied me, took hold of me, and saved me.' That excellent man could not now speak of his benefactor without tears of gratitude.