Old Quin gathered the students together at the gate and told
the boys to keep within the yard and not to attack anybody
unless they were attacked, but to permit none of those men
to come within the gate. The old fellow was ready to head
the students and a fight was expected. But the police gathered,
and finally the Boston roughs were persuaded to depart in
peace.
The old gentleman's heart always warmed to the son of an old
Federalist. I had to visit his study a good many times, I
regret to say, to receive some well-deserved admonitions.
But the interview always ended in an inquiry after my father
and some jolly, or at least kindly utterance about myself.
One of my classmates gave an account in rhyme of one of these
interviews which I wish I could repeat. I can only remember
two lines:
Quin deigned a grin, perforce,
And Hoar a roar, of course.
He died in 1864 at the age of ninety-two, preserving to the
last his mental vigor and his ardent interest in public affairs.
During the darkest period of the War he never lost his hope
or faith. He fell on the ice and broke his hip a little while
before his death.
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