AT THE CORNER OF LOVERS' LANE
enough for him, in New York or Philadelphia—not in the market, anyway. Oh, he was the real thing! and he had a lot of accompaniments to his college course which my people to-day clearly consider unessential for an education. And he wasn't the only one, either. There was quite a little gang of 'em here at the time, though I'm not sure of their names. My ancestor cut every name out of the diary he kept at the time—for reasons I'll explain pretty soon. But one of them came from New York, I know, because my forbear used to go up there on vacations; found a classmate's sister to play with—even as you and I. She is described at length in his diary, by the way. And another of his pals was from Bordentown; lived in one of those queer old houses overlooking the river, don't you know, right near where the old Bonaparte house stands to-day. Then there was a third—we've all heard of him—Aaron Burr; he was here at the time, too, but he wasn't in the same class, I believe. Perhaps he was simply a town boy, the President's son. But he was one of 'em, and I im-
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