was open, kindly, and thoughtful, and it did not require keen perception of character to discern something above the common in the awkward Western youth, in his decidedly shabby raiment. Young Garfield would probably have enjoyed the novel sensation of being well dressed, but he had never had the opportunity of knowing how it seemed. That ease and polish of manner which come from mingling in society he entirely lacked. He was as yet a rough diamond, but a diamond for all that. Among his classmates were men from the cities, who stared in undisguised amazement at the tall, lanky young man who knocked at the doors of the college for admission. "Who is that rough-looking fellow?" asked a member of a lower class, pointing out Garfield, as he was crossing the college campus. "Oh, that is Garfield; he comes from the Western Reserve." "I suppose his clothes were made by a Western Reserve tailor." "Probably," answered his classmate, smiling. "He looks like a confirmed rustic." "That is true, but there is something in him. I am in his division, and I can tell you that he has plenty of talent." "His head is big enough." "Yes, he has a large brain--a sort of Websterian intellect. He is bound to be heard of." "It is a pity he is so awkward." "Oh, that will wear off. He has a hearty, cordial way with him, and though at first we were disposed to laugh at him, we begin to like him." "He's as old as the hills. At any rate, he looks so." "How old are you?" "Seventeen." "Compared with you he is, for he is nearly twenty-three. However, it is never too late to learn. He is not only a good scholar, but he is very athletic, and there are few in college who can equal him in athletic sports." "Why didn't he come to college before? What made him wait till he was an