I staid a week in New York. City, visiting my uncle, Charles Hoyt, at his beautiful place on Brooklyn Heights, and my uncle James, then living in White Street. My friend William Scott was there, the young husband of my cousin, Louise Hoyt; a neatly-dressed young fellow, who looked on me as an untamed animal just caught in the far West–"fit food for gunpowder," and good for nothing else. About June 12th I embarked in the steamer Cornelius Vanderbilt for West Point; registered in the office of Lieutenant C.

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