A week after my arrival I met Christopher Gault, who was boarding not
far from Deacon Thompson's, where I had my quarters. A friendship at
once began to grow between us, and our time was largely spent in each
other's company. I found my new acquaintance a very agreeable companion,
and, moreover, an unusually interesting young man. He was then about
twenty-six years old, of medium stature, dark brown hair, and
closely-cut side whiskers and moustache. His talents were brilliant and
varied. Mathematics were his delight, and he had well chosen the
profession of a civil engineer, in which, as I afterwards learned, he
was already gaining distinction in my own city of Boston. He was an
ardent admirer of nature, and was always ready for a ramble with me over
the hills or through the woods; always closely observing the formation
of the rocks, and capturing any interesting specimen of mineral, plant,
or bug that came under the notice of his sharp eyes.
In conversation, which we often enjoyed on the broad piazza, Gault was
exceedingly entertaining, and usually took an absorbing interest in the
subject under discussion; but at times he would sit silent as though
engrossed in other thoughts, and often with a very apparent look of
melancholy in his face.
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