extent of his means in what should be easy social intercourse, and Mr. Lowell understood himself perfectly on this point. I shall attempt to give some adequate idea of his social aptitude.

As a very important part of a good man's goodness consists in the things he does not do, so the preliminary condition for a good companion is his freedom from the traits that make a bad one. I know of no foible in social intercourse to impute to Mr. Lowell. He was even and self-controlled in company, without loss of cheerful vivacity. He never brought his own personality to notice more than the interest of his friends demanded. Able speaker as he was, he never harangued in the social circle. His narrative was always concise and successful. His laugh, sufficiently explosive to carry with it the proper jocund force, was hearty, manly, and pectoral. If any intended pleasantry fell dead upon the ear, he lent a charitable smile to its immediate sepulture.

His dignity consisted in doing nothing undignified, and his manly good nature precluded every thought of that quality.

Of swift apprehension and ready memory, Mr. Lowell, besides his special acquirements, had gained from reading and observation very various material that made him quick to furnish or to receive and amplify the allusions that glance from topic to topic in social talk. He was one of those men who cannot see without acquiring.

He was on pleasant terms with nature, and could discourse from her text agreeably and without surplusage. But his acquaintance was rather personal than technical. We do not know that he ever revealed to us the sex of a plant or its exact standing in floral society. The beauty, frailty, and short-livedness of flowers did not fail to make sentimental claim on a man of his poetic temperament. He had a strong regard for those leafy chronologers, the trees, especially those on his own grounds, who in their various phases of the year and incidents of their long life furnish so many interesting synchronisms to their human friends.

A calendar kept by nature was exactly suited to his fancy.

I have alluded to his self-control. He seemed really above falling into a passion. Though strong and ready in argument, he never indiscreetly prolonged it, and his energetic replication was usually prefaced with a courteous, “I beg your pardon," the buffer that he interposed to prevent even the aspect of harsh intellectual collision.

I have spoken of his freedom from egotism. Returning from courts and public life to his own quiet circle, the attentions he had received at home and abroad were never made the subject of narrative by him but at the desire of his friends.

Mr. Lowell was eminently loyal to friends and to places that he loved, and to old associations.

In a whist club which had existed for a very long period, and for some latter years had consisted of the same four members, his social virtues were conspicuous. His loyalty here showed itself by his ready response to any call, and his vigilant watch for any opportunity to convene the club. His genial hilarity and uniform good temper amid the vicissitudes of play were pleasant to see, and his ready humor most beneficially enlivened the social intervals.

Dr. Johnson would have owned Mr. Lowell to be an eminently "clubable" man.

Old Cambridge in Mr. Lowell's youth was little more than a village; indeed, the expression, "down to the village," was in use. The old Puritan industry and thrift prevailed; but there were those who were not content with life in water colors, but demanded a stronger liquid to produce the desired tints, and chose the path of pleasure rather than that of thrift. They did some desultory work, in deference to necessity, but their best efforts were given to the small game on the marshes. The exertion necessary in this pursuit they could endure, it being free from any taint of regular industry. But angling, sedentary and contemplative, was their preference. To throw the line into the dark eddies by Brighton Bridge, and at ease await the fish who was to outrun the largest dimensions offered by tradition, was complete happiness.

We see in his writings how Mr. Lowell viewed these exceptional beings with the eye

of the humorist, rather than of the moralist. As a spectator he appreciated the irregular light which they threw on the monotonous path of steady industry.

It was a pleasure for one to feel that, besides his large acquaintance with the history of literature, he was personally acquainted with the men of fiction who so conspicuously survive their realistic contemporaries. One was sure that he would readily respond to the mention of any ideal worthy whose piquant characteristics had given him perennial vitality.

He was constitutionally brave and generous. In the only case in which I know him to have been peculiarly endangered, he volunteered to meet the risk. In his young days he went to the rescue of a small boy who had fallen through the ice, and broke in himself. This was a most dangerous and helpless situation. The boy was saved..

The tender regard of his friends testifies to his general kindness of disposition, and to numerous private acts of beneficence. Beyond all ordinary kindness he could show without

sentimental weakness of nerve a delicate and tender sympathy, the last and finest adornment of a manly character.

I ought to mention that in his prolonged illness he showed a quiet, steady fortitude, and readily rose to cheerfulness, or even moderate gaiety, when the remission of his disease allowed.

The last impression that he gave was the same as in his usual life, of the strong, self-contained, but sympathetic friend, only sobered by the harassing attacks which were soon to subdue him.

I have, being urgently requested, attempted to give a view of Mr. Lowell's social character, and I am sorry that it seems to have something of the bareness of an inventory. One must look into his works to see the vivacity and creative activity of his mind, and thence infer his social power and aptitude. His friends will gladly lend their confirmation to that evidence in testifying their sense of the social loss they have suffered.

These personal tributes to the memory of Mr. Lowell have been written at the request of the editor of THE WRITER:

My earliest recollections of James Russell Lowell are of hearing him deliver a course of lectures on English poetry at the Lowell Institute, in Boston, about forty years ago. Although only a boy at the time, I was old enough to be charmed with these lectures, both as to their matter and their manner. Later, in my senior year at Harvard College, I was one of a class of twenty or twenty-five members, in the year 1858-1859, who took up the study of Dante in the Italian, as an "extra," under Professor Lowell's instruction, and who used to meet two or three times a week in his private study, in the house on the corner of Kirkland and Oxford streets, then belonging to Dr. Estes Howe and

now to Professor F. G. Peabody. Here Pro- . fessor Lowell used to stand at his desk, smoking a pipe, and conducting the recitations in a most genial, friendly, and informal style; he did. most of the translating himself, and used to weave into his talk innumerable anecdotes and witty remarks that fascinated his hearers. Our very first lesson was the opening canto of the "Purgatorio," though most of us knew nothing of Italian at the time; but Professor Lowell lifted us bodily over all difficulties, and we soon came to enjoy the poem as he himself evidently did. To the few who persevered till the end of the year, he presented a photograph copy of a just-discovered portrait of Dante by Guido, with a transcript of some lines of the poet and a few cordial words of presentation; and this memento of his kindly interest in his pupils