Percival made no merely ceremonial calls, few friendly visits, and attended no parties.  If he dropped in upon a family of his acquaintance, he rarely addressed himself to a lady.  Otherwise there was nothing peculiar in his deportment; for, if silent, he was not embarrassed,—­and if he talked, it was without any appearance of self-consciousness.

Judging from his isolated habits, some persons supposed him misanthropic.  Let me give one instance of his good-nature.  One of the elder professors of Yale had fallen into a temporary misappreciation with the students, who received his instructions, to say the least, with an ill-concealed indifference.  They whispered during his lectures, and in other ways rendered themselves strenuously disagreeable to the sensitive nerves of the professor.  Indignant at such behavior toward a worthy and learned man, who had been his own instructor, Percival proposed a plan for stopping the annoyance.  It was, that a number of old graduates, professors, and others, himself being one, should attend the lectures, listen to them with the respect they merited, and so, if possible, bring the students to a sense of propriety and of the advantages they were neglecting.

No, Percival was not a misanthrope.  During an acquaintance of twenty-five years, I never knew him do an act or utter a word which could countenance this opinion.  He indulged in no bitter remarks, cherished no hatred of individuals, affected no scorn of his race; on the contrary, he held large views concerning the noble destinies of mankind, and expressed deep interest in its advancement toward greater intelligence and virtue.  The local affections he certainly had, for he was gratified at the prosperity of his fellow-townsmen, proud of his native State, and took a pleasure in defending her name from unjust aspersions.  Patriotic, too,—­none more so,—­he rejoiced in the welfare of the whole country, knew its history thoroughly, and bestowed on its military heroes, in particular, a lively appreciation, which was singular, perhaps, in a man of such gentle habits and nature.  I cannot forget the excited pleasure with which we visited, when on the geological survey of Connecticut, Putnam’s Stairs at Horseneck, and Putnam’s Wolf-Den in Pomfret.  At the latter place, Percival’s enthusiasm for the heroic hunter and warrior led him to carve his initials on a rock at the entrance of the chasm.  It was the only place during the tour where he left a similar memorial.

American statesmen he admired scarcely less than American soldiers; nor did he neglect any information within his reach concerning public men and measures.  It was singular to observe with what freedom from excitement he discussed the most irritating phases of party,—­speaking of the men and events of his own day with as much philosophic calmness as if they belonged to a previous century; not at all deceived, I think, by the temporary notoriety and power which frequently attend the political bustler,—­quite positive, indeed, that many of our “great men” were far inferior to multitudes in private life.  Webster he respected greatly, and used to regret that his fortune was not commensurate with his tastes.  Like a true poet, he believed devoutly in native genius, considered it something inimitable and incommunicable, and worshipped it whereever he found it.