true that he made nine independent and distinct motions simultaneously in his most intense delivery.  I once met him going back to his rooms at his hotel carrying a leather bag.  He stopped, opened it, showing a bottle of Scotch whiskey, and explained “I am starting in on a lecture on Moses.”  There was a certain simplicity about the man.  Once when his right arm was in a sling, broken by a fall from a horse, he offered prayer in the old church.  And unable to use his arm as usual, he so balanced his gyrations that he in some way drifted around until when he said “Amen” his face fronted the whitewashed wall back of his pulpit.  He turned to the minister standing by him, saying in a very audible whisper, “Do you think anybody noticed it?”

He was so genuinely hospitable that when a friend suddenly accepted his “come up any time” invitation, he found no one at home but the doctor, who proposed their killing a chicken.  Soon one was let out, but she evaded her pursuers.  “You shoo, and I’ll catch,” cried the kind host, but shrank back as the fowl came near, exclaiming:  “Say, West, has a hen got teeth?” At last they conquered, plucked, and cooked her for a somewhat tardy meal, with some potatoes clawed up in the potato field.  Once, when very absent-minded, at a hotel table in a country tavern, the waitress was astonished to watch him as he took the oil cruet from the castor and proceeded to grease his boots.

Doctor John Ordronaux, Professor of Medical Jurisprudence at Dartmouth and various other colleges and medical schools, was another erudite scholar, who made a permanent impression on all he met.  While yet at college, his words were so unusual and his vocabulary so full that a wag once advertised on the bulletin board on the door of Dartmouth Hall, “Five hundred new adjectives by John Ordronaux.”

He was haunted by synonyms, and told me they interfered with his writing, so many clamouring for attention.  He was a confirmed bachelor with very regular habits; wanted his bed to be left to air the entire day, he to make it himself at precisely 5.30 P.M., or as near as possible.  His walk was peculiar, with knees stiffly bent out and elbows crooked as if to repel all feminine aggression, “a progressive porcupine” as someone described his gait.  His hour for retiring was always the same; when calling leaving about 9.30.  Rallied about his methodical habits, he was apt to mention many of his old friends who had indulged themselves in earthly pleasures, all of whom he had the sad pleasure of burying.

He was a great admirer of my mother for her loveliness and kind interest in the students; after her death he was a noble aid to me in many ways.  I needed his precautions about spreading myself too thin, about being less flamboyantly loquacious, and subduing my excessive enthusiasm and emotional prodigality.  Once after giving me a drive, he kindly said, as he helped me out, “I have quite enjoyed your cheerful prattle.”  Fact was, he had monologued it