such personages as Mr. Bryan merely reflected his indignation at their policies and their influence but did not indicate any feeling against the victims themselves.  Page said “Good morning” to his doorman with the same deference that he showed to Sir Edward Grey, and there was not a little stenographer in the building whose joys and sorrows did not arouse in him the most friendly interest.  Some of the most affecting letters written about Page, indeed, have come from these daily associates of more humble station.  “We so often speak of Mr. Page,” writes one of the Embassy staff—­“Findlater, Short, and Frederick”—­these were all English servants at the Embassy; “we all loved him equally, and hardly a day passes that something does not remind us of him, and I often fancy that I hear his laugh, so full of kindness and love of life.”  And the impression left on those in high position was the same.  “I have seen ladies representing all that is most worldly in Mayfair,” writes Mr. Ellery Sedgwick, the editor of the Atlantic Monthly, “start at the sudden thought of Page’s illness, their eyes glistening with tears.”

Perhaps what gave most charm to this human side was the fact that Page was fundamentally such a scholarly man.  This was the aspect which especially delighted his English friends.  He preached democracy and Americanism with an emphasis that almost suggested the back-woodsman—­the many ideas on these subjects that appear in his letters Page never hesitated to set forth with all due resonance at London dinner tables—­yet he phrased his creed in language that was little less than literary style, and illuminated it with illustrations and a philosophy that were the product of the most exhaustive reading.  “Your Ambassador has taught us something that we did not know before,” an English friend remarked to an American.  “That is that a man can be a democrat and a man of culture at the same time.”  The Greek and Latin authors had been Page’s companions from the days when, as the holder of the Greek Fellowship at Johns Hopkins, he had been a favourite pupil of Basil L. Gildersleeve.  British statesmen who had been trained at Balliol, in the days when Greek was the indispensable ear-mark of a gentleman, could thus meet their American associate on the most sympathetic terms.  Page likewise spoke a brand of idiomatic English which immediately put him in a class by himself.  He regarded words as sacred things.  He used them, in his writing or in his speech, with the utmost care and discrimination; yet this did not result in a halting or stilted style; he spoke with the utmost ease, going rapidly from thought to thought, choosing invariably the one needful word, lighting up the whole with whimsicalities all his own, occasionally emphasizing a good point by looking downward and glancing over his eyeglasses, perhaps, if he knew his companion intimately, now and then giving him a monitory tap on the knee.  Page, in fact, was a great and incessant talker; hardly