WILUAM LEWIS WHITTEMORE XI 



He had none of the fashionable vices that are now 

 thought proper to be sown broadcast by the heads of 

 schools and colleges. Raised a country boy in a 

 backwoods town, little if ever in contact with polished 

 society which did not attract him, he had the man- 

 ner and the manners, no less than the morals, of a 

 born gentleman, in the only proper sense of that 

 much-perverted term. Native dignity, without a 

 a sign or suggestion of the pompous or pretentious, 

 was a part of him. Even the clothes he wore seemed 

 to be a part of him, and it was an attire rarely seen 

 in a country village then, or anywhere now. None 

 who saw him in his prime will ever forget him. 

 Would that I could sketch the picture as well as I 

 remember it. Tall, lithe, straight as an arrow, quick 

 of step and movement, a stately head, with piercing 

 eyes and coal-black flowing hair and beard, he 

 dressed habitually in faultless silk hat, black frock- 

 coat, silk or velvet waistcoat, grey trousers and 

 patent-leather shoes. These things appear out of 

 place on some men. It did not seem as though Mr. 

 Whittemore could wear anything else. He was the 

 portrait of a gentleman, a figure at which people 

 would have turned to look in the streets of any city 

 in the world. 



Like most original thinkers, he was in advance of 

 his time. The people could not follow so fast as he 



