ae BRENT. 
His versatility was such as to make a pleasant companion, 
full of surprises. Now it was some detail of scientific knowl- 
edge which slipped out of his well-stored mind, not as instruction 
pedantically imparted, but as the unpremeditated expression of 
his thought; now a reminiscence of the Tyrol, or an anecdote of 
Chopin, called up by some strain of classical music to which he 
was devoted. 
Almost the last glimpse I had of him was on the golf course. 
His lank form was striding over the links with that abandon and 
freedom which denote complete absorption in a pursuit. It was 
indicative of his entire life. He traveled hopefully, joyously, 
whether in the quiet retreat of the laboratory, or through the 
mountainous home of Igorot and Calinga, or in the valley of the 
shadow of death. 
Strong personalities never seem more alive than in that gloam- 
ing which succeeds life’s sunset. They refuse to die. Their 
littlenesses drop out of sight, and the full force of their true 
character influences us. That Paul Caspar Freer lives yonder 
with God in the conscious enjoyment of manhood not quenched 
but vivified through the discipline of death, who dare doubt? 
But he also lives as an influence rather than a memory among — 
us men whose hands are still busied for a short while with 
the affairs of here and now. Personality can not die even if 
it would. 
