In Memoriam—Vactor T. Chambers. 241 
disciple of nature, he worked for the chaplet and not for the Jucre. He 
sought as his reward, truth, which if developed in any form will be for 
the betterment of the lives and hearts of our fellow men. He was an 
ever welcome contributor to the different scientific journals throughout 
this country and to foreign periodicals. As a writer on scientific subjects 
his style was marked by ease, culture and perspicuity. He never for 
got the amenities of life, even in the heated contests which he some- 
times had in the severe field of science. In the fabled tournament of 
romance, it was not the muscular force of the Norman knight, nor the 
fiery spirit of the Templar, nor the brawny arm of Athelstan the 
Prince, but the skill, the courage, the well-practised arm of Cedric the 
Saxon, that won the day. 
He was true in all the domestic relations of life. Asa son, fulfill- 
ing the high command, ‘“ Honor thy father;’’ as a brother, sympathetic 
and kind; as a husband and father, affectionate to over indulgence. 
It was here that his character shone the brightest. We make the 
following extracts from the funeral discourse of his minister, Rev. J. 
T. Plunkett: “In his home no one knew better how to dispense 
hospitality. Many of us do remember his retiring manner, his modest 
erace, his genial welcome, the striking diffidence with which he 
brought forth fresh stores from his rich and varied knowledge for the 
‘pleasure and profit of those about him. Pre-eminently he possessed 
those qualities which caused him to bear, ‘ without abuse, the grand 
old name of gentleman.’ He was particularly fond of the society of 
children. He was ever ready to give them information on any subject. 
It was his delight to take young people with him into the woods and 
fields and endeavor to interest them with the love of the pure and the 
beautiful.” We can not refrain from making another extract from the 
same source. “I rise to speak, with no expectation of increasing the 
reputation of our departed friend. His life was spent among you; 
you all did know him. He was an epistle known and read of all men. 
When death comes, when it crushes the budding loveliness of child- 
hood, or treads upon the bloom of youth, the natural grief we feel is 
aggravated because the event appears as untimely as it is severe, and 
we murmur that it contradicts the order of nature. But when the 
pale messenger lays his hands upon a life that had well nigh rounded 
out the years which experience and inspiration assign as the desirable 
limit of human life, when those years have been occupied with useful 
Jabor, rewarded by success, crowned by universal expressions of honor 
and sterling worth; when such a man lies down to his final repose, we 
