Memorial Address—Charles Kendall Adams. 
677 
The provision ini his last will and testament directing that 
five of the fifteen five-hundred dollar fellowships, to the establ¬ 
ishment of which he devoted his entire estate, should go to the 
department of Greek is the final proof of his belief in the value 
of Greek culture. 
He and Mrs. Adams reached Madison, in September in time 
for the meeting of the hoard. Dean Johnson, Mr. Hiestand, 
and I met; them at the station. Waiting by the car for them to 
get off, I said to Mr. Hiestand, as I heard the President’s voice, 
“It has the old ring!” But, when his face appeared, I was 
shocked to see how he had aged in a single year. That was 
Saturday night. The next morning he telephoned me to come 
and dine with himi and Mrs.. Adams. When I went at noon I 
found he had already been conferring with Dean Henry about 
Professor F. H. King’s call to Washington. With such vigor 
he instantly resumed his duties. He felt, equal to. and eager for 
the accustomed burdens. “I could run two universities !” he 
said to Mr. Stevens. But he was apprehensive about Mrs. 
Adams. 
The first severe test of his powers came shortly—the opening 
Convocation address to the students, an occasion to which he 
had been looking forward for months. The meeting was held 
in the Armory, and he spoke for forty-five minutes connectedly, 
clearly, and logically. It was a good speech, but it seems he 
came through by sheer force of will. He looked somewhat 
dazed at the conclusion, but I felt no uneasiness at the moment. 
But his wife’s; womanly instinct divined instantly what had 
happened, for as he approached the house she said she knew it 
was all over. Under the first severe strain he had broken down. 
Serious illness followed and the old trouble returned. As soon 
as the regents could be got together 1 he resigned. The night 
before the resignation was formally laid before; the board he 
telephoned for me to come and told me what he; had done. 
Tears fell as he spoke, and he looked a gray and aged and 
broken man. It was very hard. He had hoped to> serve the 
university till he was seventy-five, nine years longer, and he had 
great plans for it, How it was all over. I knew his heart was 
broken, but he did not murmur. When a few weeks later his 
train had started for California, and Dr. Birge and I turned 
[homeward, I said, “We shall see his face no more!” 
His last letter to me is pathetic, in view of what happened so 
