_ 
Edward Claypole, The Man.—Bridge. 37 
quently went with him to their delight and benefit. But 
sometimes his tramps were too much for them, and once they 
determined that they would tire him out. So several of the 
strongest of them planned a journey with him for this pur- 
pose. They had saved their strength beforehand and thought 
they were sure of victory, but one by one they fell out of the 
squad, and the last One to give up came back and reported 
that the professor had disappeared over the hill with a step as 
elastic as that of a boy. 
-His conversation was full of good fellowship, never tasp- 
ing or aggressive. He had little small talk. He had none of 
the quality of the Bohemian, but he was a good companion, 
best always for the thoughtful and seekers after knowledge. 
He rarely laughed loudly, but as he spoke a smile often played 
upon his countenance, a smile whose charm could not be sur- 
passed, for it shone with refinement and intelligence. It was 
the smile of the cultivated Englishman; it never rose to the 
wide-open laughter of those who are quick to grasp American 
jokes ; and he never came to appreciate these as the natives do. 
His nature was a serious one always, and he probably 
failed of some solace that might have come to him had he been 
able to appreciate fully the jests, hyperbole, irony and satire 
of this country. But he also lacked the intensity and intem- 
perance in thought, speech and action, that make so many 
native Americans need these aids to balance their moods. It 
must not be understood that he was devoid of humor. He had 
humor, but it was rather as an infrequent and subtle surprise 
and so the more enjoyable to the few to whom it ever came. 
If he needed any balancing emotion it was for a certain 
intensity of feeling that was known only to his very intimates. 
This appeared at times in a degree of melancholy shown in deep 
and unspoken grief at the premature close of a career, or of a 
life at the threshold of its usefulness. Calamities within his 
own househeld put him to severe tests of this kind. As the 
deepest waters run still so his intensest feelings were com- 
pletely hidden from the world in general. 
All of nature’s sounds were meaningful to him. The birds 
and the insects made music that he knew of, and it was 
harmony. But of man’s artificial harmonies the science only 
concerned him. He knew and was interested in the sound 
