Memorial Address—James Davie Butler. 
905 
best that travel, art, literature, the humanities, bring to man; 
to reap and serenely to enjoy the fruits, so far as one mind 
may, of universal knowledge. Looking only tio his personal 
happiness, probably he chose his course wisely; but in our 
strenuous American life, this serenity is at least unusual—in 
the environment of an older civilization, doubtless it would have 
awakened no surprise. Certain it is, that in our university 
town the mere presence of this gentle scholar—eager always to 
drink of the fount of learning, an “intellectual” of the purest 
type—has for well nigh a half-century been in many ways a 
joyous inspiration to us all. 
He reminded one of a bee flitting from flower to flower of 
differing species, resting here and there, briefly or at length as 
fancy dictated, but from each blossom gathering some measure 
of honey for his store. As for his uniform kindliness of tem¬ 
per, his fair, frank estimate of men and things, they charmed 
every one. To our “grand old man” age brought no narrow¬ 
ness of view, no tendency to cynicism, no crabbedness of soul; 
to the last he was mellow, open-hearted, joyfully responsive to 
the best impulses of his day. He lived and died a Christian, 
his every fibre imbued with an unquestioning childlike faith. 
He has left to us a fragrant memory that will long endure. 
Reuben Gold Thwaites. 
