utnam, Greek Professor at Dartmouth. His
character was perfect; his face of rare beauty shone with kind and
helpful thought for everyone. I see him, as he talked at our mid-week
meetings. One could almost perceive an aura or halo around his classic
head; wavy black hair which seemed to have an almost purple light
through it; large dark eyes, full of love. What he said was never
perfunctory, never dull. He was called "John, the Beloved Disciple."
Still he was thoroughly human and brimming over with fun, puns, and
exquisitely droll humour, and quick in seeing a funny condition.

It is said that on one occasion when there happened to be a party the
same night as our "Thursday evening meeting," he was accosted by a
friend as he was going into the vestry with the inquiry, "Are you not
to be tempted by the social delights of the evening?" To which he
replied, "No, I prefer to suffer affliction with the people of God,
rather than enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season." The college
inspector reported to him that he was obliged to break into a room at
college where a riot was progressing and described a negro's efforts
to hide himself by scurrying under the bed.

"But how unnecessary; all he had to do was to keep dark."

Once he was found waiting a long time at the counter of a grocery
store. A friend passing said, "You've been there quite a while,
Putnam."

"Yes, I'm waiting all my appointed time until my change doth come."

Expecting "Help" from Norwich, he was gazing in that direction and
explained, "I'm looking unto the hills whence cometh our help."

We often diverted ourselves at his home with "Rounce," the duplicate
of euchre in dominoes. And we were startled by a Madonna dropping to
the floor, leaving its frame on the wall. Instantly Professor Putnam
remarked: "Her willing soul would not stay 'in such a frame as this.'"
And when called to preside at the organ when the college choir was
away, he whispered to me, "Listen to my interludicrous performance."

How sad the end! A delicate constitution conquered by tuberculosis.
With his wife he sought a milder climate abroad and died there. But no
one can compute the good accomplished even by his unconscious
influence, for everything was of the purest, highest, best.

Soon after my return from St. Louis, I received a call from Packer
Institute in Brooklyn, to teach English Literature, which was most
agreeable. But when I arrived, the principal, Mr. Crittenden, told me