. It
was not so much the mere joy and exuberance of living, as the wonder and
appreciation of living that were the springs of Marshall Newell's being.

"It was this that made him the richest poor man it was ever my fortune
to know.

"The world about him was to Newell rich in expression of things
beautiful, things mysterious, things that struck in great measure awe
and reverence into his soul. A man with so much light within could not
fail to shine upon others. He had no heart for the city or the life of
the city, and for him, too, the quest of money had no attraction. Even
before he went to school at Phillips Exeter, the character of this
sturdy boy had begun to develop in the surroundings he loved throughout
his life. Is it any wonder, then, that from the moment he arrived at
school he became a favorite with his associates, indeed, at a very early
stage, something of an idol to the other boys? He expressed an ideal in
his very presence--an ideal that was instantly recognizable as true and
just--an ideal unspoken, but an ideal lived. Just what that ideal was
may perhaps be best understood if I quote a word or two from that little
diary of his, never intended for other eyes but privileged now, a
quotation that has its own little, delicate touch of humor in
conjunction with the finer phrases:

"'There is a fine selection from Carmen to whistle on a load of logs
when driving over frozen ground; every jolt gives a delightful emphasis
to the notes, and the musician is carried along by the dictatorial
leader as it were. What a strength there is in the air! It may be rough
at times, but it is true and does not lie. What would the world be if
all were open and frank as the day or the sunshine?'

"I want to record certain impressions made upon a certain freshman at
Cornell, whither Newell went to coach the football team after his
graduation from Harvard. Those impressions are as fresh to-day as they
were in that scarlet and gold autumn years ago.

"Here was a man built like the bole of a tree, alight with fire,
determination, love of sport, and hunger for the task in hand. He was no
easy taskmaster, but always a just one. Many a young man of that period
will remember, as I do, the grinding day's work when everything seemed
to go wrong, when mere discouragement was gradually giving way to actual
despair, when, somewhat clogged with mud and dust and blood, he felt a
sudden slap on the back, and heard a cheery voice saying, 'G