om him than for
any other reason. The union in him of fastidious taste and of
uncritical temper was very marked. No man was more sensitive than he
to all the proprieties of the occasion; and one might at first fear
lest himself should say or do what would jar upon that delicately
attuned spirit, for whatever _he_ said or did was perfect in its
manner. And yet no one--no one--would listen with more simple
enjoyment to the plainest, crudest utterances of others. He had not
one word of criticism to offer. He seemed to see--I am confident he
did see--only what was good and attractive in them. But one thing
could offend him, that which indicated a want of sympathy.

"More than any man I ever knew, he saw the good in every person, and
the bright in everything. It was wonderful, it was delightful, it
rebuked one, and it quickened one, to note the manifestations of this
temper. Nothing, seemingly, could occur that did not present some
occasion for gratitude. After the fearful disaster which hurried his
life to its close, his message home was--how characteristic of him all
who knew him will at once recognize,--'Tell them to thank God for our
deliverance!'

"I must not say much more. His friends need no reminders of his
innocent, sunny playfulness, or his abounding, sparkling--but never
trenchant--wit. As one of them has said of another, 'What bright,
graceful conceits often fell from his lips, his soft, dark eye smiling
at his own unexpected thought!' And yet, such was his gracious nature
that he was the delight of the house of prayer as much as of the
friendly circle, the one who would be chosen alike to share our hours
of gayety, and to extend to us the sacramental cup. In fine, his
qualities were refined, blended, and crowned by love--love which often
suggested to others the name of St. John.

"No notice of him would be adequate that did not at least refer to
his wife,--fitting companion to such a man. A daughter of Prof.
William and Mrs. Sarah Chamberlain, she inherited both the attractive
and the sterling traits of her parents. 'Lovely and pleasant in their
lives, in their death they were not divided.'"

Esthetic and solid culture have very rarely had a more nearly perfect
union in any American scholar than in Professor Putnam. Whether in the
privacy of his home, in the recitation room, or before a large
audience, his words were always chosen with a marked regard for
fitness and beauty. His knowledge of the minutest po