question started had been his own.  Where his sense of truth was not wounded he was most considerate and indulgent; he seemed to keep through life his schoolboy’s amused tolerance for mischief that was not vicious.  No one entered more heartily into the absurdities of a grotesque situation; of no one could his friends be so sure that he would miss no point of a good story; and no one took in at once more completely or with deeper feeling the full significance of some dangerous incident in public affairs, or discerned more clearly the real drift of confused and ambiguous tendencies.  He was conscious of the power of his intellect, and he liked to bring it to bear on what was before him; he liked to probe things to the bottom, and see how far his companion in conversation was able to go; but ready as he was with either argument or banter he never, unless provoked, forced the proof of his power on others.  For others, indeed, of all classes and characters, so that they were true, he had nothing but kindness, geniality, forbearance, the ready willingness to meet them on equal terms.  Those who had the privilege of his friendship remember how they were kept up in their standard and measure of duty by the consciousness of his opinion, his judgment, his eagerness to feel with them, his fearless, though it might be reluctant, expression of disagreement It was, indeed, that very marked yet most harmonious combination of severity and tenderness which gave such interest to his character.  A strong love of justice, a deep and unselfish and affectionate gentleness and patience, are happily qualities not too rare.  But to have known one at once so severely just and so indulgently tender and affectionate makes a mark in a man’s life which he forgets at his peril.

THE END

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