ssed or applauded. He moved in a lofty atmosphere
and the praise and blame of men counted for little with him, as on his
high plane he discussed and judged. But it was impossible to entertain
for Goldwin Smith any other feeling than profound respect, his
accomplishments were vast, his memory unfailing, his ideals the
highest, his sense of justice the keenest. His was a nature perhaps to
evoke veneration rather than affection, and yet to men worthy of it he
could be heartily cordial and friendly. The inscription on the stone
erected to his memory at Cornell University is "Above all nations is
humanity." In his thought any limitation of the sympathies within the
comparatively narrow bounds of one country was a vice rather than a
virtue, and no nation was worthy to endure which did not stand for
the good of the world at large; into love for all humanity narrower
affections should emerge. He invited me to spend some days at the
Grange at Toronto in his beautiful home, but circumstances made it
impossible. I am glad to have seen Goldwin Smith at Niagara; that
majestic environment befitted the subduing stateliness of his
presence, his intellect, power, and elevation of view. He was one of
the most exalted men I have ever known.

Of my friend Bishop Phillips Brooks, I hope to say something
by-and-by. I only mention now that when I asked him in 1886 for a
letter or two to friends in England, whither I was going to collect
material for a life of the colonial governor, he heartily said, "I
will give you a letter to the best Englishman I know, and that is
James Bryce."

Arriving one July day in London, I posted my letter and received at
once an invitation from Mr. Bryce to call upon him in Downing Street,
where, as Under Secretary of State, he then made his official home.

Mark Twain's tears over the grave of Adam, a relative buried in a
strange land, all will recall. On a basis as good perhaps, I walked
through Downing Street with a certain sense of proprietorship, for did
it not bear the name and had it not been the home of my brother in the
pleasant Harvard bond, Sir George Downing, of the class of 1642? In
the ante-room with its upholstery of dark-green leather I mused for
a few minutes alone, over diplomatic conferences of which it had
probably been the scene, but Mr. Bryce quickly entered, slight and
sinewy, in his best years, kindly, courteous to the man sent by a
friend whom he held among the closest. Bryce at that time