r was a scholar, and a ripe and good one. Self-made and
self-taught, he began the serious struggle of life when he was merely a
boy himself; and reading, and writing, and spelling, and languages, and
mathematics came to him by nature. He acquired by slow degrees a fine
library, and out of it a vast amount of information. He never bought a
book that he did not read, and he never read a book unless he considered
it worth buying and worth keeping. Languages and mathematics were his
particular delight. When he was tired he rested himself by the solving
of a geometrical problem. He studied his Bible in Latin, in Greek, in
Hebrew, and he had no small smattering of Sanskrit. His chief
recreation, on a Sunday afternoon or on a long summer evening, was a
walk with The Boy among the Hudson River docks, when the business of the
day, or the week, was over and the ship was left in charge of some old
quartermaster or third mate. To these sailors the father would talk in
each sailor's own tongue, whether it were Dutch or Danish, Spanish or
Swedish, Russian or Prussian, or a _patois_ of something else, always to
the great wonderment of The Boy, who to this day, after many years of
foreign travel, knows little more of French than "_Combien?_" and little
more of Italian than "_Troppo caro_." Why none of these qualities of
mind came to The Boy by direct descent he does not know. He only knows
that he did inherit from his parent, in an intellectual way, a sense of
humor, a love for books--as books--and a certain respect for the men by
whom books are written.

[Illustration: THE BOY'S MOTHER]

It seemed to The Boy that his father knew everything. Any question upon
any subject was sure to bring a prompt, intelligent, and intelligible
answer; and, usually, an answer followed by a question, on the father's
part, which made The Boy think the matter out for himself.

The Boy was always a little bit afraid of his father, while he loved and
respected him. He believed everything his father told him, because his
father never fooled him but once, and that was about Santa Claus!

When his father said, "Do this," it was done. When his father told him
to go or to come, he went or he came. And yet he never felt the weight
of his father's hand, except in the way of kindness; and, as he looks
back upon his boyhood and his manhood, he cannot recall an angry or a
hasty word or a rebuke that was not merited and kindly bestowed. His
father, like the true