ut he was its providence. He owned the bank and
the nail works, he was a patron of its churches, the leading figure at
the bar, and a man of wonderful eloquence. Every year he delivered the
graduation address at the university, and mentally I modelled my future
appearance on the rostrum from his benign demeanor, his forceful
gestures, his rolling periods. Yet deep as was my admiration, he held
views on which I differed with him. I felt that I had gone deeper than
he into the logic of things. To him, for example, the high tariff was
the source of all good, of life, health, food, clothes, and even morals.
My view was broader. I brushed aside the beneficent local effect of any
system and went on to study its relation to all mankind. He was prone to
forget mankind, and yet his faults were those of his generation and he
remained a heroic figure in my eyes, and it seemed to me that in setting
myself to reach the mark he had made I was aiming very high indeed.
Perhaps I should have gone on, striving to attain to the Bundian
perfection had not the ex-judge himself been the instrument by which I
was awakened and shaken out of my self-complacence. Among the
benefactions which had brought him such high esteem in our college
community was "the Richardson Bundy course of lectures on the activities
of life." He paid for the services of orators whom Doctor Todd delighted
to call "leaders in every branch of human endeavor." In my last year at
McGraw we heard the Fourth Assistant Secretary of the Treasury on
"Finance," the art critic of a Philadelphia paper on "Raphael," and as a
fitting climax to the course we were to listen to the famous Armenian
scholar and philosopher, the Reverend Valerian Harassan in a discourse on
"Life." The adjective is not mine. I had never heard of the famous
Armenian until Doctor Todd in chapel announced his coming, and made it
clear that it was a special privilege to listen to the eloquent preacher,
and that we owed a tremendous debt to our friend and benefactor, Judge
Bundy.

The picture of the Reverend Valerian Harassan, which was posted on the
bulletin-board, gave promise of a realization of the hopes which the good
doctor had raised. It showed a man in evening clothes, impressively
massive, with a clean-shaven face and Roman features, a broad, low
forehead from which the hair rolled back in glistening black folds,
curling around his ears to the line of his collar. The deep-set eyes
seemed