like the wells, but the
pump handle is not always visible or may be broken off. Many of the
springs are known only to their shady nooks and velvet marshes, but,
once found, the path is soon worn to them, which constantly widens and
deepens. It may be used only by animals, but it is a blessing and
comfort if only to the flowers and grasses that grow on its edge.'

"Serious as the man was, there are glints and gleams of quiet humor
throughout this remarkable human document. One night in May he wrote,
'Stars and moon are bright this evening; frogs are singing in the
meadow, and the fire-flies are twinkling over the grass by the spring.
Tree toads have been singing to-day. Set two hens to-night, nailed them
in. If you want to see determination, look in a setting hen's eye.
Robins have been carrying food to their nests in the pine trees, and the
barn swallows fighting for feathers in the air; the big barn is filled
with their conversation.'

"In the city he missed, as he wrote, 'the light upon the hills.' Again,
'The stars are the eyes of the sky. The sun sets like a god bowing his
head. Pine needles catch the light that has streamed through them for a
hundred years. The wind drives the clouds one day as if they were waves
of crested brown.' Where indeed in the crowded city streets was he to
listen 'to the language of the leaves,' and how indeed, 'Feel the colors
of the West.'

"Is it not possible that something more even than the example and
influence of his character was lost to the world in his death? What
possibilities were there not in store for a man who could feel and write
like this: 'Grand thunderstorm this evening. Vibrations shook the house
and the flashes of lightning were continuous for a short time. It is
authority and majesty personified, and one instinctively bows in its
presence, not with a feeling of dread, but of admiration and respect.'

"It was in the thunder and shock and blaze of just such a storm that I
stood not long ago among his own Berkshire Hills, hoping thus to prepare
myself by pilgrimage for this halting but earnest tribute to a
great-hearted gentleman, who, in his quiet way, meant so much to so many
of his fellow humans."

Walter B. Street

W. L. Sawtelle of Williams, who knew this great player in his playing
days, writes as follows:

"No Williams contemporary of Walter Bullard Street can forget two
outstanding facts of his college career: his immaculate personal
character and his