acting which, the world over, mark what are called "the best people." When he came to Harvard, he continued to live, as far as was possible in his new environment, according to his previous practice. When he drove about over Cambridge in his dogcart-a unique vehicle and much noticed — he did it as naturally as he had done it previously at home. He was exceptionally and intensely individual. Later he became much more consciously communal, social. His choice of rooms. in a private house at Number 16 (now Number 38) Winthrop Street, Cambridge, instead of rooms in a college dormitory, and his retention of that domicile throughout his college course was an unconscious expression of his instinctive individualism. wished independence. Then, too, he was much absorbed at that date in the idea of making natural history the pursuit of his life. And he desired greater freedom in his collecting of "specimens❞ than probably would be allowed him in a college dormitory.

He

From the first he was a striking figure among his college mates. I have already mentioned n.y own first sight of him, as he argued vehemently with two friends in the transept of Memorial Hall. To the casual observer he was noticeable because of his side whiskers - quite uncommon among his fellow collegians and his quick abrupt ways. To

those persons who knew him more closely he was always a surprising personality. He was different from most or all other undergraduates, yet there was no pose about him; he was entirely simple and considerably self-absorbed.

Any one who entered his study at Number 16 Winthrop Street found there an apartment different essentially from all other students' rooms. It reflected his own personality and past. It was decorated not only with the usual pictures and bookcases which would be expected in a lad of his training and background of home life, but it contained several stuffed birds and beasts and a few mounted antlers, fruits of his own prowess in hunting and his skill as a taxidermist.

Seeking, as I am doing, for indications of his unfolding character, at this college period, as in earlier periods, I find significant testimony to his remarkable self-reliance and independence of the opinions and actions of his companions. This quality was evinced even in his face, as I recall it, and now shows in his photograph. Take that photograph of him as he appeared at his time of graduation. It is easy, and pseudo-scientific, to read into a man's cranial or facial formation, shown by his photograph, his mental characteristics, after one has become familiar with them. Nevertheless, the photograph of Roosevelt's face when

a student at Harvard shows, to any impartial observer, at least two qualities. First, his eyes, which are open, frank, and fearless, manifest plainly that sincerity of nature which was always his. Later photographs of him show those frank, ingenuous eyes closing more and more—as do the eyes of most men who go out into the competitions of life -for they are learning, by stern experience, to conceal their own purposes and to discern the purposes of some rival or opponent. But, essentially, all through his life, and especially in his college days, he loved what was real and true, and he always declared for it.

This sometimes made him the butt of waggish friends. For naturally he took men at their own word; and it was easy for a frivolous, facetious companion to start him, by some statement, into a heated discussion. At the meetings of the Hasty Pudding Club, on several occasions, he was lured by some cooler member into debate for exhibition purposes. And his eager contention for his side of the question increased a natural hesitancy of speech in him, and his stumbling, stammering words brought his listeners to laughter. William Roscoe Thayer, in his admirable volume on Roosevelt, testifies to his tumultuous and sometimes inarticulate speech. Mr. Thayer refers to a dinner given in 1879 by

the Harvard Crimson, to which Roosevelt was invited as a representative of the Harvard Advocate. In his brief address on that occasion, Roosevelt showed great shyness and hurried over his sentences "as skaters hurry over thin ice." And he must have been fully aware of these, his defects of public speech, for he told at this dinner the anecdote (Mr. Thayer narrates) about a stammering man recommending - with many grimaces and gaspings — the doctor who had cured him.

All this immaturity of speech was surmounted by Roosevelt later, and he became a most interesting and convincing campaign speaker, although never an eloquent speaker, as the word is usually defined.

Again, as to his college photograph. That strong, defiant chin ought to tell any acute observer the story of Roosevelt's dogged determination, his -7 rare power of concentration, his lifelong surmounting of defects within and obstacles without. The chin alone did not bring his success. Other determined chins there have been. But his had an exceptional brain behind it. And, in combination, it was a large factor in the achievements of Roosevelt's strenuous life.

Let us look, now, at two or three of the recorded incidents of his college life. They are not only interesting in themselves, but to me, as I keep in