The story of the dead seal, measured by him in front of the store, and the incident of the white

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mice, put for safe keeping into the ice chest, preservative device, surely those stories hint at the same eager activity, wide range of interest, and vigorous originality which characterized him in mature life.

Every "live boy" of any age can sympathize with him, as he trudged about, dragging a copy of one of Mayne Reid's adventure books, or Livingstone's "Travels in Africa." That vividly written book of the great African missionary must have sown the seed, in little Theodore's mind, of an eager curiosity to see the land of lions and elephants, giraffes, and "rhinos."

Jacob Riis is responsible for one little fragment of Rooseveltian biography which illustrates the child Theodore's daring activity. "A woman who lived next door to the Roosevelts in East Twentieth Street told me that once, in passing the house, she saw Theodore, a mere child, hanging out of a second-story window. She hurried and told Mrs. Roosevelt, who, as she started anxiously to catch the venturesome youngster, remarked, 'If the Lord hadn't taken care of Theodore he would have been killed long ago.

The most significant of the early incidents of Roosevelt's life, of which we have record, was the

amusing one which tells of his protest against an undeserved as it seemed to him- reprimand by his mother. There was an abundance of affection in his childish heart for her, as in her heart for him. But one day he felt himself aggrieved at some action of hers toward him. And when came the time for him to say his evening prayers, he bethought him of her sympathy for the Confederate Cause she being of Southern birth and he added a clause to his formal prayer. He prayed for the success of the Union arms. He even particularized. He prayed that God "would grind them to powder." As always, no halfway measure.

Luckily his beloved mother had a strong sense of humor, which he inherited in full measure, and she concealed her smiles and forbade all similar improvisations in the future, under penalty of being reported to his father, "The only man

whom I ever feared," Roosevelt declared in later life.

That incident held the germ of one of Roosevelt's strongest characteristics. It was his instinctive effort to strike back at any one who attacked him. Submission to real or fancied injustice was not in his nature. In his sparring contests at college and in all the contests of his later life, his invariable action was not quiescence or endurance simply; but he "came back." Like a steel spring

he recoiled upon all who struck at him. Often circumstances did not permit him to express this desire. Wisdom or tact dictated some other course. But the instinct, the strong desire, was always there. In a conversation, during the latter half of his life, with his friend, John Leary, Junior, he said, with his characteristic vigor, "Jack, a man has no more right to forget an enemy than he has to forget a friend. I've always tried to do something for everybody who ever did anything for me." Then a smile, and, "But the regret of my life is that I have been unable to take proper care of all my enemies. I've had a million of them- too many for any man to attend to in an ordinary lifetime."

This code of morality was more after the Spartan or Mosaic order than the Christian. But, in reviewing any man's words or in analyzing his character, we need to remember that his theories and his actions often do not coincide. Sometimes the man's conduct rises far above his theory. This was true of Roosevelt. And in his case we need also to remember that his sense of humor, his brilliant, daring spontaneity of speech often led him to say things which he by no means meant in their full, unmodified form. We know, without being told, that this delightful outburst of his con

cerning his enemies was followed by a laugh, equally delightful.

Apropos, in passing, of Roosevelt's keen sense of humor, observable through his mature life, I cite two incidents given by the Reverend F. C. Iglehart, which disclose to us an early section of that thread of humor which was woven so largely into the entire fabric of his life.

The growing boy, Roosevelt, not only betook himself early to books, but he made easy contacts with "all sorts and conditions" of boys, as far as opportunity offered. There, for instance, was the sturdy, straightforward nephew of the village blacksmith at Dobbs Ferry, where Theodore spent a summer. They were playmates, those two, and friends. The nephew, a year older than Theodore, is still living and recounts some of their operations and coöperations. I suspect that the relationship was, necessarily, a bit more feudal than democratic. But it gave satisfaction to both.

One of the incidents was this. The two boys were playing together one day, on a pond upon which Theodore had a skiff. He was alone in the skiff at that moment; his companion sat on the bank. Presently two of Theodore's grown-up friends drove by in a carriage. At the opportune instant he sprang up in the frail craft, tumbled about, and contrived to tip the craft over, splashing

into the water, quite out of sight. He remained under water a considerable time, to the delight of his watchful playmate but to the alarm of the deceived grown-ups.

The other incident, revealing the boy's inherent drollery, is this. It was the custom in the Roosevelt family that summer for the senior Theodore Roosevelt to be driven to the train each morning by a "coachman" in the "depot wagon." Theodore, Junior, frequently accompanied his father. One morning, as the boy returned with the "coachman" to the house, he induced the man to allow him to don the coat and hat which made up his "livery." Well covered up in these, he directed his playmate, the blacksmith's nephew, to sit beside him on the box. The playmate demurred, because he was wearing "only this hickory shirt and this small straw hat, and your mother'll know me." But Theodore insisted, wanting the boy for his "footman", he said; and he drove to the front door. Then he called out, in the loudest and most "grownup" tones he could summon, "Is Mrs. Roosevelt in?" The puzzled housemaid, sweeping the porch, replied confusedly that she was in. "Then tell her," enjoined the rollicking youngster, "to come out for a drive. If she doesn't come now she can't have a drive at all to-day." Whereupon, without waiting, perceiving that the climax had been