It was not long after the death of his brother Charles Francis, that Henry Adams said to me at his home in Washington, ‘The cab-drivers point out this house as the residence of the late Charles Francis Adams! ’ Perhaps no other American has left such a mass of clever writing, evolved through a life of thoughtful research and curious reflection, and has died so unrecognized by the public, educated or otherwise. Adams for no member of the Adams family could endure a dishonest word spoken of him, or even of the way in which he may have posed before himself and the world. But mere man, though he feel the affection of an old pupil, must at least be honest when writing about Mr. Michel and Chartres, and is returned to, con amore, in the volume giving the title to this article. The same whimsical admiration seems to inspire his delightful appreciation of the Virgin’s rôle in mediæval culture presented in his Mont St. In after life he made a general law of experience - no woman had ever driven him wrong, no man had ever driven him right.’ He confided in the wisdom of women, generalizing from an elder sister’s happy adjustment of a plan of travel in his youth: ‘It was his first experiment in giving the reins to a woman, and he was so much pleased with the results that he never wanted to take them back. Perhaps he was less of an enigma to his nieces, by blood or adoption, upon whom in his latter years he leaned so charmingly for sympathy and care. It is not easy to avoid misinterpretation and perversity of speech touching one who was always puzzling over life, and presenting himself, as well as the Universe, for a puzzle to his friends. LITTLE will be said of Henry Adams that he would not have deprecated.

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