"My uncle John Holmes had a marked flair for that sort of thing," he said, "and was the delight of all young people who came in contact with him. Your own name, for instance, was familiar to me as a child. He used to write the most whimsical of imaginary letters, and sign them Goliath Tittle. The anticlimax provided by contrasting the giant with the minuteness conveyed by the latter word, which is the name of a tiny punctuation-point in the Hebrew alphabet, appealed to his humor. He was given to impromptu monologues that we received with great eagerness. One that I recall was a supposed conversation between two neighbors of Elias Howe:

"Do you ever see anything of 'Lias these days?' one of them asked. "'No, I have n't seen him for quite a spell.'

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incident preys upon him, and he asks: "'My dear, did everything seem all right at my triumph to-day?"

"He was assured that it was most impressive.

"Did I look all right? Was my crown on at the proper angle?' "'Yes, dear.'

"Were the captive kings and the nautch-girls displayed effectively?'

"He was assured that everything was quite perfect, but the one dissenting glance had provided a fly for his ointment, and he was pictured as tossing sleepless, and worrying far into the night. My uncle followed the law, and everything in it seemed to be food for his nonsense. One expression that I recall was of 'the ambulatory will, with all its little codicils running around after it.' Young man, are you drawing or writing?"

"A bit of both, Mr. Justice," I said laughingly.

"But most of that has been recorded in a biography of him."

"I don't want any readers who, like myself, have not seen the biography to miss this delicious humor, and if I don't make a few notes, I shall forget. I become more and more alarmed at my increasingly bad memory." He laughed.

"That is nothing to worry about," was his comforting comment. "Peo

"Oh, you mean Mr. Howe? He's down in Boston now; made a million dollars! He invented a sewin'-ma

chine or somethin'.'

"Another amusing conceit of his was of a Roman emperor, robbed of the joys of his triumph by seeing one sneering face in the throng. In the

ally litter them with utterly useless facts. It reminds me of a man who asked if one must know Latin and Greek in order to be a gentleman. The answer was, 'No; he must have forgotten it.'

The doctor entered, Mr. Holmes being the victim for the moment of a sharp touch of lumbago.

"Come in, Doctor; I'm being done!" was the justice's greeting. There followed a lively verbal encounter that was rendered triangular by the arrival of Mrs. Holmes, she and the physician pitting themselves against the vigorous objections of the justice to being regarded and treated as an invalid. After a most amusing battle that sparkled with the laughing wit of the patient, he was partly subdued, but kept the current treatment at bay while he rummaged in drawers and closets to find some additional prints that he wished me to enjoy with him. Repeatedly I tried to take my leave in view of existing necessity for the medical attention, but succeeded only after the justice had displayed all of the treasures that he wanted me to see. Then a jovial leave-taking from this man who has preserved and enriched youth for nearly eight and a half decades.

CHARLES EVANS HUGHES

He

A cursory glance at Mr. Hughes's face might reveal to the average person a perilous nearness to cold regularity, and I think it altogether likely that this was an important contributing factor in the early erroneous estimate of him that was general during his campaign for the Presidency. He was regarded as a sort of iceberg, an able man, but without the warmth of feeling that could win enthusiastic approbation from the masses. A closer study of his unusually handsome countenance reveals a number of saving irregularities and surprises that should have been primarily a key to the Hughes that a longer familiarity with him has revealed to the public. He had not long been in his present office when a "new Hughes" was proclaimed

by the press and people generally, the theory being that his defeat in his race for the Presidency had humanized him. I am quite convinced that this was not the case; the nation at last had delved beneath the regular features and flawless beard, and had found him out.

His whiskers are certainly the handsomest that I can recall, possibly excepting those of my old teacher, Mr. Chase. They seem, in their perfection, to be carved from white marble. Often conjecture has been voiced as to what lies beneath them. Well I remember the shock resultant when my own father, in an occasional spirit of experimentation, discarded his mustache. An uproar of protest from our family was the only reward of this instinctive groping toward youth, as in his case the hirsute adornment was a benefit. Study of Mr. Hughes's face has convinced me that he would be quite satisfactory without the whiskers, though they undoubtedly contribute liberally to an impressive effect. They are so well kept and good to look at that we are indebted to him for them. I do not now recall if "Sartor Resartus" departs at all from the subject of clothing to deal with the various methods of wearing the hair, but well it might. Certainly the great contribution of costumes toward the making of judges, bishops, monarchs, clowns, and people in many other walks of life is paralleled to a large degree by the effect of hair upon heads and faces of doctors, artists, and devotees of various lines of endeavor who might be less convincing without this camouflage. But in the case of Mr. Hughes the camouflage was, I think, misleading.

My mind was still tinged with the

popular misconception of this man when, during the disarmament conference, I had my first sitting with him at the State Department. A few minutes sufficed for a revision of my estimate when the expected cold formality gave place to a cordial clasp of the hand, a warm, round boyish voice, and a ready, ringing laugh. He seemed a dynamo of energy, quick, alert, and capable of doing an amount of work that few can achieve. So humorous did I find him, and interesting, that to keep my mind upon my portrait, led away as it was by his amusing and at times almost riotous joviality, was well nigh impossible. I was too well entertained to achieve concentration on anything else. The result was that the first two sittings went for naught: I destroyed the result. From my own point of view the experience was worth it, though I was annoyed at having consumed so much of the secretary's time with no tangible result.

We discussed the considerable array of portraits of his predecessors in office that adorned the walls. One of Evarts stood out among the rest as a piece of characterization. He was not only the man of great ability that the world remembers, but had, my sitter told me, a lively wit as well. Ascending in the slow and primitive lift to his office one day, the operator remarked apologetically upon its crowded condition, the spacious elevator being packed with attachés of various embassies arriving to attend a conference. Glancing about him, Mr. Evarts remarked, with a whimsical smile:

"This is the largest collection for foreign missions that has been taken up in a long time."

The second sitting occurred at Mr.

Hughes's house. I was interested in the discovery of a taste for prints that was disclosed by a number of well chosen etchings on his walls. Several portraits of the secretary were in evidence as well. His wife and daughter were there, and as a family they made a most attractive ensemble. Mr. Hughes was in his former gay mood, his contagious laughter and jollity adding much to the pleasure of the occasion. I told him that, after my graphic portrait was done, I might add a verbal one, and publish them together.

"Oh, Mother!" he called out to Mrs. Hughes, "what do you think of this! Mr. Tittle not only marks us down, but he writes us up as well!"

"There must have been a remarkable sequence of sensations in the curious experience you had of being President of the United States for one day," I remarked, later in our talk. "To go to bed with every assurance of election, and the celebration in full swing, then to awake to growing doubt and ultimate disillusionment must have afforded a full emotional gamut. Give us another chance, Mr. Secretary, and next time we will elect you."

His laugh could not possibly have been freer from pique and regret.

"Never again! One race for the Presidency is enough for me. I would rather have my present post for ten minutes than to be President for four years. Where I am I can really do things, working without the thousands of interruptions from job-hunters and the public generally that Mr. Harding has to bear. No, indeed, my ambitions along that line, if I ever really had any, have ceased to exist."

I related to him some very flattering

comments on his work and ability that I had had from some of the distinguished delegates to the arms conference. One of them came in the form of an anecdote from the Earl of Cavan. Mr. Balfour had just arrived from England for the parley, and he and Mr. Hughes were delivering to each other their first greetings.

"I suppose that you have prepared your opening speech," Mr. Balfour said playfully.

"I have it pretty well in mind," was Mr. Hughes's smiling reply.

that I have seen equaled by few men in public life. On several later occasions, at varying intervals, I met him by chance at the White House and elsewhere; always at a glance he knew me, and bestowed upon me a hearty hand-clasp and greeting. Twice later I saw him in his office, and there was always the same evidence of the achievement of much work with great rapidity and unfailing good nature. He autographed twenty-five impressions of my portrait of him, affixing his beautiful signature to that number

"I fear it will have to be until the conference is convened," the secretary said.

"What a surprise it was when it came!" Lord Cavan added. "It dazzled us all with its daring and brilliancy. We were won to the suggestion at once. It was a stroke of genius; Mr. Hughes stands out as a great statesman."

Two years later, when I had an exhibition of my portraits at the Corcoran Gallery, I sent him a card of invitation. I received a cordial note of acceptance. I regretted that I happened to be elsewhere at the time, but the gallery staff told me of his visit, accompanied by his family. Contact with the secretary of state provides

"Mr. Hughes has won his spurs. He has taken his place among the world's foremost statesmen."

My auditor received these accounts with modest deprecation.

"I have made no conscious effort to achieve great things," he said; "I merely have to keep moving at a lively rate to stay ahead of my job. Things are constantly stepping on my heels if I don't."

A third sitting at the State Department resulted in a likeness of the secretary. I forced myself to keep my mind to my task, though the patience of my sitter seemed unabated. The drawing completed, he was at his desk clearing away papers with an energy

are the ones who can find time for everything. I am among those who still hope that we may be so fortunate yet as to add him to our list of Presidents.

EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON

Hurrying across Washington Square to keep an appointment, I saw a tall figure ascending the front steps of the building that contains my studio. Arriving in the vestibule, the man was pausing with evident uncertainty, scanning the considerable array of bells. bells. Inquiry revealed that each was the other's objective in this quest, and we ascended the stairway together.

The rule of the present time, granting of course diminishing exceptions,