Gegenschrift hervor." Some have wondered that Mr. Whitney should care to follow up the matter so long, and even in 1892 should publish a brochure of 79 pages on 'Max Müller and the Science of Language: a Criticism.' But the question with him rose far above personalities: the truth was at stake. His mind, accurate by both nature and training, shrank from allowing inaccurate statements and false principles to be floated by a charming style. Great Britain in this generation has had more than one scholar of note whose brilliant form of statement, ingenious theories, and varied attainments have sufficed to give them undue authority on subjects where they made some grievous errors. Mr. Whitney felt that the higher a scholar's position, the greater his authority, the more careful he should be in all matters. He was heartily vexed by attempts to overlook and avoid the real point at issue. His vigorous spirit may have felt a certain enjoyment in a conflict; as an intellectual athlete he could appreciate the beauty of a keen thrust or the weight of a heavy blow; but while he did not fear a conflict, in some cases he avoided a controversy, even when he had been misunderstood and misrepresented.

No sketch of Mr. Whitney's character would be complete which did not mention his musical tastes. Music was always a source of pleasure and recreation to him. He had a fine tenor voice; and when a young man he was an acceptable and admired leader of the choir of Jonathan Edwards's old church in Northampton. The story is told that his conversations with the Rev. Dr. George E. Day, which led to his study of Sanskrit, were more frequent and natural because of his weekly calls at the pastor's house for the list of hymns to be sung. He was an active member of the Mendelssohn Society of New Haven a score of years ago, and did much to rouse the community to take interest in oratorios and other choral music, writing for the newspapers appreciative accounts of the works to be performed. He was prominent in securing for New Haven concerts by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. One of the last occasions which brought him into a public gathering was a University Chamber Concert by the Kneisel Quartet. He was fond of singing hymns on Sunday evenings, and while he cherished some of the old tunes of his youth, he welcomed the introduction of the modern more ecclesiastical music. While singing the old hymns he was as fervent and orthodox as his Puritan ancestors.

Mr. Whitney was no recluse, nor a typical professor in manner. He attracted men to him and enjoyed being with them. He was not at all emotional, however, and cared little for general society. He gave a rather extreme view of himself in a letter written in 1869: "I am of a more than usually reserved and unsocial nature. I avoid society as much as I can, and am never quite comfortable in the company of any excepting those with whom I am most nearly bound. My besetting sin is burying myself in my books and papers, and too much overlooking all that is outside of them,—partly from natural tendencies, partly because I feel that in that way I shall on the whole do most good and give most pleasure to others." His bearing was perfectly simple and unpretentious—in short, that of a gentleman.

Like Aristotle's "magnanimous man," he gave little heed to praise or blame—not being elated or cast down by either. He loved learning for its own sake and not for its reward of fame. The words which he wrote with regard to his friend Professor James Hadley are strikingly true of himself: "No one was ever more free from the desire to shine among his fellows. His was a modesty entirely unfeigned, and free from every taint of a lower feeling.... He devoted himself so entirely to truth and virtue and duty, as he knew them, that there was left no room for any thought of self. He neither extolled himself nor gave way unduly to others." "He knew his power, but possessed it in the spirit of moderation and reserve." He was eminently guileless—though by no means a subject for imposition by others. He would have made an admirable lawyer or statesman, but he could not have been a politician. He saw truth clearly and abhorred anything like trickery or disingenuousness. He was also thoroughly sane. Sentimental enthusiasm never led him to denote as certain views which later were to be proved false. He had few scientific retractions to make in the course of forty-five years of publication. His statements on uncertain points were carefully guarded. Where doubt existed, he was apt to feel it; in fact he was called in Germany "der Skeptiker der Sprachwissenschaft." His sanity restrained him from various excesses. His opinions on the desirability of reform in the spelling of the English language were clear and clearly expressed, and he was the first chairman of the committee appointed by the Philological Association for the furtherance of this reform in our country, but he saw so distinctly the difficulties in the way of an abrupt change, at least for the present, that he wasted no time in a Quixotic crusade. He was invited by the Japanese government to prepare an opinion in regard to the adoption of English as the official language of Japan—but he was not carried away by any sentimental notions of English as a Weltsprache. His mind was like a diamond, and his style was eminently clear and forcible. He never strove to be eloquent, but always expressed his thoughts in the fewest and simplest words. His was the style of a teacher rather than that of a popular platform-lecturer, but was enlivened by a strong sense of humor and by keen wit.

Professor Whitney's services to science and learning were freely recognized, both at home and abroad. He received the degree of Ph.D., honoris causa, from the University of Breslau in 1865; that of LL. D. from Williams College in 1868, from the College of William and Mary in 1869, from Harvard in 1876, and from the University of Edinburgh in 1889; that of J.U.D. from St. Andrews University in Scotland in 1874; that of L.H.D. from Columbia in 1887. He was a member of the National Academy of Sciences; an honorary member of the Oriental or Asiatic societies of Great Britain and Ireland, of Germany, of Bengal, of Japan, and of Peking; of the Literary Societies of Leyden, of Upsala, and of Helsingfors; fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh; member or correspondent of the Academies of Dublin, of Turin, of Rome (Lincei), of St. Petersburg, of Berlin, and of Denmark; also, correspondent of the Institute of France; and Foreign Knight of the Prussian order pour le mérite for Science and Arts, being elected May 31, 1881, to fill the vacancy made by the death of Thomas Carlyle.

In 1870 the Berlin Academy of Sciences voted him the first Bopp prize for his publication of the Tāittirīya-Prātiçākhya, as the chief contribution to Sanskrit philology during the preceding three years.

The following extracts from a brief article in the Berliner Nationalzeitung, from the pen of Professor Albrecht Weber, form an interesting companion-piece to the letter from the same scholar, dated in December, 1852, which was quoted in the early part of this sketch: "Der jüngst in Yalecollege verstorbene Professor William Dwight Whitney war einer der ersten Indianisten und Sprachforscher der Gegenwart. Seine Sanskritstudien absolvirte er bei uns in Deutschland, hier in Berlin bei Weber und in Tübingen bei Roth. Beide Gelehrte betrachten es als einen ihrer schönsten Ehrentitel, ihn zum Schüler gehabt zu haben. Gleich seine erste Arbeit in den Indischen Studien ... war ein Meisterwerk und zeigte alle die Eigenschaften, die seinen Arbeiten einen so hohen Werth verleihen sollten, Klarheit, Sorgsamkeit, und Akribie im kleinsten Detail.... Heimgekehrt nach Amerika, ward er der Begründer der dortigen, jetzt in