town. When the decision was reached of entering the Theological
Seminary, it was mutually agreed that we should go to Andover and
room together. From that time on our intimacy grew apace. We passed
three years together as chums; but that relation did not cease when
we separated and each went his own way to the field of labor where
the Lord had appointed. The last letter that I received from him,
(and I have been informed that it was the last letter that he ever
wrote, which reached me only the day before the despatch that
apprised me of his death), began in that same old familiar fashion,
"My dear Chum." I have thus made reference to matters somewhat
personal, that the standpoint from which I speak may be more clearly
understood. I have "summered and wintered him;" I have been permitted
to know him within and without; I have been with him in season and
out of season; I have studied with him; I have prayed with him; I
have loved him as a brother.

It is more in accord with the promptings of my heart to speak a few
words suggested by intimacy and long acquaintance with Dr. Powell.
Many learned to respect and honor him through the abundance of his
labors in the broad field to which God in his providence called him
for service. But there is another side to that life, private,
personal, even more attractive and richly suggestive to those who
knew him best and were permitted to enjoy his friendship.

Our brother did not possess the conventional qualities which
sometimes are associated with the "cloth." He was without that
endless gravity which could almost fittingly grace a pedestal. That
pious deacon who had not "snickered" for above forty years, would
have found his moral sensitiveness somewhat disturbed by the free,
untrammelled way in which he spoke and acted. There was no monotony