He was the very soul of friendship; he had a genius for it. The
friends that he made are only limited by the want of personal contact
with him. In the making of them it may be said "He came, he saw, he
conquered." How wide he opened his arms to receive us! There were no
partition walls to be levelled before we approached him. It required
no studied effort to get at him. The way was always clear; the door
was without a latch-string even; it was open. You never had to ask,
Is Mr. Powell in a proper mood to see his friends to-day? Why, it was
worth a journey of fifty miles just to meet that man and receive a
grasp of his hand! I remember going to a depot in Chicago to meet him
as he came in on the train. As soon as he singled me out from the
crowd, he rushed towards me, exclaiming in his bantering way: "Well,
well, well, this is the first sensible thing I ever knew you to do,
come on old fellow;" and he grasped my arm and hurried me away,
saying, "I am just glad to see you." When it is said, that he is the
"best beloved of all," is it not because he first loved us? The
generosity and friendliness of his soul captured our hearts. I
imagine that many thousands of dollars were poured into the treasury
of the A.M.A. evoked by the love kindled in hearts for our brother.
Men came to love the cause through him who loved them.

Mr. Powell was a man of enthusiasm; he worked at white heat. The
logic of his whole life seemed to be, "What I do I must do quickly."
He could not stop; he must hurry on. He could pass easily from one
thing to another. In all the years of my acquaintance with him I
never knew him to rest as other people rest. If his body was not
active his mind was. The river of his life had no sluggish intervals;
it was a torrent from first to last. His step was a bound; his
thought rushed in its movement. He could write a sermon in less time