Page," writes one of the Embassy staff--"Findlater, Short, and
Frederick"--these were all English servants at the Embassy; "we all
loved him equally, and hardly a day passes that something does not
remind us of him, and I often fancy that I hear his laugh, so full of
kindness and love of life." And the impression left on those in high
position was the same. "I have seen ladies representing all that is most
worldly in Mayfair," writes Mr. Ellery Sedgwick, the editor of the
_Atlantic Monthly_, "start at the sudden thought of Page's illness,
their eyes glistening with tears."

Perhaps what gave most charm to this human side was the fact that Page
was fundamentally such a scholarly man. This was the aspect which
especially delighted his English friends. He preached democracy
and Americanism with an emphasis that almost suggested the
back-woodsman--the many ideas on these subjects that appear in his
letters Page never hesitated to set forth with all due resonance at
London dinner tables--yet he phrased his creed in language that was
little less than literary style, and illuminated it with illustrations
and a philosophy that were the product of the most exhaustive reading.
"Your Ambassador has taught us something that we did not know before,"
an English friend remarked to an American. "That is that a man can be a
democrat and a man of culture at the same time." The Greek and Latin
authors had been Page's companions from the days when, as the holder of
the Greek Fellowship at Johns Hopkins, he had been a favourite pupil of
Basil L. Gildersleeve. British statesmen who had been trained at
Balliol, in the days when Greek was the indispensable ear-mark of a
gentleman, could thus meet their American associate on the most
sympathetic terms. Page likewise spoke a brand of idiomatic English
which immediately put him in a class by himself. He regarded words as
sacred things. He used them, in his writing or in his speech, with the