Apparently, he was one of those who like to observe without being observed. This trait must also have been an outgrowth of the man’s morbid sensitiveness. Balzac in a letter to Madame Hanska says: “It is only mis-appreciated souls and the poor who know how to observe, because everything wounds them, and observation is the result of suffering. Memory keeps a record only of what is painful.” This last view strikes me as being erroneous, but the first part of the great Frenchman’s comment is applicable to Dunlevy. As to his wealth, he told me once that his father had owned extensive sugar plantations with four hundred working slaves in Louisiana, besides their farm lands in Albemarle County, Virginia; but that his father had lost all in the war of the Rebellion. I looked at him in wonderment. “But,” he added, “after the war was over, an immense deposit of coal was discovered on a tract of land belonging to my mother. This mine saved our family fortunes.” Dunlevy had with him in Cambridge the same aged man, the full-blooded negro of the old regime, who, he said, had been his father’s body-servant during the war and who was with him when he was wounded at Manassas. I have mentioned having seen this man in his chambers at the University of Virginia. He was constantly attendant upon Dunlevy. He appeared to worship him and to love him as if he were one of those god-descended heroes about whom the ancients tell us. And Dunlevy on his part seemed to be in perfect contentment with this one man. He said that now that all of his own family were gone, the old fellow was the only remaining human being who connected him with the past. The two seemed inseparable. I state these things about him, because Dunlevy makes reference to one “Sandy” in his papers and I want it to be clear that it is to this aged family retainer he refers. Moreover, when persons told me, as I relate below, that no one would answer Dunlevy’s door--that door with hinges oiled lest their creaking grate upon his nerves--I used to take it to mean that he had instructed Sandy to pay no heed to their calls unless he bade him. And now for the stories about his being dissipated. Gossip said that Dunlevy was what is known as a solitary drinker. Students who roomed in the same dormitory with him said that he barricaded his doors and would not answer knocks for days at a time. That when they first met him upon his coming to Harvard at the beginning of the college year, he used to make engagements with them and then invariably break his appointments at the last moment by sending Sandy with a scrap of paper looking as if it had been taken out of a waste-basket and scribbled upon in the extremity of indecision.