Dear Dr. Culbreth: Nothing could be more gratifying to me in this
season of good wishes than your assurance that you owe something to
your old teacher. Few echoes come to the professor from those who have
sat under his teachings. Only when a memorable occasion arises does he
learn how his teachings have told on the world and his pupils. The completion
of my seventieth year has brought out many expressions of good
will and many kindly remembrances not only from those whom I have
trained for my own calling but from those who think they owe more to
the man than to the Hellenin. And if it be a weakness, let it be a weakness,
for I prefer to be remembered as a personality than as a teaching
machine of so and so many donkey powers. I have no quarrel with those
who have not kept up their Greek studies, but those who will recognize
the idealism of the School of Greek, I hold to my heart as I have ever
done. I have read your letter to my wife who pronounces it beautiful
and who unites with me in thanking you for your tribute to your old
teacher, to whom you have ever shown a loyalty and affection that are
exceedingly precious in a forgetful world.
Yours faithfully,
B. L. Gildersleeve.
