not content in a quiet parish in the Connecticut Valley, and as I
fared forth was fortunate enough to meet a leader in a remarkable
personage. Horace Mann was indeed dead, but remained, as he still
remains, a power. His brilliant gifts and self-consecration made him,
first, a great educational path-breaker. From that he passed into
politics, exhibiting in Congress abilities of the highest. Like an
inconstant lover, however, he harked back to his old attachment, and
putting aside a fine preferment, the governorship of Massachusetts, it
was said, forsook his old home for the headship of Antioch College in
south-western Ohio. I shall not dispute here whether or not he chose
wisely; much less, how far a lame outcome at Antioch was due to his
human limitations, and how far to the inevitable conditions. He was a
potent and unselfish striver for the betterment of men, and his words
and example still remain an inspiration.

My father in these years was a trustee of Antioch College, and this
brought our household into touch with the illustrious figure of whom
all men spoke. My memory holds more than a film of him, rather a vivid
picture, his stately height dominating my boyish inches, as I stood
in his presence. He was spare to the point of being gaunt, every fibre
charged with a magnetism which caused a throb in the by-stander. Over
penetrating eyes hung a beetling brow, and his aggressive, resonant
voice commanded even in slight utterances. I recall him in a public
address. The newspapers were full of the Strassburg geese, which,
nails being driven through their web feet to hold them motionless,
were fed to develop exaggerated livers,--these for the epicures of
Paris. "For health and wholesome appetite," he exclaimed, "I counsel
you to eschew _les patés de foie gras_, but climb a mountain or
swing an axe." No great sentence in an exhortation to vigorous, manful
living. But the scornful staccato with which he rolled out the French,