On one occasion a Freshman was sent to him to receive a private
admonition for writing profane language on a settee; but the Freshman
denied the accusation. Sophocles's eyes twinkled. "Did you not," said he,
"write the letters d-a-m-n?" "No," said the boy, laughing; "it must have
been somebody else." Sophocles laughed and said he would report the case
back to the college faculty. A few days later he stopped the youth in the
college yard and, merely saying "I have had your private admonition
revoked," passed on. Professor Sophocles was right. If the Freshman had
tried to deceive him he would not have laughed but looked grave.

The morning in April, 1861, after President Lincoln had issued his call
for 75,000 troops, a Harvard Senior mentioned it to Sophocles, who said
to him: "What can the government accomplish with 75,000 soldiers? It is
going to take half a million of men to suppress this rebellion."

He was a good instructor in his way, but dry and methodical. Professor
Goodwin's recitations were much more interesting. Sophocles did not
credit the tradition of Homer's wandering about blind and poor to recite
his two great epics. He believed that Homer was a prince, or even a king,
like the psalmist David, and asserted that this could be proved or at
least rendered probable by internal evidence. This much is morally
certain, that if Homer became blind it must have been after middle life.
To describe ancient battle-scenes so vividly he must have taken part in
them; and his knowledge of anatomy is very remarkable. He does not make
such mistakes in that line as bringing Desdemona to life after she has
been smothered.

How can we do justice to such a great-hearted man as Dr. Andrew P.
Peabody? He was not intended by nature for a revolutionary character, and