st satisfaction
that he had borne some part in the great vindication, but that was
not Barlow's way. He laughed it off lightly, as if it had been a huge
joke. My classmate, the late Joseph Willard of Boston, told me of a
reunion of the class at a time much later. The men were discussing
the stained-glass window which it had been decided should be put in
Memorial Hall. Since the class had a distinguished military record it
was felt that there should be martial suggestion in the window and the
question was what classic warrior should be portrayed. The face, it
was thought, should have the lineaments of our most famous soldier.
Barlow, who was present, pooh-poohed the whole idea, especially the
suggestion that his face should appear, but someone present having
suggested Alcibiades, probably not seriously as a proper type, that
seemed to strike Barlow's sense of humour. That reckless classic
scapegrace to his cynical fancy perhaps might pass, he might be
Alcibiades, but who should be the dog? Alcibiades had a dog whose
misfortune in losing his tail has been transmitted through centuries
by the pen of Plutarch. "Who will be the dog?" said Barlow and called
upon someone to furnish a face for the hero's canine companion. The
scheme for the window came near to going to wreck amid the outbursts
of laughter. It was carried through later, however, but Alcibiades and
the dog do not appear, although Barlow does. No other Harvard soldier
reached Barlow's eminence, and probably in the whole Army of the
Potomac there were few abler champions. He was a strange, gifted,
most picturesque personality, no doubt a better man under his cynical
exterior than he would ever suffer it to be thought. His service was
great, and the memory of him is an interesting and precious possession
to those who knew him in boyhood and were in touch with him to the
end.

CHAPTER III

HORACE MANN AND ANTIOCH COLLEGE

The cataclysm of the Civil War, in which as the preceding pages show
I had been involved, had shaken me in my old moorings. I found myself
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
in