26 



mind refuses to accept as final, an end so unhoped for. It is hard to 

 believe that the column starting from a broad base, and promising to 

 tower into higher and purer regions, is suddenly snapped in mid air, 

 leaving us only the incomplete shaft, an emblem at once of past great- 

 ness and of unrealized hopes. 



We are too apt to take as the measure of a life, perfect in its details 

 and symmetrical in its proportions, days instead t>f deeds ; to regard 

 lengthened existence as a substitute for a genuine, fruitful one. 



A sketch of the character and labor of the late Horace Mann 

 will suffice to show that the popular estimate is false, for here we 

 see a man who in early life had developed a character of singular 

 simplicity and purity, and who had distinguished himself in the con- 

 test between knowledge and ignorance. The departure of such men 

 leaves a vague longing after something expected, yet undone. A 

 deeper thought, however, convinces us that the loss is simply one of 

 quantity, not quality; that years would have brought, as only years 

 could bring, the fruition of all our hopes. Such lives show no failures. 

 They only point to past success and conquests about to be entered 

 upon. 



lu truth, then, 



"If we drop our tears, 

 Who loved him as few men were ever loved, 

 We mourn no blighted hope, nor broken plan 

 With him whose life stands rounded and approved 

 In the full growth and stature of a man." 



Horace, the eldest son of Horace and Mary Mann, was born in Bos- 

 ton, on the 25th of February, 1844. To him was denied the excessive 

 vitality, so characteristic of boyish life, that leads its possessor into 

 vigorous bodily exercise. For such sports he seemed to have but little 

 relish. His nervous, sensitive temperament, inclined him rather to 

 the more quiet enjoyment of intellectual life. Rude boys were too 

 much for him, and he fled from their presence. Even at the earliest 

 age, quiet, thoughtful boys older than himself, were his chosen com- 

 panions. Some of the maladies incident to childhood affected him 

 more seriously than they dojflost children, and intensified the morbid 

 action of his nerves. Though very fond of his younger brothers, he 

 once, when a child, wished that he could die, and when pressed for 

 the reason, he at last unwillingly confessed that it was "because the 

 boys made so much noise." Ever after, suffering for a whole year 

 from the effects of a cold taken during the mumps, a heavy footfall 

 had been painful to him. This alarming sensitiveness, of course, 

 enlisted the greatest sympathy, and every arrangement was made to 

 defend him against the robust play of stronger children. He also 

 resolved, very early in his childhood, when his sympathies even for 



