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in his place and spoke, as only he could speak, of 

 his purpose in calling us together. The swallows 

 flew in and out of the building in the soft June air, 

 for they did not know that it was no longer a barn 

 but a temple. Some of them almost grazed his 

 shoulder as he spoke to us of the needs of the peo- 

 ple for truer education. He told us how these 

 needs could be met, and of the results which might 

 come to America from the training and consecra- 

 tion of fifty teachers. This was to him no ordinary 

 school, still less an idle summer's outing, but a 

 mission work of the greatest importance. He 

 spoke with intense earnestness, and all his words 

 were filled with that deep religious feeling so char- 

 acteristic of his mind. For to Agassiz each natural 

 object was a thought of God, and trifling with 

 God's truth as expressed in Nature was the basest 

 of sacrilege. 



What Agassiz said that morning can never be 

 said again. No reporter took his language, and 

 no one could call back the charm of his manner or 

 the impressiveness of his zeal and faith. At the 

 end he said, " I would not have any man to pray 

 for me now," and that he and each of us would 

 utter his own prayer in silence. What he meant 

 by this was that no one could pray in his stead. 

 No public prayer could take the place of the prayer 

 which each of us would frame for himself. Whit- 

 tier says : 



" Even the careless heart was moved, 

 And the doubting gave assent 

 With a gesture reverent 

 To the Master well beloved. 



