DISCOURSE OF Dll. J. ('. AVET.LI N -. 17 



and brought away a weird sen.se of mystery which followed him in 

 all his after life. At a later day, in the year 1870, after visiting 

 the Aar Glacier, the scene of Professor Agassiz's well-known labors, 

 he crossed over the mountain to the Rhone Valley, until, at a sudden 

 turn of the road, he came full in the presence of the majestic Glacier 

 of the Rhone. For minutes he stood silent and motionless; then, 

 turning to the daughter who stood by his side, he exclaimed, with 

 the tears running down his cheeks: "This is a place to die in. We 

 should go no further." 



And as he rejoiced in natural scenery so also was he charmed with 

 the beauties of art, and felt as much at home in the atelier of the 

 painter or sculptor as in the laboratory of the chemist or the appa- 

 ratus room of the natural philosopher, and exulted as sincerely in 

 the Louvre or the Corcoran Gallery of Art as in the cabinet of the 

 mineralogist or the museum of the naturalist. 



He was as remarkable for the simplicity of his nature as for the 

 breadth of his mind and the acumen of his intellect. Those who 

 analyze the nature and charm of simplicity in a great mind suppose 

 themselves to find the secret of both in the fact that simplicity, 

 allied with greatness, works its marvels with a sweet unconscious- 

 ness of its own superior excellence, and it works them with this 

 unconsciousness because it is greater than it knows. Talent does 

 what it can. Genius does what it must. And in this respect, as an 

 English writer has said, there is a great analogy between the highest 

 goodness and the highest genius; for under the influence of either, 

 the spirit of man may scatter light and splendor around it, without 

 admiring itself or seeking the admiration of others. And it was 

 in this sense that the simplicity of Henry's nature expressed itself 

 in acts of goodness and in acts of high intelligence with a spon- 

 taneity which hid from himself the transcendent virtue and dignity 

 of the work he was doing; and hence all his work was done with- 

 out the slightest taint of vanity or tarnish of self-complacency. 



As might be expected, he was a fervent lover of the best litera- 

 ture. His acquaintance with the English poets was not only wide 

 but intimate. His memory was stored with choice passages, di- 

 dactic, sentimental, witty, and humorous, which he reproduced at 

 will on occasions when they were apt to his purpose. His famil- 

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