AGASSIZ AT PENIKRESE. 143 
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. 
