How many have lingered there, during the three years which have passed since his work ended so suddenly! Men of all faiths felt his strength, his impetuous eloquence, his earnestness, his power to uplift and help. His sermons, as printed, have a wonderful mastery over the heart and conscience; but as they were preached, with his great personality behind them, and the play of expression on his noble face reinforcing them, they were such as have scarcely been uttered by any other voice in this generation.
      Few of the tablets and monuments upon which the sculptor has expended all the resources of his art attract so many visitors as the rough granite boulder on Bellwort Path, which marks the resting place of Louis Agassiz, the beloved student and professor of natural history. The stone is at the rear of the lot, and is so shut in by trees that one may easily overlook it. This boulder came from the glacier of the Aar, near where Agassiz's hut of observation once stood; and the pine trees which shelter it were also sent from Switzerland. Thus the land of his birth remembered him when the time came for him to be laid away to rest in the land of his adoption. On one side are cut the words, "Jean Louis Rodolphe Agassiz," and on the other, "Born at Motier, Switzerland, May 28, 1807. Died at Cambridge, Mass., December 14, 1873." It is hard to realize that it is so many years since this noble and gentle spirit rested from his labors. Who that saw him can ever forget the scene on that July day at Penikese, when by an unpremeditated impulse he called upon those who had assembled to study into nature's secrets with him, to join in silent prayer to the God of nature? Whittier's beautiful poem reflects the spirit of that memorable occasion.
      Standing by this pine-shaded boulder, I am reminded of the last time that I saw Agassiz. It was in the autumn of 1872. He had but lately returned from his deep-sea dredging voyage in the Hassler, - so lately, indeed, that few Bostonians had seen him. He entered the old Lowell Institute one evening, and the audience