him on this question of teaching. He considered that teaching was a communication of life as well as of knowledge. A lad of ten years once contrived to get into the State House when Agassiz was urging the incontrovertible arguments for his ‘museum.’ We happened to jostle against the lad as he was leaving the hall, and asked him, laughingly, his opinion of the performance. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve been to many lectures, and have been tired to death, but Agassiz comes right up to my notion of the circus!’ When we told Agassiz of this queer compliment, he was much pleased. He wanted to see the boy who had been so unconsciously appreciative of the spirit of his speech. He knew that he had magnetized grave and elderly men, and that what he asked for would be cheerfully granted; but he desired to shake hands with the lad who thought he was as good as ‘a circus,’ and sent out from his deep lungs great roars of laughter in welcoming the testimony of his juvenile admirer. “It would be idle to multiply instances of the thorough humanity and geniality of Agassiz. Everybody who knew him can tell hundreds of anecdotes illustrative of his sympathy with all forms of life, whether in the jelly-fish, the human infant, the developing boy or girl, the mature man or woman. Still his conviction of the immateriality and personality of mind was something wonderful in so austere a naturalist. We happened once to please him by defining a jelly-fish as organized water. ‘Now look at it through the microscope,’ he said. ‘But, Agassiz, the play of the organization is so wonderful that it seems to me that nothing but mind can account for it.’ ‘You are right,’ was his answer; ‘in some incomprehensible way, God Almighty has created these beings, and I cannot doubt of their immortality any more than I doubt of my own.’ His fealty to the rights of animals exceeded that of any great naturalist who ever preceded him. Incompetent as we are to give him his due rank among the great naturalists of the world, we think he excelled every naturalist who has gone before him in striking at the soul and individuality of all animals below man. It is impossible to convey in words the peculiar feeling which Agassiz had on this matter. Doubtless this large and genial genius is now satisfied. We cannot penetrate beyond the veil. “What we can do, however, is to celebrate Agassiz as a teacher, and try to send a new glow into the heart of every person engaged in the difficult art of teaching. How hard is their work! The present generation is brought up, as far as education is concerned, on the most economical principles. No consideration whatever is given to the point of the will of Agassiz. When he proudly calls himself ‘a teacher,’ he means that he is a radiator of heat as well as of light. A poet has well described the method of instruction adopted by Agassiz: “‘He was like the sun giving me life; Pouring into the caves of my young brain Knowledge from his bright fountains.’”