A single incident illustrates the kindness of the man, who was always called the "model of a Christian gentleman." "Early in the war, in the autumn of 1861, a caller at the presidential mansion, very anxious to see the chief magistrate of the nation, was informed that he could not then be seen, being engaged in an important private consultation. The caller, not to be repulsed, wrote on a piece of paper that he must see Mr. Lincoln personally, on a matter of vital and pressing importance to the public welfare. This, of course, secured his admission to the presence of Mr. Lincoln, who was sitting with a middle-aged gentleman. Observing the hesitancy of the visitor, the President told him he might speak freely, as only a friend was present.
"Whereupon the visitor announced that for several evenings past he had observed a light exhibited on the highest of the Smithsonian towers, for a few minutes, about nine o'clock, with mysterious movements, which, he felt satisfied, were designed as signals to the rebels encamped on Munson's Hill, in Virginia. Having gravely listened to this information with raised eyebrows, but a subdued twinkle of the eye, the President turned to his companion, saying, 'What do you think of that, Professor Henry?'
"Rising with a smile, the person addressed replied that, from the time mentioned, he presumed the mysterious light shone from the lantern of an attendant who was required at nine o'clock each evening to observe and record the indications of the meteorological instruments placed on the tower. The painful confusion of the officious informant at once appealed to Henry's sensibility, and, quite unmindful of the President, he approached the visitor, offering his hand, and with a courteous regard counselled him never to be abashed at the issue of a conscientious discharge of duty, and never to let the fear of ridicule interfere with its faithful execution."
Henry had learned how to triumph over the misfortunes of life. In 1865, the Smithsonian building was partially burned, with nearly one hundred thousand letters, his notes of original research for thirty years, the annual report in manuscript, ready for the press, a valuable library, etc.
"A few years ago," he said, "such a calamity would have paralyzed me for future efforts, but in my present view of life I take it as the dispensation of a kind and wise Providence, and trust that it will work to my spiritual advantage."
A bronze statue of Joseph Henry, by W. W. Story, costing fifteen thousand dollars, was unveiled in the grounds of the Smithsonian Institution, April 19, 1883. Ten thousand people were assembled to witness the ceremonies. Noah Porter, ex-president of Yale College, delivered the oration. There it will tell the story of a self-made man—of whom Garfield said: "Remembering his great career as a man of science, as a man who served his government with singular ability and faithfulness, who was loved and venerated by every circle, who blessed with the light of his friendship the worthiest and the best, whose life added new lustre to the glory of the human race, we shall be most fortunate if ever in the future we see his like again."
Prof. Joseph Henry was succeeded by Prof. Spencer F. Baird as secretary of the Smithsonian Institution. He died August 19, 1887, and Prof. S. P. Langley was called to the position, accepting the office November 18, 1887. The mantle of Henry has fallen upon a worthy successor; a scholar who has given us, among other works, the "New Astronomy," whose beauty of diction, breadth of knowledge, and exquisite illustrations are so well remembered, as it appeared first in the pages of the Century Magazine.
LOUIS AGASSIZ.
In the midst of as beautiful scenery as one finds on earth, snow-white Alps, blue lakes, great fields of purple crocus, and picturesque homes, Jean Louis Rodolphe Agassiz was born at Motier, on Lake Morat, Switzerland, May 28, 1807.