On one occasion, happening to meet a number of students at the corner of
University Building, one of them was bold enough to say to him: "Prof.
Agassiz, would you be so good as to explain to us the difference between
the stone of this building and that of Boylston Hall? We know that they
are both granite, but they do not look alike." Agassiz was delighted, and
entertained them with a brief lecture on primeval rocks and the crust of
the earth's surface. He told them that Boylston Hall was made of syenite;
that most of the stone called granite in New England was syenite, and if
they wanted to see genuine granite they should go to the tops of the
White Mountains. Then looking at his watch he said: "Ah, I see I am late!
Good day, my friends; and I hope we shall all meet again." So off he
went, leaving each of his hearers with the embryonic germ of a scientific
interest in his mind.

Longfellow tells in his diary how Agassiz came to him when his health
broke down and wept. "I cannot work any longer," he said; and when he
could not work he was miserable. The trouble that afflicted him was
congestion of the base of the brain, a disorder that is not caused so
frequently by overwork as by mental emotion. His cure by Dr. Edward H.
Clarke, by the use of bromides and the application of ice, was considered
a remarkable one at the time; but five years later the disorder returned
again and cost him his life.

He believed that the Laurentian Mountains, north of the St. Lawrence
River, was the first land which showed itself above the waste of waters
with which the earth was originally surmounted.

Perhaps the most picturesque figure on the college grounds was the old
Greek professor, Evangelinus Apostolides Sophocles; a genuine importation
from Athens, whom the more imaginative sort of people liked to believe