constantly extending scale from year to year. But that we may put aside.
For my own part if I am to look a little forward, what I anticipate for
the remainder of the century is an age not so much of literature
proper--not so much of great, permanent and splendid additions to those
works in which beauty is embodied as an essential condition of
production, but rather look forward to an age of research. This is an
age of great research--of great research in science, great research in
history--an age of research in all the branches of inquiry that throw
light upon the former condition whether of our race, or of the world
which it inhabits; and it may be hoped that, even if the remaining years
of the century be not so brilliant as some of its former periods, in the
production of works great in themselves, and immortal,--still they may
add largely to the knowledge of mankind; and if they make such additions
to the knowledge of mankind, they will be preparing the materials of a
new tone and of new splendors in the realm of literature. There is a
sunrise and sunset. There is a transition from the light of the sun to
the gentler light of the moon. There is a rest in nature which seems
necessary in all her great operations. And so with all the great
operations of the human mind. But do not let us despond if we seem to
see a diminished efficacy in the production of what is essentially and
immortally great. Our sun is hidden only for a moment. It is like the
day-star of Milton:--


"Which anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore,
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky."


I rejoice in an occasion like this which draws the attention of the