it increases the supply of wine and oil. The justification is in art itself, whatever its economic effect. It gratifies an appetite which in some noble spirits is stronger than the appetite for food. The principle might be pressed even further and be found to furnish art with one of its laws. For it might be said, as I often have said, and as I have been gratified to find elaborated by that true poet Coventry Patmore, that one of the grounds of aesthetic pleasure is waste. I need not refer to Charles Lamb's well-known comments on the fallacy that enough is as good as a feast. Who does not know how his delight has been increased to find some treasure of carving upon a mediaeval cathedral in a back alley-to see that the artist has been generous as well as great, and has not confined his best to the places where it could be seen to most advantage? Who does not recognize the superior charm of a square-hewed beam over a joist set on edge which would be enough for the work? To leave art, who does not feel that Nansen's account of his search for the pole rather loses than gains in ideal satisfaction by the pretense of a few trifling acquisitions for science? If I wished to make you smile I might even ask whether life did not gain an enrichment from neglected opportunities which would be missed in the snug filling out of every chance. But I am not here to press a paradox. I only mean to insist on the importance of the uneconomic to man as he actually feels to-day. You may philosophize about the honors of leisure as a survival; you may, if you like, describe in the same way,

as I have heard them described, the ideals which burn in the center of our hearts. None the less they are there. They are categorical imperatives. They hold their own against hunger and thirst; they scorn to be classed as mere indirect supports of our bodily needs, which rather they defy; and our friends the economists would do well to take account of them, as some great writers like M. Tarde would take account of them, if they are to deal with man as he is. No doubt already you have perceived the reason why I have insisted upon this double view of life. The special value of a university is that it moves in the twofold direction of man's desires which I have described. I have listened with interest to able business men when they argued and testified that a university training made men fitter to succeed in their practical struggles. I am far from denying it. No doubt such a training gives men a larger mastery of the laws of nature under which they must work, a wider outlook over the world of science and of fact. If it could give to every student a scientific point of view, if education could make men realize that you can not produce something out of nothing and make them promptly detect the pretense of doing so with which at present the talk of every day is filled, I should think it had more than paid for itself. Still more should I think so if it could send men into the world with a good rudimentary knowledge of the laws of their environment. I can not believe that anything else would be so likely to secure prosperity as the universal acceptance of

scientific premises in every department of thought. But beside prosperity there is to be considered happiness, which is not the same thing. The chance of a university to enlarge men's power of happiness is at least not less than its chance to enlarge their capacity for gain. I own that with regard to this, as with regard to every other aspiration of man, the most important question seems to me to be, what are his inborn qualities?

Mr. Ruskin's first rule for learning to draw, you will remember, was, Be born with genius. It is the first rule for everything else. If a man is adequate in native force, he probably will be happy in the deepest sense, whatever his fate. But we must not undervalue effort, even if it is the lesser half. And the opening which a university is sure to offer to all the idealizing tendencies - which, I am not afraid to say, it ought to offer to the romantic side of lifemakes it above all other institutions the conservator of the vestal fire. Our tastes are finalities, and it has been recognized since the days of Rome that there is not much use in disputing about them. If some professor should proclaim that what he wanted was a strictly economic world, I should see no more use in debating with him than I do in arguing with those who despise the ideals which we owe to war. But most men at present are on the university side. They want to be told stories and to go to the play. They want to understand and, if they can, to paint pictures, and to write poems, whether the food product is greater in the long run because of them or not.

They want to press philosophy to the uttermost edge of the articulate, and to try forever after some spiritual ray outside the spectrum that will bring a message to them from behind phenomena. They love the gallant adventure which yields no visible return. I think it the glory of that university which I know best, that under whatever reserves of manner they may hide it, its graduates have the romantic passion in their hearts.

But, gentlemen, there is one department of your institution to which I must be permitted specially to refer the department to which I am nearest by profession, and to which I owe the honor of being here. I mean, of course, the department of law. Let me say one word about that before I sit down. It was affirmed, I believe, by a man not without deserved honor in his generation - the late Chief Justice Cooley — that the law was and ought to be commonplace. No doubt the remark has its truth. It is better that the law should be commonplace than that it should be eccentric. No doubt, too, in any aspect it would seem commonplace to a mind that understood everything. But that is the weakness of all truth. If instead of the joy of eternal pursuit you imagine yourself to have mastered it as a complete whole, you would find yourself reduced to the alternative either of finding the remotest achievement of quaternions or ontology the whole frame

of the universe, in short- a bore, or of dilating with undying joy over the proposition that twice two is four. It seems to me that for men as they are, the

law may keep its every-day character and yet be an object of understanding wonder and a field for the lightning of genius. One reason why it gives me pleasure to be here today and to express my good wishes for the future and my appreciation of the past of your law school, is that it is here and in places like it that such wonder is kindled and that from it may fly sparks that shall set free in some genius his explosive message.

I am not dealing in generalities. I mean more than good will to a law school, simply because it is a law school. Indeed, I almost fear that the intellectual ferment of the better schools may be too potent an attraction to young men and seduce into the profession many who would be better elsewhere. But I am thinking of this law school and no other. I never have had an opportunity to give public expression to my sense of the value of the work of your accomplished dean. I have come in for my share of criticism from him, as also I have had from him words which have given me new courage on a lonely road. But my appreciation of what I have seen from his hands is untouched by personal relations. It is solely because I think that it is the duty of those who know to recognize the unadvertised first rate, that I wish now to express my respect for his great learning and originality and for the volume and delicacy of his production, which seem to me to deserve more distinct and public notice than, so far as I am aware, they have received. I feel quite sure,

1 Professor John H. Wigmore.