of the wind ; the spirit of a voice; the magnetism of a presence or a touch; or that ineffable something in face or form that the painter tries to catch, is there nothing travelling that other way?
“I trust the larger hope.”
To inquire into final causes, it has been said, inasmuch as they are beyond the grasp of the human intellect, is not the pursuit of a scientific mind. Such an opinion, since it would seem to ignore the stimulus, the insight, the instigations of the imagination, must be belated if ever it could have been true. Still, reverencing as I do that attitude of mind, thus expressed not long ago by Mr. Arthur Balfour, that to make the best of the future one must never ignore the past, you may perhaps think that could Harvey have returned to us for this afternoon he might have looked askance at the future to which I have committed the influence of his immortality, and the trend of the set purpose of his life. But methinks he would have absolved me; for where is that knowledgeful man—let him step forward that we may look at him—who has deliberately forsworn that pleasure, I will venture even to say profit, of a mind set free to roam awhile, who does not dream even while he works, whose mood is not rather:
“And I, who with expectant eyes
Have fared across the star-lit foam,
See through my dreams a new sunrise,
To conquer unachievèd skies,
And bring the dreamer home.”
It is thus that past, present, and future hold in one, why the Harveian Orator at this annual festival is bidden by our Master’s expressed will to commemorate the Past. And the Fellows will
