He also regretted with the Vice-Chancellor, both on his own account and on theirs, the absence of the French Ambassador, who could have spoken on archæological subjects from the position of a master. He had been asked to say a few words, and with sincerity he could say that it always gave him great pleasure to be the herald that brought to the old home a message from the new. That scarlet gown, which had suddenly converted him into a flaming minister (_laughter_), reminded him that Cambridge had adopted him as one of her children. (_Cheers._) He therefore felt charged to bring a message from the new Cambridge in the New World--a message of filial respect--to the old Cambridge in the Old World. There was also a propriety in his being there, from the fact that a great deal of the interest which had been felt in this undertaking had been stimulated by the lectures and the labors of a countryman of his own. Having said this, he might naturally be expected to take his seat, but he knew he was not expected to do so. He was compelled, like the Ancient Mariner, to go on with his story, whether he would or not. He often thought of the African and the monkey. The African had a notion that the monkey could speak if he would, but that he would not let anybody know he could, for fear he should be made to work. Now, he had to acknowledge a sort of prophylactic taciturnity. He had only one word which had some bearing on the subject. He was exceedingly interested in going through the museum, under the able guidance of Professor Colvin. The whole arrangement of it interested him. Each cast, almost from the rude fetish to the highest conception of the human brain and the human hand, was very striking. It was more than striking; it was most hopeful and encouraging. As he walked through the museum he could not help remembering that 60 years ago he saw in the museum at Boston some casts from the antique, and the ignorant delight which they first gave to his eye; he remembered also the education they gave to his eye as he grew older, and he should never forget that debt. These impressions were of greater value and much more operative when made early. He was struck, in going through the museum with Professor Colvin, with the vital relation between æsthetic archæology (if they would allow him to call it so), as represented in the museum, and Greek literature. It seemed to him that what one felt always when brought into contact with the work of Grecian hands or the production of the Grecian brain was its powerful vitality. By powerful vitality he did not mean merely the life in itself, but the vitality which it communicated. Here, it seemed to him, was the great value of being brought into more intimate