We can get along without this ornament to our civilization—the delight, the luxury of a few, a burden which the many must drudge to support. Science, on the contrary, is the servant equally of all. Her hands are not afraid of soil and toil. She loves to work. Give her henceforward the chance that literature had, abundantly had, and neglected. Endow schools for science, encourage her, cheer her; in short, let science have the place that literature has enjoyed too long. Such, I say, is the bold language in disparagement of literature, and in comparative exaltation of science, that we find some scientists, or perhaps I ought to say some literary men, self-constituted spokesmen for scientists, holding in these days concerning the just claim of literature to be regarded as one of the true goods of human life. Now I propose that we entertain candidly the question thus raised. Let us not treat it as a question to which the answer is foregone. Let us put aside prepossession, and ask ourselves freshly and freely and frankly, quite as if our conclusion were doubtful, what are the rational grounds on which we may rest the title of literature to share with science, at least equally, the attention and the cultivation of mankind. Share with science, I say, and at least equally share. More than this I do not claim. Certainly I should not claim more than this in presence of the C. L. S. C. You are a circle or society of literature indeed. But no less you are a society of science. You embrace both ideas, both interests, with impartial regard. You would not listen favorably to me were I to decry science. But I have no such disposition. I love science, honor her, applaud her, bid her God-speed. I wish I knew more of what science could teach me. I wish I could do more to help science on. But at least, with all good heart, I say, God make her prosper! And this breadth of sympathy, in my mind and my heart, I owe largely to literature. Literature, as I understand her spirit, is catholic and generous. If I have myself any capacity of liberal love for human progress in whatever sphere, I have derived that capacity in no small degree from the inspiration of literature. I should wrong my own client, I should grieve her, I should earn rejection at her hands, if I stood here, or elsewhere, in the name of literature, to say aught, as if on her behalf, against a sister that she loves. For literature loves science, and will contentedly hear nothing to her harm. What, then, I ask, are the sound and substantial reasons, the reasons valid in the court of common sense, why we should stand by literature as one of our great goods of life? The reasons that I find are of two sorts: First, those that respect the number of the persons benefited; and, second, those that respect the degree to which these are benefited—in other words, first those that respect the quantity, and second those that respect the quality of the benefit bestowed.