Let it be granted that on the individual side of himself man has no kingdom of his own, no department of his own, no privileged class of his own, and no titled order of his own. Let this side of him be left to the naturalist, to be classed with the vertebrates, the mammals, or the primates. But what conclusion are we to reach concerning the social side of himself, that has found embodiment in that vast and complicated movement we call civilization? Through this age-long historic process man has been seeking to realize the capacities of his larger nature. Like a magnificent temple, civilization has been rising through the centuries. Its walls have silently come up from the earth, like Solomon’s Temple, without clink of trowel or sound of hammer. It is built of granite, cut from the Gethsemanes of history. Leonidas and his brave three hundred at the pass of Thermopylæ carved some of the blocks of this great edifice, into whose walls men have gone down as the living stones. The brave Britons, at the waters of Solway, lifted to place some of the richly foliaged pillars that stand upon its floors. William the Silent, while organizing the forces and achieving the victories of the Netherlands, was at the same time turning some of its arches and resting in place some of its architraves. The Martyrs, who went to undying fame and honor through fires of Smithfield, furnish themes for the music which resounds through its corridors. It is the triumph of the social nature of man, and stands upon the soil which has been made by the crumbling dust of all generations of brave men. Its pinnacles and towers pierce the skies, and declare to the immeasurable heights, the force, the faith, the sentiment, and the love of man. It defies the elements of disintegration and change, and around the tops of its lofty pillars there cluster the buds of eternal spring. The gigantic trunks, whose arched branches support the roof of this great structure, express themselves in never withering flowers, and, where the boughs interlace at the summit of the arches, there comes the light of heaven to color and illumine. Yet within its doors we are in no forest of stone, where thoughts of men have been chiseled into semblance with the trees. Its foundations are built of convictions, its pillars of hope, its vaulting of lofty purpose, and its windows of faith. Its cement is the blood of suffering, and its decoration the loves of heroes. It is the edifice man has built in which to house the social side of his nature. It contains and will conserve all contributions ever made to human weal.