ion that there is such a thing as
"American" political economy, which can no more be than "American"
chemistry or "American" physics. [Applause.] Finally, gentlemen, we
should a little distrust the selection by Congress of a professor of
ethics. [Laughter.] Of course, we should feel no doubt in regard to the
tenure of office of the professors being entirely suitable, it being the
well-known practice of both branches of Congress to select men solely
for fitness, without regard to locality, and to keep them in office as
long as they are competent and faithful. [Laughter and applause.]

But, gentlemen, I think we ought to recur for a moment, perhaps, to the
Pilgrim Fathers [laughter], and I desire to say that both Harvard and
Yale recognize the fact that there are some things before which
universities "pale their ineffectual fires."

"Words are but breath; but where great deeds were done,
A power abides, transferred from sire to son."

Now, gentlemen, on that sandy, desolate spot of Plymouth great deeds
were done, and we are here to commemorate them. Those were hard times.
It was a terrible voyage, and they were hungry and cold and worn out
with labor, and they took their guns to the church and the field, and
the half of them died in the first winter. They were not prosperous
times that we recall with this hour. Let us take some comfort from that
in the present circumstances of our beloved country. She is in danger of
a terrible disaster, but let us remember that the times which future
generations delight to recall are not those of ease and prosperity, but
those of adversity bravely borne. [Applause.]

SAMUEL A. ELIOT

THE SOURCE OF SONG AND STORY

[Speech of Rev. Samuel A. Eliot at the fifteenth annual dinner of the
New England Society in the City of Brooklyn, December 21, 1894. The
President of the Society, Robert D. Benedict, presided. In introducing
Mr. Eliot, he said: "I am not aware that there were any poets among
the Pilgrim Fathers. They had something else to do besides versifying.
But poesy has found many a home among the hills of New England. And
many a home, not only in New England, but in Old England also, was
saddened during the year that is gone to hear that the song of one of
the poets of New England was hushed forever. I give you as the next
sentiment: 'The Poets and Poetry of New England,' and I call upon the
Rev. Samuel A. Eliot, of the Church of the Saviour, in this c