tood back of their own will to let him pass to the head of
the board, and the table itself, that most intelligent of quadrupeds,
the half reasoning mahogany, tipped him a spontaneous welcome to its
highest seat, and of itself rapped the assembly to order. [Applause.]

Your first Vice-President [Charles Francis Adams], whose name and
growing fame you know so much better than his bodily presentment, has
not been able to gratify your eyes and ears by showing you the
lineaments and stirring you with the tones inherited from men who made
their country or shaped its destinies. [Applause.] You and I have no
choice therefore, and I must submit to stand in this place of eminence
as a speaker, instead of sitting a happy listener with my friends and
classmates on the broader platform beneath. Through my lips must flow
the gracious welcome of this auspicious day, which brings us all
together in this family temple under the benignant smile of our
household divinities, around the ancient altar fragrant with the incense
of our grateful memories.

This festival is always a joyous occasion. It resembles a scattered
family without making any distinction except that which age establishes,
an aristocracy of silver hairs which all inherit in their turn, and none
is too eager to anticipate. In the great world outside there are and
must be differences of lot and position; one has been fortunate,
another, toiling as nobly perhaps, has fallen in with adverse currents;
one has become famous, his name stares in great letters from the
hand-bills of the drama of his generation; another lurks in small type
among the supernumeraries. But here we stand in one unbroken row of
brotherhood. No symbol establishes a hierarchy that divides one from
another; every name which has passed into our golden book, the triennial
catalogue, is illuminated and emblazoned in our remembrance and
affection with the purple and sunshine of our common Mother's hallowed
past and hopeful future.

We have at this time a twofold reason for welcoming the return of our
day of festive meeting. The old chair of office, against whose uneasy
knobs have rested so many well-compacted spines, whose uncushioned arms
have embraced so many stately forms, over whose inheritance of cares and
toils have ached so many ample brows, is filled once more with a goodly
armful of scholarship, experience and fidelity. The President never
dies. Our precious Mother must not be left too long a widow,