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—The Century has set apart this evening to show you honor. All its members, the old and the young, crowd around you like brothers around a brother, like children around a father. Our wives and daughters have come with us, that they, too, may join in the pleasant office of bearing witness to your worth. The artists of our Association, whose labors you have ever been ready to cheer, whose merits you have loved to proclaim, unite to bring an enduring memorial to your excellence in an art near akin to their own. The noble band of your compeers, in your own high calling, from all parts of the country, offer their salutations and praise and good wishes, and a full chorus of respect and affection. Others who could not accept our invitation keep the festival by themselves, and are now in their own homes, going over the years which you have done so much to gladden.

It is primarily your career as a poet that we celebrate. The moment is well chosen. While the mountains and the ocean-side ring with the tramp of cavalry and the din of cannon, and the nation is in its agony, and an earthquake sweeps through the land, we take a respite to escape into the serene region of ideal pursuits which can never fail.

It has been thought praise enough of another to say that he "wrote no line which dying he could wish to blot." Every line that you have written may be remembered by