The New York herald. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1840-1920, 1879-12-04

trbutors from start. i'll 1857. stil among
leading writer's. Besides our honored guest. Long
are still writers who We're among the original
! contributors. and there has been a troop
a thousand in albany one Of Whom might
well consider it laudable ambition. If
them. Nevertheless. both literature aud the pub
fishing of books in their infancy this country
We have been so gwen TO the development OF the
great question of domestic and foreign politics. that
but little space has been left for the poet and
the historian But unrivalled scenery, our
to be extnguished native races. the wonderful
variety of climate and the heterogeneous character
of our population, the new and exciting events or
the present age OF invention and discoveryal open
wide fields for the future historian. the novelist
and the poet. And We doubt not this field will be
occupied and cultivated. and that we shall have
other and women to come after us who will
sing of the wrongs and the heroism of the Indian.
who will paint or mountains rivers and discuss
the great problems of humanity with more vlgor-
Gus ben and with a wider reach OF knowledge aud
fancy than has existed heretofore and trust
that this will be found among the younger con-
tributors. We welcome many 20, OF them here
always intended to invite the ladies, but the fact
is trust the reporters wiln hear this. for it is
full We afraid to ask for fear We should
be refused Those of us who
hearts throbbed and courage failed when
about to pop the momentous question:"
cradle for life But when it was once DONE and the
''winter of our discomfort" had been "made glo-
rious summer" by an acceptance so sweet and ex-
pectant, just II the had been ready for
ages before. We felt that popping the question was
great affair after all. and we should only
like to do it often should have
opportunity. Such has been our experience to-day.
as witness the gathering around this board. And
not here the author of the great prose epic
of the century-a narrative which preceded. like
the murmur which precedes the earthquake the
greatest social revolution Of ancient or modern
times? We have only to look along these tables and
eyes back to ours which have scanned all the
secrets of the human heart and have portrayed
ham tn ns
turn have become part Of our own lives. If the
profession of letters was only the tossing Of words
like grace hoops. the mere fencing with gttering
swords. without strength for dealing heavy blows
We might well despair. Not. such are the
burn The sweet. sad story of Evangeline
is immortal protest against wrong and
how to suffer and be strong. while in the lines
of our peace-lovng. Quaker poet marshalled in be-
the crash Of artillery and feel the ground shake
under feet with the tread Of squadrons form
ing for the defence OF freedom and the equal rights
In an old almanac of the year 1902 against the
date Of August 80. is the simple entry. 'Son born.
with the coarse sand universally used At that
time, and that sand to-day. firmly imbedded
May I'll the sands of this life. which blot
the record of immortality which awaits our
autocrat be adhesive and continue for many years
to come to give out its coruscations of light anu
truth and beauty. Ladies and gentlemen. give you
sentiment, "The Autocrat of the breakfast
Table; King. live forever!'
HOLMES READS POEM
DR.. Holmes greeted with most enthusiastic
response which he made. without preliminary
words. the reading of the following poem:-
Where is this patriarch 1 You uH sse Kindly greng
Not III familiar o my his name
Nor cas @ s
Or, changed by years forgotten and FORGETTING,
Still DER the sad dsgenera,e present tre;timg
arIt Wall fuJaa Lu,,v n
shrank, totering bent of aches and ills the prey:
Oft have met him from my earliest day.
In my old 4Esop. tolng with his bundle.
who ,1ne o wSsn called he a or rund
His fagot for hims He scant of breath.
And, sad tEcclesiastes. or tho prcacher)-
In that last chapter where the teacher
Signs DER the loosened cord. the broken bowf
Yes, long indeed. I've known him at distance,
And now my lifted doOr-lAtch shows him here.
| And find him smiling his draws
ssss he
THINK of the calm he M the wealth he
| Affairs once flaming still with incense fragrant.
| Passions uneasy nursling rocked asleep.
Lifes flow loss noisy, but tho stream how deep.
| Still, a the silver cord gets and slender.
Hands get more hepfa voices grown more tender
Youth longs and manhood strives but age remembers,
Sits by the s rnsea up a sbsso Of tine
That warm its creeping life blood till the last
Dear to its heart ! T. . every loving token
the ass e M are broken
| Its labors ended and its story told.
All when around us !, rosy ro. youth rejoises.
| And through the chorus OF its jocund voices
Throb the sharp notes of misery's hopeless cry
| As on the gauzy wings Of fancy flying
S% the ssS asnx
| The silvered gobule seems gistening tear.
| But Nature lerds her mirror of illusion
TO win from saddening scenes age-dimmed eyes,
And misty day dreams blend in sweet confusion
| So when the iron portal shuts behind us,
And lite forgets II its noise and whirl.
And smmsrns shows the sses Of pearl
come mot here your morning ar, hour to ssdden.
/. who have never deemed It sin to gladden..
| If word of mine another's gloom has frightened
Through my dumb lips the heaven sent message Came
1t felt the guidance that it dares claim.
| But oh! my gentle sisters, Obi my brothers.
These feeber pulses bid me leave to others '''A'''
The tasks once welcome; evening asks for peace.
| limo claims his tribute; silence now is golden;
Though TO your love untirins still behoidsa;
The curfew tells me-cover up the fire.
And now with grateful smile and accents cheerful
And warmer ,. heart Than oos or word can toll
Thanks brothers, ACKNOWLEDGMENT farewell
WHITTIER.
James L. Fields read the following poem, by
Whittier
Ills lnurels fresh from and lay,
K Ssar ss ss sea ars so d 9SI s wA
We keep his scventieth festival
His still the keen analysis
or men and moods. electric wit,
Free play of mrth and tenderness
To heal the slightest wound from Il.
And his the pathos touching all
LIES sins ami sorrows and regrets.
It's hopes and fears. it's final call
And rest beneath the violets
His sparkling surface scarce betrays
The thoughtful tide beneath IL rolled,
Tho wisdom of the latter days,
And tender memories Of tho old.
What shapes or fancies. grave or gay
Before at his bidding come;
The treadmill tramp, the one horse shay.
The dumb DESPAIR of Elsie's doom.
The tale of avis and the maid
Tho plea for lips that speak,
The holy kiss that Iris laid
On little Boson's pallid cheek;
Long may he live sing for
The songs that stay the Hight of time,
And like his chanbcred nautilus,
To hoer heights OF beauty climb.
Though umbored guests surround
The table that he rules NJ will,