(Cheers.) Mr. Frechette Had Not To Go Abroad To Find That Out, But It Is Pleasing To Us All To Find Our Opinions Confirmed And Ratified By The Highest Authority In France.

I again thank you, gentlemen, for the privilege which you have afforded me of saying these few words regarding our laurel-crowned poet and guest.

(Applause.) With regard to the subject which has brought me to my feet, what am I to say? I might dilate upon the beauties of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, or Edmund Spenser's immortal Faerie Queene, or Shakespeare's tender women, the Juliet we love, the Rosalind who is ever in our hearts, the Beatrice, the Imogen, gentle Ophelia, or kindly but ill-starred Desdemona, or the great heroes of tragedy, Lear, Macbeth, Hamlet or Othello, or I might ask you to hear a word about Ben Jonson, "rare Ben," or poor Philip Massinger who died a stranger, of the Puritan Milton, the great Catholic Dryden, or Swift, or Bunyan, Defoe, Addison, Pope and Burke and grim Sam Johnson who made the dictionary and wrote Rasselas, the Prince of Abyssinia, but there is not time for us to go into the subject as minutely as that. At a dinner of this kind, which is so rich in every delicacy which the most sensitive palate could desire, and which boasts wines as delicate and as fragrant in bouquet as one of Mr. Frechette's sonnets - (Cheers) - and I might add also as one of my friend LeMay's hopefullest lyrics - (Cheers), it would be ungenerous of me to keep you very long.

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