On Saturday evening the 11th, the “Chi Alpha” Society of New York, the oldest and most widely known of clerical brotherhoods, gave me their fraternal greetings at the residence of the venerable Mrs. William E. Dodge, now blessed with unimpaired vigor, in the golden autumn of a life protracted beyond four-score and ten.  The walls of that hospitable mansion on Murray Hill have probably welcomed more persons eminent in the religious activities of our own and other lands than any other private residence in America.  Brief speeches were made; a beautiful “address” was presented, which now, embossed and framed, adorns the walls of my library.  After this the Rev. Charles Lemuel Thompson, an Ex-moderator of our General Assembly, and now the Secretary of the Board of Home Missions, read the following ringing lines which he had composed on behalf of my fellow voyagers on many a cruise and in many a conflict for our adorable Lord and King.  My only apology for introducing them here is their rare poetic merit which entitles them to a more permanent place than in the many journals in which they were reprinted.  I ought to add that “Croton” is the name of the river and the reservoir that supply New York with its wholesome water: 

   OUR CAPTAIN.

   Fill—­fill up your glasses—­with Croton! 
     Fill full to the brim I say,
   For the dearest old boy among us,
     Who is ten times eight to-day.

   It is three times three and a tiger—­
     It is hand to your caps, O men! 
   For our Captain of captains rejoices,
     In his counting of eight times ten.

   Foot square on the bridge and gripping
     As steady as fate the wheel,
   He has taken the storms to his forehead,
     And cheered in the tempest’s reel.

   He has seen the green sea monsters
     Go writhing down the gale,
   But never a hand to slacken,
     And never a heart to fail.

   So It’s—­Ho’—­to our Captain dauntless,
     Trumpet-tongued and eagle-eyed,
   With the spray of the voyage behind him,
     And the Pilot by his side.

   Together they sail into sunset—­
     Slow down for the harbor bell,
   For the flash of the port, and the message
     “Well done”—–­It is well—­It is well.

   So it’s three times three and a tiger! 
     Breathe deep for the man we love,
   His heart is the heart of a lion,
     His soul is the soul of a dove.

   It is—­Ho!—­to the Captain we honor,
     Salute we the man and the day,
   On his brow are the snows of December,
     In his heart are the bird songs of May.