[Speech of Rev. Joseph H. Twichell, of Hartford, Conn., at the eighty-second annual dinner of the New England Society in the City of New York, December 22, 1887.  The President, Horace Russell, occupied the chair.  Mr. Twichell responded to the first toast, “Forefathers’ Day.”]

MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN:—­I have heard of an Irishman who, on being asked by a kind-hearted person if he would have a drink of whiskey, made no reply at first, but struck an attitude and stood gazing up into the sky.  “What are you looking at, Mike?” inquired his friend.  “Bedad, sir,” said Mike, “I thought an angel spoke to me.” [Much laughter.]

Somewhat so did I feel, Mr. President, when I got your invitation to be here this evening and speak.  I own I was uncommonly pleased by it.  I considered it the biggest compliment of the kind I had ever received in my life.  For that matter it was too big, as I had to acknowledge.  That, however, sir, was your affair; and so, without stopping much to think, and before I could muster the cowardice to decline, I accepted it. [Laughter.] But as soon as I began to reflect, especially when I came to ask myself what in the world I had or could have to say in this august presence, I was scared to think of what I had done.  I was like the man who while breaking a yoke of steers that he held by a rope, having occasion to use both his hands in letting down a pair of bars, fetched the rope a turn around one of his legs.  That instant something frightened the steers, and that unfortunate farmer was tripped up and snaked off feet first on a wild, erratic excursion, a mile or so, over rough ground, as long as the rope lasted, and left in a very lamentable condition, indeed.  His neighbors ran to him and gathered him up and laid him together, and waited around for him to come to; which, when he did, one of them inquired of him how he came to do such a thing as hitch a rope around his leg under such circumstances.  “Well,” said he, “we hadn’t gone five rods ’fore I see my mistake.” [Hearty laughter.]

But here I am, and the President has passed the tremendous subject of Forefathers’ Day, like a Rugby ball, into my hands—­after making elegant play with it himself—­and, frightful as the responsibility is, I realize that I’ve got to do something with it—­and do it mighty quick. [Laughter.] This is a festive hour, and even a preacher mustn’t be any more edifying in his remarks, I suppose, than he can help.  And I promise accordingly to use my conscientious endeavors to-night to leave this worshipful company no better than I found it. [Laughter.]

But, gentlemen, well intending as one may be to that effect, and lightly as he may approach the theme of the Forefathers, the minute he sets foot within its threshold he stops his fooling and gets his hat off at once. [Applause.]