have indulged a hope of some day going to heaven, and possibly to Boston [laughter]—­on the other hand, a hard fate has compelled them to be millionaires, living in palaces on Murray Hill, to confine their agricultural operations to the Swamp, and to eke out a precarious livelihood by buying what they do not want and selling what they have not got. [Laughter and applause.] Remembering this debt, I thought that it was at least due to you that, in recognition of your courtesy, I should come over and confess judgment, and put you out of suspense by telling you at once that the assets will not pay for the expenses of distribution.  The best I can do is to make you a preferred creditor. [Laughter.] I have heard that an Israelite without guile, doing business down in Chatham Street, called his creditors together, and offered them in settlement his note for ten per cent, on their claims, payable in four months.  His brother, one of the largest creditors, rather “kicked”; but the debtor took him aside and said, “Do not make any objections, and I will make you a preferred creditor.” [Laughter and applause.] So the proposal was accepted by all.  Presently, the preferred brother said, “Well, I should like what is coming to me.”  “Oh,” was the reply, “you won’t get anything; they won’t any of them get anything.”  “But I thought I was a preferred creditor.”  “So you are.  These notes will not be paid when they come due; but it will take them four months to find out that they are not going to get anything.  But you know it now; you see you are preferred.” [Renewed laughter.]

In casting about for a subject (in case I should unhappily be called on to occupy your attention for a moment), I had thought on offering a few observations upon Plymouth Rock; but I was deterred by a weird and lurid announcement which I saw in your papers, appearing in connection with the name of an eminent clothing dealer, which led me to apprehend that Plymouth Rock was getting tired. [Laughter.] The announcement read, “Plymouth Rock pants!” I presumed that Plymouth Rock was tired in advance, at the prospect of being trotted out once more, from the Old Colony down to New Orleans, thence to San Francisco, thence to the cities of the unsalted seas, and so on back to the point of departure. [Great laughter.] Upon fuller examination, I found that the legend read, “Plymouth Rock pants for $3.”  It seemed to me that, without solicitation on my part, there ought to be public spirit enough in this audience to make up this evening the modest sum which would put Plymouth Rock at ease. [Great laughter.]

As I look along this board, Mr. President, and gaze upon these faces radiant with honesty, with industry, with wisdom, with benevolence, with frugality, and, above all, with a contented and cheerful poverty, I am led to ask the question, suggested by the topic assigned me in the programme, “Why are we New Englanders so unpopular?” Why those phrases, always kept in stock by provincial orators and editors,