man, when you come to know him, generally turns out to be a not very distant kinsman of an English gentleman. I need not bespeak for him a kindly reception. I know he will receive it for his country's sake and his own. "Farewell," sir, is a word often lightly uttered and readily forgotten. But when it marks the rounding off and completion of a chapter in life, the severance of ties many and cherished, and the parting with many friends at once-especially when it is spoken among the lengthening shadows of the western light-it sticks somewhat in the throat. It becomes, indeed, "the word that makes us linger." But it does not prompt many other words. It is best expressed in few. What goes without saying is better than what is said. Not much can be added to the old English word, "Good-bye." You are not sending me away empty-handed or alone. I go freighted and laden with happy memories-inexhaustible and unalloyed- of England, its warm-hearted people, and their measureless kindness. Spirits more than twain will cross with me, messengers of your good - will. Happy the nation that can thus speed its parting guest! Fortunate the guest who has found his welcome almost an adoption, and whose farewell leaves half his heart behind!

IX

ADDRESS

DELIVERED BEFORE THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY AT MONTPELIER, OCTOBER 26, 1882, ON THE

LIFE AND PUBLIC SERVICES OF

SAMUEL PRENTISS

SAMUEL PRENTISS

MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN OF THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY,-I have been invited to say something before you touching the life and character of Samuel Prentiss. In the lack of a better substitute, I did not feel at liberty to decline; but I can offer you nothing in response that shall come up to the mark of a finished essay or an elaborate address. I have not explored the usual materials of the biographer; I have not been able-indeed, I have not cared—to put anything upon paper; I have rather preferred to try to set before you, in a simple and familiar way, my own recollections of the man; to sketch his portrait for you, as well as I can, in rough crayon, as it remains, and will always remain, in my memory. If the color of the picture should appear to any of you too warm, if it should seem rather the tribute of an admiring friendship than the cool discrimination of the historian, I shall make no apology for that. You will be quite at liberty to bear in mind that the recollections I am drawing upon are those of my youth, and that the enthusiasm and reverence that are youth's happiest gifts leave in all later years their after-glow upon the memories of their time. It is well for us, those of us who live to be old, that it is so. It is benef