ommend this religion to any young lady present who does not find it
easy to secure a helpmeet. [Appreciative laughter.]

"And now, for a view of the Pacific States, I choose two of the famed
Big Trees. Judge of them by the two men who stand, like the Widow's
mites, beside them. These trees are called 'Father and Daughter.' [A
voice: "Which is Father, and which is Daughter?"] I am not informed, but
from their appearance I judge that the nearer is the Father. [Derisive
laughter.]

"And now we approach a climax.

"When the Ten Thousand, in their storied march, reached at last the blue
waters of the Euxine, thrilled with joy they loudly cried: 'The Sea! The
Sea!' So we, travellers likewise, reach at last the Western Ocean; and
for a striking scene upon its waters, I present a Pacific Mail steamer
at her dock in the harbor of San Francisco. In the left foreground is a
Chinese laundry. And now I can hardly restrain myself from passing on
to Asia; for imagination, taking fire, beckons to Niphon and the Flowery
Kingdom. But remorseless Time says no, and we pause at the Golden Gate.

"In closing, now, I will, as is usual, give one or two moral views,
relieved by others of a somewhat playful character.

"First is Napoleon's grave. He who held Europe struggling in his hand,
died a prisoner in solitudes remote, far from home endearments.

"Next you see Daniel Lambert, whose greatness was of a more solid cast.
Less grasping in his pretensions than Napoleon, he lived an honored
life, and died, I understand, among his relatives.

"Next is a picture of the guillotine, calling up thoughts of severed
heads from memory's cloisters. On the left you see a ghastly head; on
the right the decapitated trunk. By the victim stand the bloody actors
in the tragedy. Ladies and gentlemen! When I review the awful guilt of
Marat and Robespierre, humbly do I give thanks that I have been kept
from yielding, like them, to fierce ambition and lust of power, and that
I can lay my head upon a peaceful pillow at my home in Fall River.

"Next is the Serenade. Part one: The Spanish lover with bow-knot shoes,
pointed hat, and mantle over shoulder, stands, with his lute, on the
covered water-butt, while at the casement above is his lady's charming
face. Part two: The head of the water-butt has given way, and the angry
father, from his window, beholds a scene of luckless misery.

"I turn now to a more pleasing view,--the Village Blacksmith. The mighty
man