been accustomed to make the toast announced the point from which they
start, but to which they never return. [Laughter.] So I shall not stick
to my text, but only be particular to have all I say my own, and not
make the mistake of a minister whose sermon was a patchwork from a
variety of authors, to whom he gave no credit. There was an intoxicated
wag in the audience who had read about everything, and he announced the
authors as the minister went on. The clergyman gave an extract without
any credit to the author, and the man in the audience cried out:
"That's Jeremy Taylor." The speaker went on and gave an extract from
another author without credit for it, and the man in the audience said:
"That is John Wesley." The minister gave an extract from another author
without credit for it, and the man in the audience said: "That is George
Whitefield." When the minister lost his patience and cried out, "Shut
up, you old fool!" the man in the audience replied: "That is your own."
[Laughter.]

Well, what about this Forefathers' Day? In Brooklyn they say the Landing
of the Pilgrims was December the 21st; in New York you say it was
December the 22d. You are both right. Not through the specious and
artful reasoning you have sometimes indulged in, but by a little
historical incident that seems to have escaped your attention. You see,
the Forefathers landed in the morning of December the 21st, but about
noon that day a pack of hungry wolves swept down the bleak American
beach looking for a New England dinner [laughter], and a band of savages
out for a tomahawk picnic hove in sight, and the Pilgrim Fathers thought
it best for safety and warmth to go on board the Mayflower and pass the
night. [Renewed laughter.] And during the night there came up a strong
wind blowing off shore that swept the Mayflower from its moorings clear
out to sea, and there was a prospect that our Forefathers, having
escaped oppression in foreign lands, would yet go down under an oceanic
tempest. But the next day they fortunately got control of their ship and
steered her in, and the second time the Forefathers stepped ashore.

Brooklyn celebrated the first landing; New York the second landing. So I
say Hail! Hail! to both celebrations, for one day, anyhow, could not do
justice to such a subject; and I only wish I could have kissed the
blarney stone of America, which is Plymouth Rock, so that I might have
done justice to this subject. [Laughter and applause.] Ah,