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, "the mean
Yankees," "the stingy Yankees," "the close-fisted Yankees," "the
tin-peddling Yankees," and, above all, the terse and condensed
collocation, "those d----d--those blessed Yankees," the blessing being
comprised between two d's, as though conferred by a benevolent doctor of
divinity. [Laughter.] I remember in the olden time, in the years beyond
the flood, when the Presidential office was vacant and James Buchanan
was drawing the salary, at a period before the recollection of any one
present except myself, although possibly my esteemed friend, your
secretary, Mr. Hubbard, may have heard his grandparents speak of it as a
reminiscence of his youth, there was a poem going about, descriptive of
the feelings of our brethren living between us and the Equator, running
somewhat thus:

"'Neath the shade of the gum-tree the Southerner sat,
A-twisting the brim of his palmetto hat,
And trying to lighten his mind of a'load
By humming the words of the following ode:
'Oh! for a ni