Well, would he know you to-night, I wonder, his own sons, if he came in upon you now, in circumstances so different and with manners and customs so changed?  Would he gaze at you with sad, sad eyes, and weep over you as the degenerate sons of noble sires? [Laughter.] No, no; you are worthy, I think.  The sons will keep what the fathers won.  After all, you are still one with the Puritan in all essential things. [Applause.] You clasp hands with him in devotion to the same principle, in obedience to the same God.  True, the man between doublet and skin plays many parts; fashions come and go, never long the same, but “clothe me as you will I am Sancho Panza still.”  So you are Puritans still.  Back of your Unitarianism, back of your Episcopalianism, back of your Transcendentalism, back of all your isms, conceits, vagaries—­and there is no end to them—­back of them all there beats in you the Puritan heart.  Blood will tell.  Scratch a child of sweetness and light on Beacon Hill to-day and you will find a Puritan. [Laughter.] Scratch your Emerson, your Bellows, your Lowell, your Longfellow, your Wendell Phillips, your Phillips Brooks, and you find the Puritan. [Applause.] In intellectual conclusions vastly different, in heart, at bottom, you’re all one in love of liberty, in fear of God, contempt for shams, and scorn of all things base and mean. [Applause.]

So, ye ghosts of old Puritan divines, ye cannot look down on your sons to-night with sad and reproachful eyes.  For the sons have not wasted what the fathers gained, nor failed in any critical emergency, nor yet forsaken the God ye feared so well, though they have modified your creed.  Gentlemen, I cannot think that the blood has run out.  Exchange your evening dress for the belted tunic and cloak; take off the silk hat and put on the wide brim and the steeple crown, and lo!  I see the Puritan.  And twenty years ago I heard him speak and saw him act.  “If any man hauls down the American flag, shoot him on the spot.”  Why, Warren in old Boston did not act more promptly or do a finer thing.  Well, what moved in your splendid Dix when he gave that order?  The spirit of the old Puritan.  And I saw the sons of the sires act.  Who reddened the streets of Baltimore with the first Union blood?—­Massachusetts. [Loud applause.] Who to-day are the first to rally to the side of a good cause, on trial in the community?  Who are Still first in colleges and letters in this land?  Who, east or west, advocate justice, redress wrongs, maintain equal rights, support churches, love liberty, and thrive where others starve?  Why, these ubiquitous sons of the Puritans, of course, who dine me to-night.  Gentlemen, I salute you.  “If I were not Miltiades I would be Themistocles;” if I were not a Scotch-Irishman I would be a Puritan. [Continued applause.]

EDWARD JOHN PHELPS

FAREWELL ADDRESS