The Senator took his seat in the pulpit, with the minister’ on one side of him and the Superintendent of the Sunday School on the other.  The town dignitaries sat in an impressive row within the altar railings below.  The Sunday School children occupied ten of the front benches. dressed in their best and most uncomfortable clothes, and with hair combed and faces too clean to feel natural.  So awed were they by the presence of a living United States Senator, that during three minutes not a “spit ball” was thrown.  After that they began to come to themselves by degrees, and presently the spell was wholly gone and they were reciting verses and pulling hair.

The usual Sunday School exercises were hurried through, and then the minister, got up and bored the house with a speech built on the customary Sunday School plan; then the Superintendent put in his oar; then the town dignitaries had their say.  They all made complimentary reference to “their friend the, Senator,” and told what a great and illustrious man he was and what he had done for his country and for religion and temperance, and exhorted the little boys to be good and diligent and try to become like him some day.  The speakers won the deathless hatred of the house by these delays, but at last there was an end and hope revived; inspiration was about to find utterance.

Senator Dilworthy rose and beamed upon the assemblage for a full minute in silence.  Then he smiled with an access of sweetness upon the children and began: 

“My little friends—­for I hope that all these bright-faced little people are my friends and will let me be their friend—­my little friends, I have traveled much, I have been in many cities and many States, everywhere in our great and noble country, and by the blessing of Providence I have been permitted to see many gatherings like this—­but I am proud, I am truly proud to say that I never have looked upon so much intelligence, so much grace, such sweetness of disposition as I see in the charming young countenances I see before me at this moment.  I have been asking myself as I sat here, Where am I?  Am I in some far-off monarchy, looking upon little princes and princesses?  No.  Am I in some populous centre of my own country, where the choicest children of the land have been selected and brought together as at a fair for a prize?  No.  Am I in some strange foreign clime where the children are marvels that we know not of?  No.  Then where am I?  Yes—­where am I?  I am in a simple, remote, unpretending settlement of my own dear State, and these are the children of the noble and virtuous men who have made me what I am!  My soul is lost in wonder at the thought!  And I humbly thank Him to whom we are but as worms of the dust, that he has been pleased to call me to serve such men!  Earth has no higher, no grander position for me.  Let kings and emperors keep their tinsel crowns, I want them not; my heart is here!