him so much in that great office that now we have made him Vice-President—­not in order that that office shall give him distinction, but that he may confer distinction upon that office.  And it’s needed, too—­it’s needed.  And now, for a while anyway, we shall not be stammering and embarrassed when a stranger asks us, “What is the name of the Vice-President?” This one is known; this one is pretty well known, pretty widely known, and in some quarters favorably.  I am not accustomed to dealing in these fulsome compliments, and I am probably overdoing it a little; but—­well, my old affectionate admiration for Governor Roosevelt has probably betrayed me into the complimentary excess; but I know him, and you know him; and if you give him rope enough—­I mean if—­oh yes, he will justify that compliment; leave it just as it is.  And now we have put in his place Mr. Odell, another Rough Rider, I suppose; all the fat things go to that profession now.  Why, I could have been a Rough Rider myself if I had known that this political Klondike was going to open up, and I would have been a Rough Rider if I could have gone to war on an automobile but not on a horse!  No, I know the horse too well; I have known the horse in war and in peace, and there is no place where a horse is comfortable.  The horse has too many caprices, and he is too much given to initiative.  He invents too many new ideas.  No, I don’t want anything to do with a horse.

And then we have taken Chauncey Depew out of a useful and active life and made him a Senator—­embalmed him, corked him up.  And I am not grieving.  That man has said many a true thing about me in his time, and I always said something would happen to him.  Look at that [pointing to Mr. Depew] gilded mummy!  He has made my life a sorrow to me at many a banquet on both sides of the ocean, and now he has got it.  Perish the hand that pulls that cork!

All these things have happened, all these things have come to pass, while I have been away, and it just shows how little a Mugwump can be missed in a cold, unfeeling world, even when he is the last one that is left —­a grand old party all by himself.  And there is another thing that has happened, perhaps the most imposing event of them all:  the institution called the Daughters of the—­Crown—­the Daughters of the Royal Crown—­has established itself and gone into business.  Now, there’s an American idea for you; there’s an idea born of God knows what kind of specialized insanity, but not softening of the brain—­you cannot soften a thing that doesn’t exist—­the Daughters of the Royal Crown!  Nobody eligible but American descendants of Charles II.  Dear me, how the fancy product of that old harem still holds out!

Well, I am truly glad to foregather with you again, and partake of the bread and salt of this hospitable house once more.  Seven years ago, when I was your guest here, when I was old and despondent, you gave me the grip and the word that lift a man up and make him glad to be alive; and now I come back from my exile young again, fresh and alive, and ready to begin life once more, and your welcome puts the finishing touch upon my restored youth and makes it real to me, and not a gracious dream that must vanish with the morning.  I thank you.