ADDRESS OF GEN. HORACE PORTER.

The President then called on Gen. Horace Porter to speak.

MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN:

Only at this moment it is intimated, that in the absence of Mr. Carey I should endeavor to fill his place, or, to put it better, to fill a place in time here. In my career, I have served in various military capacities, but this is about the first time I have ever been called upon to serve as a substitute. (Laughter.)

When a few years ago I had the honor of responding here to the toast of the evening, "Abraham Lincoln," it was only on condition of a pledge given by your officers, that for a series of years I should be allowed to come and eat your dinners and not to pay the forfeit of a speech. I put them under bonds for the fulfillment of that condition; but the the bonds have been forfeited; the promises have been broken. When the Bey of Algiers was once reminded that he had violated the law of veracity in a negotiation, he said, "Do you suppose the Bey of Algiers has fallen so low that he has become a slave to his word?" And I think that if this practice continues the veracity of your officers will go down to history as not ranking much higher than that of a city gas meter. (Laughter.) I cannot say that I have been taken altogether by surprise. I think it is as much as a minute ago that your presiding officer winked at me, indicative of the fact that he was going to call me out. Scripture says that, "He who winkest with the eye causeth sorrow." And I think I have never before more keenly felt the sadness of that passage of Scripture. The celebrated dentist, Le Clure, was appointed dentist to King Stanislaus on the very day that the King lost his last tooth. I fear that I am appointed to speak to you at an hour this evening when we are in danger of losing the last man from the room. (Cries of "No! No!")

I think I will be soon saying to you what the small boy said to the lamented Bishop Brooks, in Boston. That benevolent Bishop was going along the street of an evening when he saw a small boy standing on a stoop trying to ring a door bell, which he could hardly reach. As the Bishop came along, he said to the youngster, "Let me assist you, my boy," and he took hold of the bell and jerked it nearly off; then the boy made a break down the steps and cried to the Bishop, "Now I guess we had better scoot." (Laughter.)

I have listened here to-night with great pleasure to the words of wit, wisdom and eloquence that have fallen from the lips of the distinguished gentlemen who have spoken to you. I have heard the Secretary of the Treasury, for instance, tell us about this contemplated Annexation of Hawaii as if we were annexing people here that havn't any of our blood in their veins. He is mistaken about that. When the deposed Queen was asked some time ago whether she had any white blood in her veins she said "Yes, her grandfather had eaten Captain Cook." (Great laughter.)

But when I look around and see all this hilarity and jolity this evening, and compare it with the sad countenances and mildewed features of these same gentlemen when I met them on the evening of the 8th of last November, it makes me think of that man in a village of Pennsylvania, who, after his wife had been dead only a couple of months, married another wife, and a younger one, and his friends remonstrated with him and said, "your wife has only been dead a couple of months." He remarked that he had philosophized upon that, and he thought she was probably about as dead as she would ever be; and then rumors came from the wedding that he wasn't using her well, and people were led to remark that he treated his second wife so badly that he didn't deserve to have the first one die. (Laughter.) When he got back the boys thought they would try a calathumpian serenade, and they surrounded the house with toot-horns, gongs, tin pans and horse fiddles. When they got through, the old man came out in front of the house and said, "Tut! tut! Wall! I am really ashamed of your indulgin' in all this hilarity. Only sich a short time since there's been a funeral in this house." (Great laughter.)

I must, in reference to Abraham Lincoln, tell you the true and historical account, as I heard it in the original of Syke's

yellow dog. When Gen. Grant came on from the West, Mr. Lincoln and he had had some correspondence, as you know, but they had never seen each other. When they met at the White House, on the occasion of Mr. Lincoln presenting to Gen. Grant his commission of the then highest rank known in our Army, and which had been created especially for him, that of LieutenantGeneral, Mr. Lincoln said, "Gen. Grant, they worked pretty hard to have me remove you from the Army out West, but I kind of thought you would work matters out in some way. After you had captured Vicksburg, I thought they would let us alone, but they did not. A lot of politicians came to me, and said, 'You can't keep this man Grant any longer out there.' I said he had done tolerably well, I thought, and asked what was the complaint. They told me you had raised Cain in paroling Pemberton's Army, and declared that troops would soon be all back fighting us again in the field. I said to them, 'Have you ever heard of Syke's yellow dog?' They said they hadn't; then, I said, your early education had been neglected. (Laughter.) I went on to tell them that a man by the name of Sykes, in a small town out West, kept a store and had a yellow dog. There were a good many small boys in that town, and where there are a good many boys it is a bad place for dogs. (Laughter.) They didn't like that dog. Even Sykes, with all his affection for the dog, had to admit that the dog was growing unpopular. One day the boys met, got a cartridge, fitted a fuse to it, put the cartridge in a piece of meat, and laid it out in front of Syke's house. Then they perched themselves on the fence and whistled for the dog. The dog came out, saw the meat, and bolted it. Then the boys touched off the fuse, and there was an explosion, like a clap of thunder, and the air was just black with smoke and pieces of dog. Sykes came out, and yelled, 'What's the matter; anything busted?' Then he looked down, and he picked up the largest piece of that dog he could find, looked at it, turned it over, and he said, 'Well, I reckon he'll never be of much account again as a dog.' (Laughter.) And I said to the deputation, 'I reckon Pemberton's army will not be much again as an army.'

But, gentlemen, I will speak, and only for a few moments, upon one particular trait in Mr. Lincoln's character, in regard to which he has been greatly misrepresented. I mention it, because I can speak from personal knowledge. It has been said that

Mr. Lincoln was at times a timid man; that he was lacking in physical courage. No one has ever spoken a greater untruth than that. The report began to be circulated when people misconstrued his motives in taking a circuitous route from Philadelphia to Washington. The friends who accompanied him there know that they had the greatest difficulty in urging him to accede to their wishes. He yielded, not because he feared death, but in order not to fan the flames of excitement which were then raging, and give cause for a mob or a riot in the streets, knowing that the whole country was standing over a magazine, and that a spark might touch it off. He was not timid enough to fear assassination; he was not vain enough to think that anybody wanted his life. You all remember that long walk from the White House to the old War Department, through that gloomy vista of trees and bushes. It seemed a lurking place for assassins. He was threatened every day with letters, telling him he would be assassinated within the next twenty-four hours, enough to weaken the nerves of the strongest of men, but when he felt anxious in regard to the army, he would get up at any hour of the night, and refusing to have any one accompany him, would take that long, dark, dismal walk over to the War Department, so that he could place himself next to the telegraph operator. He was far in advance of any officer in Washington in trying to keep a small force there. He didn't want protection. When Gen. Grant had sent a telegram to him on the 10th of July, in front of Richmond, telling him he had got the enemy in the position he wanted him, Mr. Lincoln sent that famous reply, "I'm glad you have got the enemy by the throat; choke and chew as much as possible."

After Grant had sent a despatch to the chief of staff at Washington, wanting Sheridan put in command of the troops at the time of Early's raid, Mr. Lincoln replied in words that I can repeat with accuracy. He said, "I have seen your telegram, asking that Sheridan be placed in command, and that all the forces here be taken and thrown south of the enemy, and the enemy followed to his death. I like that despatch, but examine all your communications from Washington since you sent it, and see if there is any idea here about throwing these troops south of the enemy. I want you to give that your special attention to having it accomplished.

He wanted no guards about him in Washington. He was in advance of all the others in wanting the troops thrown south of the enemy. He was a man that always had the courage of his convictions; he never took counsel of his fears. He was as heroic a man as I ever met. The lapse of time, is not yet sufficient for us to properly appreciate Abraham Lincoln. He is not yet placed in the proper focal distance for our observation.

A distinguished Italian sculptor had finished a colossal statue, which was the masterpiece of his life, to be placed upon the pinnacle of a grand cathedral. When ready to be hoisted, it was placed in front of the cathedral in the street. The people soon surrounded it, as they collected in the great squares. To them the statue was out of proportion, it was grotesque, it was a mockery upon art, a burlesque upon sculpture. They hooted it; they could hardly be restrained from destroying it. It was not in the proper focal distance. But soon the cords were tightened

and the great statue began to rise. Little by little it was brought nearer and nearer to the focal distance. Soon the murmuring of the crowd ceased, and as soon as it surmounted the pinnacle of that grand cathedral where the artist intended it should stand throughout all time for the admiration of the ages, then the crowd broke out in deafening cheers. Their criticisms had given place to adoration. And so in future years people will see Abraham Lincoln standing in the true focal distance; they will see him adorning the highest pinnacle of the nation's temple of fame, and they will say that he has filled to the very full the largest measure of human greatness, and covered the earth with his renown. (Great applause.)