And gentle Hope, and Love, forever bright,
Smiling like seraphs in their bowers of light,
Salute his mornings, and embalm each night.
A few days passed, and this self-complacent gentleman had the satisfaction of reading in a Boston paper that the editor of The Star in the West had fully justified the acrostic contained in a late beautiful poem on SPRING, by publishing and praising it in his paper.
EXTEMPORE SPEAKING.
It is no small thing to be called suddenly to address a public meeting of any sort, and to find all your wits gone wool-gathering, when you most require their services. Such being the case, and standing admitted, the following speech of a compulsory order, at the opening of a free hospital, is recommended as a model:
Gentlemen—ahem! I—I—I rise to say—that is, I wish to propose a toast—wish to propose a toast. Gentlemen, I think that you’ll all say—ahem—I think, at least, that this toast is, as you’ll all say, the toast of the evening—toast of the evening. Gentlemen, I belong to a good many of these things—and I say, gentlemen, that this hospital requires no patronage—at least, you don’t want any recommendation. You’ve only got to be ill—got to be ill. Another thing—they are all locked up—I mean they are all shut up separate—that is, they have all got separate beds—separate beds. Now, gentlemen, I find by the report (turning over the leaves in a fidgety manner), I find, gentlemen, that from the year seventeen—no, eighteen—no, ah, yes, I’m right,—eighteen hundred and fifty—no, it’s a three, thirty-six—eighteen hundred and thirty-six, no—less than one hundred and ninety-three millions—no—ah? (to a committee-man at his side), what? thank you!—thank you, yes—one hundred and ninety-three thousand, two hundred and thirty-one! Gentlemen, I beg to propose:
Success to this Institution!