"Mr. Chairman,—I have been desired by the committee to propose the health of a gentleman who is among us,—a friend of our immediate guest,—who has left his business in a sister city to comply with their invitation to give us his presence to-day,—a gentleman well known in the department of letters, as our guest upon your right is in that of the drama, as peculiarly and characteristically American. We are met to congratulate upon his successes a man radically American. The occasion is, therefore, appropriate to the cultivation of nationality,—a virtue which, though it is said to have grown into a weed in our political and individual relations, we have never been accused of fostering overmuch in literature and the arts; and he who cultivates it there deserves our signal approbation. Short of that illiberality which impedes the march of improvement, let us cherish a partiality, an honest, homely prejudice, for what is our own. To know ourselves is not the whole circle of wisdom; we must love ourselves too. Who sees an American audience crowd to an American play and turn from Shakspeare to call for Metamora and the Gladiator, and does not acknowledge in this fond prejudice the germ of excellence? Patriotism itself is a blind preference of our own earth; and shall there be no patriotism in letters? Take from Walter Scott his local prepossessions,—his Scotch kings, Scotch hills, Scotchmen, and the round of characters that he carries with him to all times and all places wherever his scene be laid,—deprive him, in a word, of his nationality, and what is he? Cut from his harp his own strings, and where is his music? There is no virtue without excess; such is human imperfection. Give us, then, nationality, which is but a phase of patriotic feeling; give us excess of it. Let us love the yet barren hills of our own literature, and we shall learn to make them wave and smile with harvests. Let our authors, like the gentleman we are about to drink to, strike their roots into their native soil and spread themselves to their native sun, and, like him, they will flourish. I propose
"A health and a hearty welcome to Mr. Leggett, whose pen, pointed by a genius that is his own, is directed by a heart that is all his country's."
Mr. Leggett said, that "to be complimented on such an occasion, and by such an assemblage, with a particular notice, was an honor to which he knew not how to reply. The courteous hospitality which made him a partaker with them in their festal ovation to his distinguished friend was an honor so far beyond his deserts as to call for his warmest acknowledgments. But 'the exchequer of the poor,' thanks alone, contained no coin which he dared offer in requital of the obligation they had conferred.
"It is often lamented" (Mr. L. remarked) "that the actor's art, though more impressive in its instant effects than painting or sculpture, stamps no enduring memorial of its excellence, and that its highest achievements soon fade from recollection, or survive only in its vague and traditionary report. This complaint did not seem to him altogether just. We best know how to estimate causes from the effects they produce. The consequences of actions are their most lasting and authentic chroniclers. What portrait, or what statue, could have conveyed to us so exalted a notion of the loveliness of Helen of Troy as the ten years' war provoked by her fatal charms? What 'storied urn or animated bust' could have perpetuated the memory of Roscius like the honors bestowed on him by the Roman Senate, the eulogium of Cicero, and the tears—more eloquent than words—shed by that immortal orator upon his grave?
"When I look around me, and behold this capacious hall thronged with men eminent for station, admired for talent, and valued for various private worth, and when I reflect on the object which convenes them here, I cannot admit the peculiar perishableness of the actor's fame, I cannot admit that he merely 'struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.' You have reared a monument to one actor, at least, gentlemen, which will long commemorate his greatness, and convey to your children, and your children's children, a lively impression of the genius and virtues which elicited so proud and enviable a tribute!"
Mr. Leggett returned his sincere thanks for the honor of inscribing his name on so enduring a record, and said he was proud to have it associated with the proceedings of that day.
In conclusion, he asked the company to fill their glasses to the following sentiment:
"Philadelphia—The Rome of the new world in this, that she has given a second Roscius to mankind, while another of her sons bids fair to win for her Athenian distinction by rivalling the fame of Æschylus."
Passing over the other speeches as of little interest now, it may be well to state that among the letters of excuse read was one from Washington Irving, regretting that it was not in his "power to join in this well-merited tribute to theatrical genius and private worth;" one from William Cullen Bryant, saying that it would give him "the greatest pleasure to unite in any testimony to the professional merit and personal worth of Mr. Forrest;" one from John P. Kennedy, who "would rejoice in such an opportunity to acknowledge his share of the indebtedness which the country at large owes to a gentleman whose fame in his profession has become common property;" and one from the celebrated player W. E. Burton, enclosing this happy toast: "The Stage of Life,—although cast into inferior parts at the commencement, industry and perseverance may eventually place us in the principal characters. May we be found perfect at the conclusion of the play!"
Songs and music were interspersed among the addresses, the famous vocalist Henry Russell singing several of his most exquisite ballads with unrivalled effect; and the occasion, altogether, was one of unclouded enjoyment in the passage and of lasting satisfaction in the retrospect.