“It is hardly fair, sir, to call on us while our hearts are beating with fervid thoughts, and your ears ringing with burning words. Had this toast been on the programme, one of my coadjutors would have prepared an address worthy of the compliment and the occasion. This Committee was not chosen for their gifts of utterance, but for those humbler tastes, which only lend a grace to eloquence. Our duties are æsthetic, industrial and artistic. We have compassed the ends of the earth, the depths of the sea; we have levied contributions on the four winds of heaven, to cluster here all that can tempt the appetite, or fascinate the ear and eye, and we fancied our mission accomplished. “However, there is the post-prandial law; the despotism of the wine cup, to which we all owe allegiance—the only despotism which the descendants of the Huguenots, or Pilgrim Fathers, will ever tolerate on this continent. We are here, sir, in menace to none, but firmly and respectfully, in the majesty of manhood, and in consciousness of power, to reassert a principle, imbibed with our mother’s milk, a household word, a dogma of American faith; but while we cordially grasp our neighbor’s hand, in the darkest hour of her trial, the grasp has due emphasis and significance. “With her, we have kindred traditions; each of us has hewn an empire from the wilderness; each of us has expelled the oppressor; and both of us, with tattered banners drenched in the gore of hero martyrs, are now appealing from treachery to the God of Battles. “We have a common future; for who can doubt that our successes and the death-knell of treason is already rung?—who can doubt that the triumph of our arms will be the signal for the eagles of Austerlitz “to change their base,” from the pyramids of Puebla for their perch on the towers of Notre Dame? And permit me here, sir, to express a hope, suggested by the _season_ (God grant it may be a prophecy), that the Easter chimes of Mexico, of the coming year, with the glad tidings of a Saviour risen, shall peal from sierra to sierra, from ocean to ocean, with the glad tidings of a nation risen, a nation born again. (Cheers.) “Sir [to the Chair], it is fitting, while the accents of sweet music recall tender and happy memories (man, imaged by that armed cactus; woman, by that graceful palm), it is holy to consecrate the hour to her who was “last at the cross and first at the sepulchre.” I propose, sir, a toast, to which your heart’s pulse will echo: ‘The daughters of Mexico—Fair as her sons are brave.’” (Enthusiastic and prolonged applause. Music—_Viva Republica._) THE CHAIR. “We must not permit the modesty of our banker and steward, Mr. Clews, to outweigh our desire to hear from the Bourse.” MR. HENRY CLEWS.