Mr. Stoddard responded to Mr. Riley and others in the poem quoted below, which shows the vigor of mind and spirit enjoyed by this venerable poet of three score years and ten and five, on whom the snows of three-quarters of a century have fallen so lightly that they seem but to have mellowed rather than weakened his powers. * * * * * A CURTAIN CALL. GENTLEMEN: If I have any right To come before you here to-night It is conferred on me by you, And more for what I tried to do Than anything that I have done. A start, perhaps, a race not won! But ’tis not wholly lost, I see, For you, at least, believe in me. Comrades, nay, fellows, let me say, Since life at most is but a play, And we are players, one and all, And this is but a curtain call, If I were merely player here, And this assumption of his part, I might pretend to drop a tear, And lay my hand upon my heart And say I could not speak, because I felt so deeply your applause! I cannot do this, if I would; I can but thank you, as I should, And take the honors you bestow―― A largess, not a lawful claim; My share thereof is small, I know, But from your hands to-night is fame―― A precious crown in these pert days Of purchased or of self-made bays; You give it――I receive it, then, Though rather for your sake than mine. A long and honorable line Is yours――the Peerage of the Pen, Founded when this old world was young, And need was to preserve for men (Lost else) what had been said and sung, Tales our forgotten fathers told, Dimly remembered from of old, Sonorous canticles and prayers, Service of elder gods than theirs Which they knew not; the epic strain Wherein dead peoples lived again! A long, unbroken line is ours; It has outlived whole lines of kings, Seen mighty empires rise and fall, And nations pass away like flowers―― Ruin and darkness cover all! Nothing withstands the stress and strain, The endless ebb and flow of things, The rush of Time’s resistless wings! Nothing? One thing, and not in vain, One thing remains: Letters remain! Your art and mine, yours more than mine, Good fellows of the lettered line, To whom I owe this Curtain Call, I thank you all, I greet you all. Noblesse oblige! But while I may, Another word, my last, maybe: When this life-play of mine is ended, And the black curtain has descended, Think kindly as you can of me, And say, for you may truly say, “This dead player, living, loved his part, And made it noble as he could, Not for his own poor personal good, But for the glory of his art!” * * * * * HYMN TO THE BEAUTIFUL.