"The work that you have done has become a part of English life and of our own personal lives. It represents the highest blossom of the tree of civilization, and it has come to mean so much that to-day no man or woman can attain to a maturity of culture without having absorbed your teaching and your spirit. You have taught us to appreciate everything that is good in life, enhancing its sparkle and flavour. You have sharpened our wits, polished our manners, advanced our happiness by widening our comprehension. You have given us a new perception of the social structure, and especially have you given us a key to the maze and mystery of women's souls. "You yourself, sir, in your splendid solitude, can hardly apprehend what the name of George Meredith means to the best intelligences of your era. It is a name honoured and venerated above all titles, signifying to us, your disciples, the sum of all your imaginative genius and your noble example have conferred. We, men and women alike, who are privileged to see you to-day, are sensible of the added understanding which comes of personal association with you, and we shall remember the privilege as one of the most cherished benefits of our lives." Friar George Meredith said: "I cannot rise, but I wish to speak and say: Ladies and Gentlemen, after a shower of honey from the busiest bees of the bees around me, my wings are clogged, and I cannot fly. I have no words to thank you. But look at the tops of those trees: from that short height the measure of us is seen to be pretty equal. Each does his work in his own way. I find so many people in different walks that can do what I cannot do. Respect is a very great thing, but I think we are in the habit of falling into a kind of delirium in regard to men who after seventy years or more have made a name. We take them as brandy--(laughter)--it is better to make a kind of dilution, and therefore I mix a considerable amount of water with your compliments. (Laughter.) However, I thank you heartily for coming to see me. If I had the eloquence of that true Irishman, Mr. T.P. O'Connor, I should be making an impression now--(laughter)--but I am only half Irish--half Irish and half Welsh--I halt therefore rather on one leg. The Welsh are admirable singers, but bad dancers. Mr. O'Connor would say not only the words most appropriate, but his language would flow on, and you would not be able to stop him. (Laughter.) I have not that gift, I can only thank you for your kindness. (Loud applause.)"