“DO you remember the poetic speech, in verse and prose, that William
Winter[60] made at the banquet in Lafayette place?” I asked.
“Yes, indeed,” Irving replied. “The two stanzas with which he
introduced it were singularly musical, I thought.”
“Here they are. I wanted him to write out the heads of his speech for
me; but he had only written down his verses, and here they are, as
dainty as they are fraternal.