of Baltimore orioles, the aged poet naturally was the first to be helped into his coat. In the general mix-up (there was considerable good-natured fooling among the members as they left, relieved as they were from the strain of the meeting) Whittier was given my hat by mistake. When I came to go, there was nothing left for me but a rather seedy gray derby with a black band, containing the initials "J.G.W." As the poet was visiting in Cambridge at the time I took opportunity next day to write the following letter to him:

        Cambridge, Mass.

        November 7, 1890.

        Dear Mr. Whittier:

        I am afraid that in the confusion following the Save-Our-Song-Birds meeting last night, you were given my hat by mistake. I have yours and will

         [pg 005]

        gladly exchange it if you will let me know when I may call on you.

        May I not add that I am a great admirer of your verse? Have you ever tried any musical comedy lyrics? I think that I could get you in on the ground floor in the show game, as I know a young man who has written several songs which E.E. Rice has said he would like to use in his next comic opera—provided he can get words to go with them.

        But we can discuss all this at our meeting, which I hope will be soon, as your hat looks like hell on me.

        Yours respectfully,

        ROBERT C. BENCHLEY.

      I am quite sure that this letter was mailed, as I find an entry in my diary of that date which reads:

      "Mailed a letter to J.G. Whittier. Cloudy and cooler."

      Furthermore, in a death-bed confession, some ten years later, one Mary F. Rourke, a servant employed in the house of Dr. Agassiz, with whom Whittier was bunking at the time, admitted that she herself had taken a letter, bearing my name in

       [pg 006]

      the corner of the envelope, to the poet at his breakfast on the following morning.

      But whatever became of it after it fell into his hands, I received no reply. I waited five 

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