“Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse.”
In truth we have no crowns to spare for any such self-destructive purpose. It accords much better with my feelings, as well as with the confidence I have in the intelligence and public spirit of the citizens of Fredericksburg, to believe that our funds will be increased rather than diminished; that all of you desire to cherish this social institution; and that even those who make the lowest estimate of its benefits to themselves and others, still rate them as cheaply purchased by their very moderate annual subscription, the amount of which is daily lavished by hundreds of us for that which has really as little substantial good in it, as the mere “shadow of a shade.” I would assert the cheapness of the purchase in regard to every one who had acquired the knowledge only of one single useful fact, which he had not known before; and who is there among us who can truly say, that he has made no such acquisition? Much more, then, may it be urged in regard to all who feel that they now know many more such useful facts, of which twelve months ago they were entirely ignorant. The pleasure alone of witnessing once a week the highly gratifying proof, that so many of you as here meet together, are cordially united for mutual improvement, is worth incalculably more than is given for it. In this behalf, I would respectfully say to each member, are you a father, and yet unconcerned about increasing your own knowledge for the sake of augmenting that of your own offspring, yet ignorant that it is a most sacred duty? Are you a mother, and can you be destitute of that never-dying affection for the children of your bosom, which should impel you with resistless power to seek every opportunity of hearing something, be it ever so little, which you can apply for their benefit? Are you a son, a daughter, a brother, or a sister, and yet so regardless of the welfare and happiness of all connected with you, so destitute of the love of kindred, nay of self-love itself, in its only laudable form, as to have no taste, no desire, no anxiety, for moral and intellectual culture? I will not for a moment, suffer myself even to suspect that these questions could be answered in the affirmative by any to whom I now address myself. Rather let me continue to believe, even if in error, that I behold in all of the present assembly, ardent and zealous friends to all the objects of our association; friends, not for fashion sake, nor novelty, nor idle curiosity, nor a mere time killing purpose, but true, earnest, abiding friends to the great cause of mutual improvement. And by what means, I would confidently ask, so cheap, so convenient, so gratifying, as nightly meetings once a week, for an hour or two, could this cause be better promoted by persons occupied, as most of us are, in daily business and daily duties of indispensable obligation? Whatever is calculated to strengthen our convictions of the superiority of intellectual and moral enjoyments to such gratifications as are merely physical and sensual; whatever can elevate our minds so far above our animal appetites as to assure us that they were never given to be our masters; whatever can lead us to look beyond the present life for the final consummating of all our aspirations after happiness, and the fulfilment of our present duties to God, to man, and to ourselves, as the sole means of attaining this happiness—all these together, constitute the proper objects of education. And the more we study, the more we love, the more we strive to attain them, the greater share shall we here gain of every earthly blessing—the larger portion shall we enjoy hereafter of every felicity that an all-bounteous God hath promised to the most faithful of his children in the life to come. These momentous considerations, my friends, require us to devote to them all our thoughts and all our time not devoted to other equally indispensable duties; and I am ignorant of any associations that might lead us to engage in them more advantageously, during what are called our leisure hours, than Lyceums for mutual improvement, would we only avail ourselves of them, as we well might do. To effect this, all should be “hearers” in the cause, but many should be “doers” also. The exercises of such associations should never be left to be performed by only a very few of the members. They should not be so very diffident of their own powers, as always to be mere listeners; for a large portion usually have some that might be beneficially exerted. The merit of good intentions would always be awarded to them, and that should suffice, even where their efforts fell short of their own wishes. But the great means to preserve, as well as to establish associations like ours, are for their members to cherish for each other benevolence, sympathy, and brotherly love. Such a bond of union wants nothing to make it indissoluble (for it already possesses all the other elements of perpetuity) but christianity. This connects and surrounds these endearing sentiments with associations which diffuse over them a brighter light, and give them an infinitely higher value than they could have without it. “Christianity not only reveals to us the Infinite One, the great Supreme, as the Father alike of all men; it not only instructs all whom it addresses in looking over, and as far as we may, in looking into, and through the mighty universe, to say and to feel ‘our Father made it all;’ it not only says to each individual, and to all the race, ‘all ye are brethren;’ and requires each one to cherish for the rest a brother's interest, and sympathy, and affection; but it requires us also, when we pray, to carry with us these sympathies and affections to the throne of infinite mercy and love, and there to strengthen and hallow the feeling of our connexion with our fellow-men, through our common relation to God, by addressing him as—not my, but ‘our Father who art in Heaven.’ Who, indeed, can feel that he is a child of God—that he has an immortal nature—that in his intellectual and moral powers, and in his capacity of eternal progress, he has also the capacity of an eternal advancement in likeness to God himself, and therefore in all which can forever exalt his nature, and secure and increase his happiness; who can feel all this, and at the same time, (what it is equally important we should feel,) that the most untaught, the poorest, and most degraded of our race, possesses the principles of a common nature with ourselves, and is equally a child of God, and as such, our brother;—who can thus comprehend his own soul, and thus feel his relation to his fellow-man, without feeling his heart drawn out in sympathy with human weakness, and ignorance, and want, and wretchedness, and sin?”
With these convictions deeply, and I hope indelibly engraven on my heart, I cannot bid adieu to you on the present occasion, without most earnestly entreating you to make them your own as speedily as possible, if this has not already been done. In making this request, I address myself principally to such of my auditors, of both sexes, as are still the subjects of scholastic instruction and discipline. Upon you, and others of your age, will chiefly depend the welfare and happiness of yourselves and the next generation—nay, I may add, of all future generations, since each age is most materially affected by that which has immediately preceded it. The hope of rendering you, my young friends, some small service, was my chief object in coming here this evening; and could I depart with the confident expectation that my humble efforts might contribute in any degree towards leading even one of you to your God, it would afford me a gratification—a joy which I have no language to express. Few are the enjoyments left, in a great majority of cases, to those who, like myself, are fast approaching the verge of their graves; but it is in the power of the young to multiply these enjoyments far beyond what they themselves are able to conceive. It is in the power of such as you, my youthful hearers, to furnish the generally gloomy and painful close of long protracted life with intellectual repasts infinitely more delightful than can possibly be afforded by the sensual gratifications of the most ardent of all the sinful passions of youth. It is in the power of such as yourselves to invigorate with unspeakable pleasure the feebleness of old age—to raise their sinking hearts with the most animating anticipations of your future prosperity, fame and happiness—to banish forever from their minds the utter misery of leaving you in the broad road to destruction—and even to surround the bed of a beloved and aged parent's death with joys and foretastes of future felicity to each, such as none but a mother's or father's imagination can possibly conceive. Leave not this room then, leave it not, I beseech you, without an unalterable determination to exert this power from the present moment to the end of your lives. Let your temporal destiny then be what it may,—no earthly bereavement—none of what are called the calamities and miseries of life, can possibly deprive you of that greatest of all earthly blessings—conscious rectitude; nor of that last, that highest reward of all christian hope—a never fading inheritance in a world of endless duration and perfect beatitude.
A CASE
NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS.
Barney Cunningham was dancing with all his might, while Pat O'Leary was playing Paddy Carey on his Jews Harp, and Jemmy Callahan sitting quietly looking on, smoking his pipe on the head of an empty whiskey barrel. All of a sudden the Divil got into Pat, who changed the tune to Molly put the kettle on, which, as it were, brought Barney up all standing, and caused him to bite his tongue almost through. Upon this, Barney, without saying a word, quietly marches up to Pat and gives him a black eye, and upon that Pat appeals to Jemmy Callahan whether this was not offending against good manners. Whereupon Jemmy decides, that Pat had no right to change the tune without giving the gentleman notice, and so the matter was settled to the satisfaction of all parties.