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Show 86 Philadelphia, I have felt myself bound to use great plainness of speech. Had I consulted my feelings, I should have been silent. In that city I have old and dear friends, and have received hospitalities, which I rcmem~er w1th gratitude. But we are not allowed to "confer wtth flesh and blood." I beg however to say, in order to prevent misinterpretation, that I have not thought, .r~r a moment, of holding up Philadelphia as the worst of ctlles. I do not infer from a single tumult, the character of a vast population. How many thousands of that metropolis took no part in the transaction under consideration. And of those who gave it their active or passive sanction, how many thousands were hurried on by imitation and sympathy, '~ere sw.ept away by a common impulse, without comprehendmg the I_mport of the deed. In a popular ferment, individualslay astde themselves for a time, and do what they would shnnk from, if left to act on their separate responsibility. In all cities, it is true of the vast majority of men, that their consciences cannot stand alone. Their principles, as they call them, are echoes of general sentiment. Their sense of duty, unpropped by opinion, totters, and too often falls. One of the saddest view~ of society is, the almost universal ·want of self-determined, self-subsistent virtue. It is thereTore no sign of unparalleled depravity, that a community proves false to great principles in seasons of excitement. All great cities abound in ignorance, prejudice, pass.ion, ~elfi.sh conformity to the world, and moral corruptwn m. Its grosser and more refined forms; and that these bitter fountains should sometimes burst forth, is a matter of course. I ascribe to no city precedence in virtue or crime. I would only say, that Philadelphia has placed herself, more conspicuously than other cities, on a bad eminence, and she must hold it, until buildings devoted to Liberty of Speech can stand unharmed on her soil. I now finish this long letter. Your patience, my dear 87 Sir, has not, I trust, been exhausted. \Vhether this communication will answer the public ends which I have proposed, I kn?w not; but it will do one good of a personal nature. It wtll be a memorial, however brief, of a friendship, which began in our youth, and which has withstood the vicissitu. des of so many years, that we may expect it to go down w1th us to our graves. It pleases me, that our names should be associated in a work, which, though written in haste, and for a temporary exigency, yet reflects something of. both our minds. It is fit, that the thoughts, unfolded in thts letter, should be addres::.;ed to one, with whom I have conversed long and familiarly on the great interests of human nature. I owe you much for the light and strength yo~ have given me, and especially tOr the faith and hope, which, un?er much personal suffering and depression, you have chenshed and expressed in regard to the destinies of our race. We have given much of our sympathy to the multitude. We have felt more for the many who are forgotten, than for the few who shine; and our great inquiry has been, how the mass of men may be raised from ianorancc and sensuality, to a higher social, intellectual, rn~ral, and religious life. We have rejoiced together in the progress already made by individuals and communities ; but a voice has come to us from the depths of human suffering, from the ~buses ?f the social state, from the teachings of Jesus Chnst, urgtng the need of new struggle with giant evils, and of new efforts for the dilfusion of comforts, refinements, ~uickening truths, enlightened piety, and disinterested v1rtue. A few years will bring us to our journey's end. To the last, I trust, we shall speak words of blessin{J' to our race, and words of encouragement to all who toil and suffer. for its good. Through God's grace, we hope for another life ; but that life, we believe, will, in some respects, be one with this. Our deep sympathies with the great human family, will, we believe, survive the grave. |
