JOHN HEYWOOD, 170, DEANSGATE, LONDON: PARTRIDGE & CO., PATERNOSTER ROW. NEW SERIES OF LECTURES DELIVERED IN THE FREE TRADE HALL, BY THE REV. A. MURSELL. The Old Story. T is no small pleasure to me, my friends, to meet you here once more; but though it is six months ago since I spoke my "Parting Counsels" to you, it seems-only like yesterday since I said farewell, and pressed the hot hands of a hundred friends, as loth to separate as I. I have been anxious for the day to come round when I should stand upon this platform again; and I have the satisfaction to know that that anxiety has been shared in by many more. I take your presence in these numbers here again as a sign that the remembrance of our past interviews has been pleasant to you as well as to myself. I know it has to not a few; for I have been asked over and over again during the last six months,-when I was coming to the Free Trade Hall again. Numbers of incidents have happened to lead me to rejoice more and more at having entered upon this work; and not the least of these is this, that it has caused my name to be mentioned with kindness and with pleasure by those who have been in pain and in disease, and has enabled me to sympathise substantially with many a poor man's sorrow, of which otherwise I should never have heard. Human tastes are various, and so are the objects of human ambition. Some men thirst for fame-some for riches—some for power; but, low and vulgar as the taste may be, I must confess that I admire most, and would most try to emulate the spirit of that man who sees a richer recompense in the signs of alleviated misery, in the smiles of lightened hearts, and happy cottage inmates,-than in gold, in acres, or in equipages, who knows the sterling value of a wife's "God bless you!" when her husband comes home kind and sober from his work, as well as he knows the value of a Bank of England note; and who deems it quite as honourable to have his name mentioned in a poor man's prayers, as posted in a banker's ledger. But why have we been anxious to meet each other here again? Is it that we may produce and admire some startling novelty,that we may get up some grand change of entertainment, on a scale of magnificence never before attempted? That is not why I have wanted to see you; and I hope that is not why you have wished to see me for if so, I am sure you will be disappointed. I have no new thing to show you,-nothing fresh to call your attention to. I have not imported any more seasonable or fashionable articles into stock. No. I come before you with the same two garments to spread out for your selection-the tattered slops of your own righteousness, and the seamless robe of Christ's perfection. In short, it is the old story that I have to tell, the old story about heaven and happiness, and the way to both, the old story about drinking, wife-beating, dissipation, guzzling, and all the other barriers that lie in the path to prosperity in this world, and glory in the next. And let me add, that I intend to tell this old story in my own way; and I have little doubt that we shall soon hear the old story about bad taste-vulgarity-buffoonery—and all the rest of it, from lots of profound critics and old story-tellers. But, nevertheless, I have no intention at present of asking Mr. This, or the Reverend That, "how or what I shall say," or of consulting either Brimstone or Treacle as to the most proper or acceptable mode of telling the truth. If there are any editors of particular newspapers who think they can fill up a blank space conveniently, or sell a few extra impressions by abusing me, here I am at their service. And if there are any gentlemen, clerical or lay, who fancy they should sleep better at night, or relish their meals more in the day, by calling me a fool, a humbug, or a quack,— I shall always be proud to form a target for their shafts,-gratefully to receive the "smallest donation" in the shape of compliment, and, in short, to be in all public respects their "most obedient." Once more, let me say, it is not at taste that I aim, it is not the fastidious whom I wish to attract;-it is to the artizan population of Manchester I address myself,-it is their best interests I seek,-and it is by their verdict, along with that of conscience, that I mean to stand or fall. So much by way of preliminary-now then for "the old story." I should like to know how many heads of families have got drunk in the presence of their wives and children, by way of setting a good example, since we were assembled here last. I should like to know how many oaths have hung like blisters on a husband's lips during the last six months. I should like to know how many bruises have been made by the connubial fist upon the bosom of a wife by the lord of the creation, who vowed to love and cherish her. I should like to know how many handsful of hair have been torn out of a daughter's head by these her lawful parents and guardians—how many drops of blood have followed the conjugal embraces of the drunkard and the partner of his life - how many sighs have been noted down in heaven, and how many tears have been collected as trophies in the chalice of hell from those too-often-troubled fountains, woman's eyes, since the April showers of this year fell upon our Parting Counsels," ere they gave way to the sunshine and the flowers of May. I should like to know how much money has been spent by the man at the tavern and the vaults, that ought to have been spent by the woman at the grocers and the bakers. I should like to know how many thousand gallons of drink have been consumed in the lowest pot-houses in our city, within our own town alone, during the interval since we met here last. I should like to know how many hearts have been broken-how many babies have been famished, for want of that food which a selfish father might but would not get for it, and have been buried and forgotten, save by the mother, on whose stricken bosom its last breath was drawn, and who remembers well its helpless look and plaintive cry, for the succour that she could not give. |