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We
give this month the two addresses
alluded
to in our last:
The
Rev. D. M. Isaacs, at the request of the chairman, rose to propose the
next toast, and in doing so said, the toast he was about to propose to
the company was one of the most important of the evening, although it
was one of which he was perfectly ignorant until within the previous
twenty-four hours. He knew not that to him had been assigned by the
committee the high honour of proposing the health of their Christian
visitors; and he hoped they would extend to him their kind indulgence
while he endeavoured, unprepared as he was, to discharge the duty which
devolved upon him. He hoped they would pardon him if he spoke with
warmth of heart, if he gave way, on that occasion to enthusiasm; for he
could with truth assure them that, to him, the scene he then beheld was calculated to call forth the strongest
emotions of gratitude. When
he looked at the mayor, and the company over which he then presided, and
then turned to the history of his people, he felt more than he could
give utterance to. The history of his people for many, very many years,
was one of deep affliction, great suffering, and obloquy. There were
connected with it many melancholy reflections, and few illuminated
passages in the annals of Israel's history equal to that which the
splendid scene of that day would supply. If ever he felt the want of
words to convey the heart's emotion, it was upon that proud and
celebrated occasion, when he beheld before him men of all religious
denominations combining together to render, as far as in their power
lay, atonement for those injuries which men who had gone before them had
inflicted upon the people of Israel. He felt truly happy and honoured in
seeing such men around him; at the same time, conscious of the truth of
his cause, he could not but feel that his Christian brethren, in
honouring his nation, were honouring themselves. Ile had heard the
gentlemen of Birmingham spoken of as men famous in arts, and skilled in
science; as men possessed of all those acquirements which ornament life;
but it was reserved for that day to exhibit them in the possession of a
still more important discovery than any they had yet made. They had made
the northwest passage to humanity. For that northwest passage they might be justly proud. He hailed
that evening with delight, and he only wished that he was endowed with
the zeal and spirit of their prophets of old; that he could fully and
most heartily speak forth the gratitude of his people for the festival
they were then celebrating.
Yes, he and they felt truly thankful, truly grateful to the Almighty God
for the great change that had taken place, and they felt truly grateful
to their fellow-men for the kindness exercised towards them. That was
his feeling and that of his brethren—that was their mystery—that was
all the overreaching which occupied their hearts. They entertain nothing
but feelings of benevolence, of mercy, and thankfulness to all, and it
was with an inexpressible delight he found there amongst all parties a
corresponding feeling. They would by that day's proceedings exhibit to
all England a proof that, in the cause of education, (not that education
unsanctified by religion, but that instruction bused upon it,) they
could unite and aid each other in inculcating more sublime truths, which
would render man dear to his fellowman, and blend all in one common
paternal feeling. When he remembered that only a short time ago the name
of Jew was a by-word, a disgrace, a signal for scorn, and beheld the
scene of that evening, he held all other changes they might desire,
possible. He feat that they could approximate to the period on which
their inspired men had so often dwelt. When he beheld the Catholic and
Protestant, and the Wesleyan, (all alike dear to him, because all the
children of the one God,) at the shrine of duty, sacrificing their
differences of opinion, and agreeing that they (the Hebrews) should have
the power of educating their own children, he hailed the event with
inexpressible feelings of delight. They required no aid, no charity from
any source that would deprive them of that right which was to them the
most valuable of all rights and blessings, namely, the uncontrolled
right to educate their own children. He was proud of the name of Jew,
now that, in the nineteenth century, he found all classes agreed that
education was the most important question to the family of man. He would
not detain them longer than to assure them his heart was responsive to
the calls of humanity. He hailed the whole race of mankind as brothers;
and he prayed the Almighty God that there might be many such meetings as
that in England, to enable his brethren to convince them that there were
no mysteries in Israel; that they were men like themselves, endowed with
the same sympathies, capable of the same exalted sentiments, and
entitled to a participation in all those rights and privileges which, as
rational and intelligent beings, they could exercise. In this wish he
hoped he would not be disappointed, and he, in conclusion, begged leave
to propose the toast he had already announced.
The
Hebrew portion of the company drank the toast with great applause.
The
mayor having called upon Dr. Melson to reply to the toast proposed by
the Rev. D. M. Isaacs, of Liverpool—"Our Christian and Hebrew
visitors!"
Dr.
Melson rose and begged to engage for himself the sympathies of the large
assembly which he had been most unexpectedly called upon to address.
Previous to his entry into the room he had not been made acquainted with
the honour designed him in his promotion to the vice-presidential chair;
and it was only whilst Mr. Isaacs was addressing them that the mayor had
imposed upon him the duty, of replying to his eloquent friend. He
sheltered himself, however,
under the knowledge of the fact, that this meeting had been convened,
not so much for the purpose of speech-making, as for the expression of
feeling; and he challenged any one present to evince a greater expansion
of heart than he then felt, a more glowing admiration of the cause which
brought them together, or a warmer love for the people of the
Israelitish nation, than that which burned in his own bosom. The speaker
who had preceded him had said, that no fears need be entertained by
either Jew or Gentile from their mutual association on that delightful
occasion, and had spoken of streams taking their rise in different
mountains and commingling their waters—streams which yet, in their
onward flow to the mighty ocean, preserved their several identities. The
figure was a beautiful one; and geographers informed them that the
Rhone, in its arrowy descent from Mont Blanc, as it fell into the lake
of Geneva, mixed not its streams with the waters of that august lake;
but, as it fell into it, so it flowed out of it, bearing along with it
only the odour of the flowers that grew upon its banks, only the perfume
of the breeze that rippled its surface in its transit. And so with
reference to this day's associations. The Christian would receive no
injury from his association with the Hebrew; nor would the Israelite
have to lament the day spent in such intimate association with the
Christian community. The wealth of Israel and its respectability from
distant parts had entered Birmingham that day, and been associated with
the talent and influence of the town. That ancient river, whose flowings
they had long been familiar with, and which they had been told rose
first in the mountains of Chaldea, would flow on untarnished by the
history of that day, bearing with it only the hearty good wishes and the
cheering plaudits of an enlightened Christian community. He had looked
forward with great anticipation to the ceremonies of that day, and when
it broke amidst storm, and tempest, and unusually protracted
thunderings, he was led to augur unfavourably as to the result of its
solemnities. But as he listened in the Synagogue to the sublime and
measured chaunt of their priests—"The voice of the Lord divideth
the flames of fire; the God of glory thundereth," he had learned to
reason differently, and was compelled to acknowledge, with one of the
greatest of our poets, however
Fondly
superstition grieved
The lightning did but sanctify below
Whate'er it strikes.
In
conclusion, to the honour of the Jewish poor,—and he could not set
down without paying them a compliment they so well deserved,—to the
honour of the Jewish poor, he would say, that whether as a magistrate, a
hospital physician, or an humble professor of Christianity, he had never
admired the character of any people more than he admired theirs. During
the two or three years in which he had exercised the functions of a
magistrate, it had ever fallen to his lot to inflict a penalty upon a Hebrew,
or to commit one to take his trial before the bar of his country. In his
hospital practice he had never experienced, an he spoke advisedly, only
reiterating what he had often before said—he had never met with more
patience under suffering, nor so much gratitude after the hues of health
had again mantled over the cheek once pale with sickness, as from the
Jewish poor; and, as a Christian, he was bound to aver, that he had
nowhere met with a purer exemplification of the principles of love, or
the virtues of of fortitude and resignation, than those which had been
furnished forth by, he would not say the lowest, but the poorest, of the
Hebrew population of that large town. He rejoiced, then, in the
institution, the promotion of whose welfare had called them together. He
had attended many large meetings in that banqueting room, but none—ne
was proud as a citizen of Birmingham while he said it—none in which so
large, so wealthy, and so respectable an assembly had been congregated.
Dr.
Melson resumed his seat amidst the loudest cheers of the meeting.
Thus
terminated the first step in an undertaking which will, we doubt not,
bring many blessed results in its train to the Israelites of Birmingham.
Let the example be followed by other cities, in order that a knowledge
of the Lord may become general among us. |
