The Trinity journal., 1856-06-21
"Let the Toast be Dear Woman

lle Dramatlc L una EnlertalnmenC III llllS
city, last week, says the Spsrit of The Times,
was an occasion of marked interest, which
our limits compel us to notice in the brief
est manner. Much Of the speaking was very
good, and there was nothing better in its
way than the response by Hiram Fuller,
ESQ.,, to toast to Woman" He said
Since the time of Adam, who, instead of
popping the question" to his beautiful part
ner in Paradise, went quietly to sleep lone
ly bachelor, and woke up happy married
man, to speak for one woman has been con-
sidered rather an embarrassing effort for the
bravest of us-how overwhelming, then,
must be the feeling of difiidence to man of
moderate modesty who is called on to speak
for the entire sex
But, Mr.. President, the toast-the senti-
ment-(fo Woman is all sentiment to
which am called to respond, is full of in
spiration and while it requires all the gems
of eloquence, and all the jewels of poetry to
do justice to this little word woman"-the
dearest word in all the dictionary-which
represents the fairer and better half of Gre
alton, yet there is q silent homage Of the
heart, mute eloquence of the eye, burning
and beaming with the emotions awakened
by the inspiring theme, " compared with which
the rhetoric of even the most gifted tongue
could only make us more sensibly feel the ut
ter poverty of speech !
certainly feel, Mr. President highly
complmented by the honor of being permit
ted to express on this occasion the scnti-
ments which our rougher, coarser, colder half
of humanity bear toward the fairer, the
brighter, the lovelier hemisphere of our COM
mon being trust there has never lived
man SO utterly unblessed and desolate of
soul, who has not at some period of his life
met with some breathing, beautiful counter
part of his fairest ideal angel, to whom he
could sing and drink with the poet =
g | fill this cup, to one made up
OF loveliness alone;
A being of her gentle sex
The seeming paragon,
To whom the bitter clements
And kindly stars have given
A form so fair, that like the air
She's less of earth than heaven"
From the rainbowh hued "reminiscences of
loves young dream" down to the "sober
certainties of aeedded bliss" how our fondest
and holiest associations accumulate and elus-
ter around
d" That hallOwed form
Which first love traced"
The sacred mother of our pain-bought be-
ing the loving, playmate sister of our child
hood the dear, devoted companion Of our
manhood and the fond and lilial daughter
who cheers and sustains our decaying years,
as the flower vines support and adorn the
ruins-in each and all Of these relations is
not woman infinitely dearer to us than any
words can express The light of our home,
the Joy of our heart-the star of our night
which,
"Like the cleaning taper's light,
Illumes and cheers our way.
And still, as darker grows the night
Emits a brighter ray"
In all the dear domestic relations of life !;
and amidst all its troubled scenes, the pres
ence and the love of Woman is like the mu-
sic of David to the dark spirit of Saul
She lays her soft palms upon our troubled
hearts, as the harper presses his hands up
on the harp-strings, not to increase, but to
still its vibrations. Whether we regard her
as the rapt and radiant Madonna, beaming
with the pure love-light of Eternity-or as
the bowed and weeping Magdalen, dissolv-
ing at once her sins and her accusers in q
flood of pearly tears-the warm rain that
gushes from broken heart. God forgive
us, if our admiration of her human beauty
rises into alteration of her supernal goodness
When the dying Marmion called in vain
upon all his retainers-
To bring
| Some blessed water from the spring,
To quench his dying thirst
it was the gentle hand Of Clare that bathed
his fevered brow and soothed bis mortal
winning from his passing soul that
true and beautiful tribute to all her sex
When pain and languish wiring the brow
A ministering angel thou"
| And in that sublimest scene Of human suf.
fering, before which heaven yelled its face
and closed its eyc-when the dying Son Of
God was deserted by all his disciples, the
weeping mother clung to him alone in the
dark agones of the crucifction
She, when apostles shrank, could dangers brave
Last at his cross, and earliest at his grave"
But, Mr.. President, l have neither time