Ladies, worn out as I am, still I am very glad that the ladies of New York condescend to listen to my farewell.  When in the midst of a busy day, the watchful care of a guardian angel throws some flowers of joy in the thorny way of man, he gathers them up with thanks:  a cheerful thrill quivers through his heart, like the melody of an Aeolian harp; but the earnest duties of life soon claim his attention and his cares.  The melodious thrill dies away, and on he must go; on he goes, joyless, cheerless, and cold, every fibre of his heart bent to the earnest duties of the day.  But when the hard work of the day is done, and the stress of mind for a moment subsides, then the heart again claims its right, and the tender fingers of our memory gather up again the violets of joy which the guardian angel threw in our way, and we look at them with delight; while we cherish them as the favourite gifts of life—­we are as glad as the child on Christmas eve.  These are the happiest moments of man’s life.  But when we are not noisy, not eloquent, we are silent almost mute, like nature in a midsummer’s night, reposing from the burning heat of the day.  Ladies, that is my condition now.  It is a hard day’s work which I have had to do here.  I am delivering my farewell address; and every compassionate smile, every warm grasp of the hand, every token of kindness which I have received (and I have received so many), every flower of consolation which the ladies of New York have thrown on my thorny way, rushes with double force to my memory.  I feel happy in this memory—­there is a solemn tranquillity about my mind; but in such a moment I would rather be silent than speak.  You know, ladies, that it is not the deepest feelings which are the loudest.

And besides, I have to say farewell to New York!  This is a sorrowful word.  What immense hopes are linked in my memory with its name!—­hopes of resurrection for my fatherland—­hopes of liberation for the European continent!  Will the expectations which the mighty outburst of New York’s heart foreshadowed, be realized? or will the ray of consolation pass away like an electric flash?  Oh, could I cast one single glance into the book of futurity!  No, God forgive me this impious wish.  It is He who hid the future from man, and what he does is well done.  It were not good for man to know his destiny.  The sense of duty would falter or be unstrung, if we were assured of the failure or success of our aims.  It is because we do not know the future, that we retain our energy of duty, So on will I go in my work, with the full energy of my humble abilities, without despair, but with hope.