for months and for months was hunted by my country’s tyrants, with no hope, no support, no protection, but at the humble threshold of the hard-working people, as noble and generous as they are poor—­in the name of my poor little children, who when so young as to be scarcely conscious of life, had already to learn what an Austrian prison is—­in the name of all this, and what is still worse, in the name of liberty trodden down, I claim, ladies of New York, your protecting sympathy for my country’s cause.  Nobody can do more for it than you.  The heart of man is as soft wax in your tender hands.  Mould it, ladies; mould it into the form of generous compassion for my country’s wrongs, inspire it with the noble feelings of your own hearts, inspire it with the consciousness of your country’s power, dignity, and might.  You are the framers of man’s character.  Whatever be the fate of man, one stamp he always bears on his brow—­that which the mother’s hand impressed upon the soul of the child.  The smile of your lips can make a hero out of the coward, and a generous man out of the egotist; one word from you inspires the youth to noble resolutions; the lustre of your eyes is the fairest reward for the toils of life.  You can kindle energy even in the breast of broken age, that once more it may blaze up in a noble generous deed before it dies.  All this power you have.  Use it, ladies, in behalf of your country’s glory, and for the benefit of oppressed humanity, and when you meet a cold calculator, who thinks by arithmetic when he is called to feel the wrongs of oppressed nations, convert him, ladies.  Your smiles are commands, and the truth which pours forth instinctively from your hearts, is mightier than the logic articulated by any scholar.  The Peri excluded from Paradise, brought many generous gifts to heaven in order to regain it.  She brought the dying sigh of a patriot; the kiss of a faithful girl imprinted upon the lips of her bridegroom, when they were distorted by the venom of the plague.  She brought many other fair gifts; but the doors of Paradise opened before her only when she brought with her the first prayer of a man converted to charity and brotherly love for his oppressed brethren and humanity.

Remember the power which you have, and which I have endeavoured to point out in a few brief words.  Remember this, and form associations; establish ladies’ committees to raise substantial aid for Hungary.  Now I have done.  One word only remains to be said-a word of deep sorrow, the word, “Farewell, New York!” New York! that word will for ever make every string of my heart thrill.  I am like a wandering bird.  I am worse than a wandering bird.  He may return to his summer home, I have no home on earth!  Here I felt almost at home.  But “Forward” is my call, and I must part.  I part with the hope that the sympathy which I have met here in a short transitory home will bring me yet back to my own beloved home, so that my ashes may yet mix with the dust of my native soil.  Ladies, remember Hungary, and—­farewell!