I want to say here what I have often said in the lodge-room.  I love Odd-Fellowship, above all, for the heart there is in it.  For its display on the street and its pageantry I care but little.  I shrink from it rather than follow it.  But its benevolence, its active charity, and its mission of good will, I admire.  When death’s unwelcome presence rests within our portals, and obedient to his call a loved one has gone hence, we should give the mortal remains of the departed brother a decent sepulture; fondly cherish the remembrance of his virtues, and bury his frailties “beneath the clods which rest upon his bosom.”  We should then direct our thoughts and cares to the desolate home, where the widow, clad in the robes of grief, her heart cords broken and bleeding, is weeping over earth’s only idol, now lost to earth forever.  Then, too, should we extend the helping hand to the fatherless children, and endeavor to so direct their steps that their paths may be paths of usefulness and honor.  These are the imperative duties.  But our ministrations of charity and benevolence should by no means be confined exclusively within the pale of the order.  This crowded world, with its eager millions, maddened with ambition’s unquenchable fires, trampling under foot and well-nigh smothering each other in the great rush of competitive strife, is full of poor unfortunates, daily appealing for generous sympathy and assistance.

Though not members, it may be, of our peculiar family, yet the poorest, the humblest, the most wretched, is a human being—­“the master-piece of His handiwork”—­and, as such, demands our aid and comfort as far as practicable.  Life has been compared to a river.  Aye, and beneath its murky waters lurk countless reefs and shoals.  Many a beautiful bark, sailing, seemingly, under the very star of hope, dashes upon them, and is lost.  All along its shores are scattered the wrecks of stranded vessels, once laden with joyous hopes and brilliant prospects.  Odd-Fellowship renders the passage of this river safe by a bridge of mystic form,

  “On one side is friendship planted—­
    Truth upon the other shore;
  Love, the arch that spans the current,
    Bears each brother safely o’er.”

It should be the most pleasing duty of Odd-Fellows to point our fellow-travelers to this beautiful and stately arch; to lead thitherward their weary steps.  Such would be assistance more permanent than can be rendered by silver or gold.  The time is certain to come when every young man is thrown back upon himself—­must leave the tranquil security of the parental home, and seek a refuge among strangers.  When beyond the reach of family influence—­beyond the reach of that tender providence which so carefully guarded him from vice, and soothed his griefs and sympathized with all his youthful aspirations and pleasures—­when this influence ceases to surround him, what will continue its ministry of love?  What will be to him father, mother, brother, sister—­home?