left, that I received an invitation to do so. You will not, therefore, anticipate a studied discourse, or any thing particularly interesting. Devoted, however, as my life is, and has long been, to the instruction and guidance of the young in no inconsiderable numbers, I shall, without further preface, imagine myself in the midst of my own school, and talk familiarly to you as I would, and do, to them.

And allow me to add my congratulations to those of your other friends, for the ample, beautiful, and convenient arrangements that have been made for you, in the school-houses of this city; and especially in the new one we have just examined. I can assure you, it is superior in almost every respect to any public school-house in New England, if not in the United States. It, with others in the city, has cost your fathers and friends a great deal of money, which they have cheerfully expended as a means of making you wise and good. But you have incurred a great debt to them, which you can never repay while you are children, but must endeavor to do it to your children, when you shall become men and women, and take the place of your parents in the world. But before that period, you can do something. Now, immediately on entering upon the enjoyment of the precious privileges extended to you, you can acknowledge the debt, evince the gratitude you feel, not by words, but deeds;by, (to use an expression well understood by all children,) 'being good. Yes-by being good and doing good;'-by obedience to parents and teachers; by kindness to brothers and sisters, and all your young friends and companions; by fidelity in duty, at home and at school; by the practice of honesty and truth at all times; by refraining from the use of profane and indecent language; by keeping the mind and heart free from every thing impure. These are the means in your own hands. Fail not to use them; and although they will in fact be merely an acknowledg ment of your obligation for the boon you possess, your friends will consider themselves well repaid for all they have done for you. It is from such conduct that the teacher's, as well as the father's, richest reward and highest satisfaction are derived. To see the beloved objects of our care and instruction appreciating our labors, and improving in all that is good and useful, under our management, affords the greatest happiness, lightens the heavy load of toil, relieves the aching head, and revives the fainting spirit.

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There is, however, one great danger to which you,-to which all the young, are especially exposed. I mean the influence of bad example. Example is omnipotent. Its force is irresistible to most minds. We are all swayed more or less, by others. Others are swayed by us. And this process is continually going on, even though we are entirely unconscious of it ourselves. Hence we see the importance of choosing good companions, and flying from the bad. Unless this is done, it will be in vain for your friends to give you wise counsel, or for you to form good resolutions. Who can touch pitch and be clean? You will resemble those with whom you associate. You will catch their words, their manners, their habits. Are they pure, you will be pure. Are they depraved, they will corrupt you. Be it a rule with you, then, to avoid those who are addicted to practices that you would be unwilling your most respected friends should know, and regulate your own conduct by the same standard.

I would particularly caution you against beginnings. It is the first step that is the dangerous one; since it is obvious that, if you were to ascend the highest mountain, it could only be done by a step at a time, and if the first were not taken, the summit could never be reached. But, one successfully accomplished, the next follows as a matter of course. And equally and fatally sure is the downward track to crime and misery! If we suffer ourselves to be drawn in that direction, what human power can

save us from destruction? This danger, too, is increased by the feeling of security we indulge, when we say, 'It is only a little thing; we shall never commit any great fault ;'-not remembering that nothing stands still in life, in character, any more than in the material universe. We must be going forward or backward; up, towards improvement and glory, or down, towards infamy and woe! Every thing accumulates, according to its kind; though it begins small, like the snowball you hold in your hand, it becomes, as you roll it on the ground before you, larger at every revolution, till, at last, it is beyond your power to move it at all.

I will illustrate this by a sad case which has recently occurred in Boston. But first, I wish to interest you in something of an agreeable nature, in connection with the faithful performance of duty.

I have spoken of some things that you should do, to show your sense of the benefits which have been conferred upon you, and I should like to dwell on each one of them separately; but I shall have time only to speak of one. It is, however, among the most important. I allude to speaking the truth,-the most substantial foundation of moral character. It has innumerable advantages, one of which is strikingly exhibited in the following story:

Petrarch, an eminent Italian poet, who lived about five hundred years ago, secured the confidence and friendship of Cardinal Colonna, in whose family he resided in his youth, by his candor and strict regard to truth.

A violent quarrel had occurred in the family of this nobleman, which was carried so far, that resort was had to arms. The cardinal wished to know the foundation of the affair; and, calling all his people before him, he required each one to bind himself by a solemn oath, on the Gospels, to declare the whole truth. None were exempt. Even the cardinal's brother submitted to it. Petrarch, in his turn, presenting himself to take the oath, the cardinal closed the book, and said, 'As for you, Petrarch, your wORD is sufficient!"

What more delightful reward could have been presented to the feelings of the noble youth than this, from his friend, his master, and one of the highest dignitaries of the church? Nothing but the peaceful whispers of his own conscience, or the approbation of his Maker, could have given him more heart-felt satisfaction. Who among you would not be a Petrarch? and, in this respect, which of you could not?

While, then, I would hold up for imitation this beautiful example, I would present a contrast as a warning to you.

There is now confined in the Boston jail a boy of fourteen years of age, who, for the previous six years, had been sinking deeper and deeper into vice and crime, until last October, when he was convicted, and sentenced to two years' confinement within the cold damp cell of a gloomy prison, for aggravated theft. In his own written account of his life, which I have seen, he says that he began his wretched course by playing truant from school. His second step was lying, to conceal it. Idle, and destitute of any fixed purpose, he fell in company with others, guilty like himself, of whom he learned to steal, and to use indecent and profane language. He sought the worst boys he could find. He became a gambler, a frequenter of the circus and the theatre, and engaged in various other corrupt and sinful practices. At length, becoming bold in his dishonesty, he robbed the post-office of letters containing very considerable sums of money, and was soon detected and condemned. If you were to visit that abode of misery, you might often see the boy's broken-hearted mother, weeping, and sobbing, and groaning, at the iron grating of his solitary cell, as if she would sink on the flinty floor, and die! And all this,' (to use the boy's own words,) 'comes from playing truant!'

Look, then, my young friends, on these two pictures, both taken from life.-and tell me which you like best; and which of the two characters

you propose to imitate. Will you be young Petrarchs, or will you adopt the course of the unfortunate boy in Boston jail? They are both before you. If you would be like the former, begin right. Resist temptation to wrong-doing, with all your might. Let no one entice you from the way which conscience points out.

This precept is applicable to all,-to both sexes and every age. Let me, then, I pray you, when I shall inquire, hereafter, respecting the habits and characters of the children of the Public Schools of Salem, have the satisfaction to hear, that the instructions of this occasion made an impression on their minds favorable to truth and duty, which subsequent time could never efface.

DEDICATION OF THE NEW SCHOOL-HOUSE IN PAWTUCKET, OCTOBER 31, 1846 ADDRESS OF PRESIDENT WAYLAND, OF BROWN UNIVERSITY.

LADIES AND Gentlemen,

There is something deeply interesting, both to the philanthropist and to the political economist, in the appearance of such a village as this, the abode of wealth, civilization and refinement. We find ourselves, as we look upon it, unconsciously reverting to the period, not very remote, when this whole region was a desert. Thick forests covered all these hills, and pressed down even to the water's brink. This river rushed over its rocky bed, or tumbled down its precipitous ledges, unnoticed by the eye of civilized man. A few savages from time to time, erected their transient wigwams upon its banks, as the season of hunting or fishing attracted them, and they alone disputed the claim of the beasts of the forest to this beautiful domain. The products of all this region were a scanty and precarious pasturage for game, a few canoe loads of fish, and, it may be, a few hundred pounds of venison. Whatever else the earth produced, fell and perished ungathered. Age after age, beheld this annual waste. Here was the earth with all its capabilities. Here were the waters with all their unexpended powers. But here was no man whose intellect had been instructed in the laws of nature. Here was neither continuous industry, nor even frugal forethought. Hence there could be no progress. All things continued as they were from the beginning of the creation.

About two hundred years since, the first civilized man cast his eyes over this beautiful landscape. He brought with him the arts and the science of the older world, and a new era commenced in the history of that part of our country, since known as Rhode Island. The labors of agriculture soon began to work their magic changes. The forest was felled, the soil was tilled, and, in the place of the precarious products of the uncultivated field, rich harvests of grain waved over these plains. The beasts of the forest retired, and the animals given by the Creator to aid us in our toil, occupied their place. Instead of the graceful deer, the clumsy moose, the prowling wolf and the ravenous panther, these fields were covered with the lowing herds, the bleating sheep, the laborious ox, and the horse, in all latitudes the faithful servant of man.

This was a great and glorious transformation. From the moment that a civilized man first thrust his spade into this earth, or here yoked his oxen to the plough, the sleep of ages was broken, and the reign of progress commenced. From this moment the darkness had begun to pass away, and the sun was dispersing that night, which, since the deluge, ad brooded over this land. From that auspicious beginning, all the means of happiness that the eye beholds, have proceeded. Acre after

acre has been reclaimed from barrenness. Every variety of product has been tried, in order to ascertain which would be produced by the earth most kindly. The smoky wigwam gave place to the log house, and this in turn, to the convenient farm-house, or the stately mansion. And thus another portion of the earth was added to the area of Anglo-Saxon civilization.

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But still the river, to which all the distinctive prosperity of this region owes its origin, ran, as it ever had ran, to utter waste. This mighty and most productive means of wealth, remained wholly unemployed. A mine richer than that of gold, was yet unwrought. It was a mine of mechanical power, instead of metallic treasure, and let me add, a mine of incalculably greater value. At last it was discovered, that this little river, falling over its innumerable ledges, could do the labor of many thousand men. An accomplished_manufacturer,* from England, whose name has made this village one of the most renowned spots in our country, came among us, and applied the power of this water-fall to the spinning and weaving of cotton. Who can measure the results of this one grand experiment? We hear of battles and sieges, of the defeat of armies, the capture of towns, the destruction of fleets; but what achievement of war was ever of such importance to a people, as that which was accomplished, when that wheel made its first revolution, and the first thread of cotton was here, in this very village, spun by water power From this moment may be dated the commencement of general manufactures in this country, and that of cotton in particular. From that moment, every fall of water throughout our land became a most valuable possession. From that moment, this noble natural agent began, everywhere, to fabricate garments for our people. From that moment all the labor, of every age, throughout New England, could be profitably employed. From that moment it was certain that capital to any amount could readily find investment. The rich proceeds of one manufactory laid the foundations of a similar one by the side of it. As one branch of manufactures began to supply the demand of the nation, another branch was established. Thus we are every year adding millions to this form of investment, and employing additional thousands of hands in this mode of industry. We are entering into generous and successful rivalry with the nations of Europe. Already many of our cottons are preferred to theirs in the markets of the world. Soon, other branches of our manufactures will be brought to equal perfection. Nay, I anticipate the time when we, in this country, under a system of generous reciprocity, shall supply the continent and England herself with all those articles, for the fabrication of which we have special advantages.

But this chain of events by no means ceases here. Year after year every branch of manufactures is increasing its means, and distributing the proceeds of its labor over every part of our land. Wherever a fabric is sent, it is exchanged, in some form, for the productions of that region in which it is consumed. The common means for accomplishing these mutual and increasing exchanges, soon became utterly inadequate; more efficient modes of transportation must, from necessity, be invented. The business of the country could not be carried on without them. Our manufacturing prosperity, while it creates the necessity for internal improvements, also supplies the means for constructing them. The annual gains of manufacturing capital are next invested in canals and railroads, and thus the means of transporting these fabrics at the least cost, are at once

Mr. Slater has even a higher claim to the gratitude and veneration of this country, than that which he derives from the introduction of the cotton manufacture. He established in Pawtucket the first SUNDAY SCHOOL that was ever opened in America; and for some time sustained it wholly at his own expense.

provided. Here is, then, another mode created, of advantageous investment. By means of internal improvement, the market of every producer is indefinitely extended, he also receives a fair remuneration for this very investment, by which his market is thus extended, and, at the same time the consumer receives whatever he purchases at a cheaper rate and in greater perfection. Thus, as we always observe, under the government of God, a real benefit to one is a benefit to all. And hence we learn, that to attempt to secure exclusive advantages to ourselves, is always abor lost. Nothing can be a real benefit to us, that is not a real benefit also to our neighbors.

And the illustration of all that I have said, is manifest every where around us. We behold how every other art has clustered around the art of transforming cotton into clothing. We see how one establishment has been the seed that has produced a multitude of those that resemble it. You see how manufactures have given rise to internal improvements; how the spindle has cut through the mountains, and filled up the valleys and graded the road, and stretched from city to city the iron rail. You see how loth these inseparable friends are to be parted from each other. The region of manufactures is the region of railroads. And you perceive, as the iron road that passes through this village, pursues its way toward the west, how it winds along through the valley of the Blackstone, greeting every village and waking every hamlet to renewed activity.

All this you readily perceive. You must be astonished yourselves, when you reflect upon the amount of capital which a single life time has added to the resources of this village, and the country in its immediate vicinity. But while we exult in the large measure of prosperity with which a bountiful Providence has endowed us, it may not be uninstructive to inquire, in what ways have these blessings been improved? Has it ever occurred to you, that almost all this capital has been invested in procuring for ourselves, the means of physical happiness? We erect houses, and we render them spacious, warm, and commodious. We furnish them with every means of physical luxury. We spread carpets for our feet. We stretch ourselves on couches of down. We temper the atmosphere at our will. We clothe ourselves with vestments wrought in every clime, and by people of every hue and language. We vary our dress with every fashion. We load our tables with luxuries imported from the tropics or the poles; we vex sea and land for new viands to stimulate our palates, already saturated with abundance. We please ourselves with every form of equipage, and tax the ingenuity of every artisan, that we may be enabled to roll from place to place without the fatigue of motion. But why need I proceed to specify any further. We all perceive, on the least reflection, that it is in expenditures of this kind, that almost all the expenses of living are incurred.

But if this be true, must there not be some grievous error in the principles of our conduct? Can this be a wise mode of expenditure for intelligent and immortal beings? In all that I have here recited, is there any thing in which, on principle, we have excelled, (excuse the homeliness of the illustration,) the Beaver that once inhabited these streams? The thoughtful animal expended all the treasures of his intellect or instinct, in rendering his dwelling commodious; and he accomplished it. Have we not done precisely the same thing? Has not all the expenditure of which I have spoken, been consumed for the convenience of the physical, the perishable, the material? Might not all this have been done, had we no consciousness of an immortal spirit?

But God has made us immortal. He has given to us a spiritual existEach one of us possesses a priceless mind. We are endowed with reason to discover truth, imagination to form conceptions of the beautiful

ence.