Mr. President, and Fellow-Citizens of Massachusetts:—
I should be dull indeed,—dull as a weed,—were I insensible to this generous, heart-speaking welcome. After an absence of many months, I have now come home to breathe anew this invigorating Northern air [applause], to tread again the free soil of our native Massachusetts [cheers], and to enjoy the sympathy of friends and fellow-citizens. [Renewed applause.] But, while glad in your greetings, thus bounteously lavished, I cannot accept them for myself. I do not deserve them. They belong to the cause [applause] which we all have at heart, and which binds us together. [Cheers.]
Fellow-citizens, I have not come here to make a speech. The occasion requires no such effort. Weary with other labors, and desiring rest, I have little now to say,—and that little will be too much, if about myself. If, at Washington, during a long session of Congress,—my first experience of public life,—I have been able to do anything which meets your acceptance, I am happy. [Cheers.] I have done nothing but my duty. ["Hear! hear!">[ Passing from this, and taking advantage of the kind attention with which you honor me, let me add one word in vindication of our position as a national party.
We are on the eve of two important elections,—one of National officers, and the other of State officers. A President and Vice-President of the United States and members of Congress are to be chosen; also, Governor and Lieutenant-Governor of the Commonwealth, and members of the Legislature. And at these elections we are to cast our votes so as most to advance the cause of Freedom under the National Constitution. [Cheers.] This is our peculiar object,—though associated with it are other aims, kindred in their humane and liberal character.
Against Freedom both the old parties are banded. Opposed to each other in the contest for power, they concur in opposing every effort for the establishment of Freedom under the National Constitution. [Applause.] Divided as parties, they are one as supporters of Slavery. On this question we can have no sympathy with either, but must necessarily be against both. ["Hear! hear!">[ They sustain Slavery in the District of Columbia: we are against it. They sustain the coastwise Slave-Trade under the National Flag: we abhor it. [Cheers.] They sustain the policy of silence on Slavery in the Territories: we urge the voice of positive prohibition. They sustain that paragon of legislative monsters,—unconstitutional, unchristian, and infamous,—the Fugitive Slave Bill [sensation]: we insist on its repeal. [Great applause.] They concede to the Slave Power new life and protection: we cannot be content except with its total destruction. [Enthusiasm.] Such, fellow-citizens, is the difference between us.
And now, if here in Massachusetts there be any who, on grounds of policy or conscience, feel impelled to support Slavery, let them go and sink in the embrace of the old parties. [Applause.] There they belong. On the other hand, all sincerely opposed to Slavery, who desire to act against Slavery, who seek to bear their testimony for Freedom, who long to carry into public affairs those principles of morality and Christian duty which are the rule of private life,—let them come out from both the old parties, and join us. [Cheers.] In our organization, with the declared friends of Freedom, they will find a place in harmony with their aspirations. [Enthusiasm.]
There is one apology, common to the supporters of both the old parties, and often in their mouths, when pressed for inconsistent persistence in adhering to these parties. It is dogmatically asserted that there can be but two parties,—that a new party is impossible, particularly in our country,—and that, therefore, all persons, however opposed to Slavery, must be content in one of the old parties. This assumption, which is without foundation in reason, is so often put forth, that it has acquired a certain currency; and many, who reason hastily, or implicitly follow others, have adopted it as the all-sufficient excuse for their conduct. Confessing their own opposition to Slavery, they yield to the domination of party, and become dumb. All this is wrong morally, and therefore must be wrong practically.
Party, in its true estate, is the natural expression and agency of different forms of opinion on important public questions, and itself assumes different forms precisely according to the prevalence of different opinions. Thus, in the early Italian republics there were for a while the factions of Guelphs and Ghibellines, rival supporters of Pope and Emperor,—also of Whites and Blacks, taking their names from the color of their respective badges,—and in England, the two factions of the White and Red Roses, in which was involved the succession to the crown. In all these cases the party came into being, died out, or changed with the objects originating it. If there be in a community only two chief antagonist opinions, then there will be but two parties embodying these opinions. But as other opinions practically prevail and seek vent, so must parties change or multiply. This is so strongly the conclusion of reason and philosophy, that it could not be doubted, even if there were no examples of such change and multiplicity. But we need only turn to the recent history of France and England, the two countries where opinion has the freest scope, to find such examples.
Thus, for instance, in France,—and I dwell on this point because I have myself observed, in conversation, that it is of practical importance,—under Louis Philippe, anterior to the late Republic, there was the party of Legitimists, supporters of the old branch of Bourbons, and the party of Orleanists, supporters of the existing throne: these two corresponding at the time, in relative rank and power, to our Whigs and Democrats. Besides these was a third party, the small band of Republicans, represented in the Legislature by a few persons only, but strong in principles and purposes, which in February, 1848, prevailed over both the others. [Applause.] On the establishment of the Republic, the multiplication of parties continued, until, with the freedom of opinion and the freedom of the press, all were equally overthrown by Louis Napoleon, and their place supplied by the enforced unity of despotism.
In England, the most important measure of recent reform, the abolition of the laws imposing a protective duty on corn, was carried only by a third party. Neither of the two old parties could be brought to adopt this measure and press it to consummation. A powerful public opinion, thwarted in the regular parties, had recourse to a new one, neither Whig nor Tory, but formed from both the old ones, where Sir Robert Peel, the great Conservative leader, took his place, side by side, in honorable coalition, with Mr. Cobden, the great Liberal leader. ["Hear! hear!">[ In this way the Corn Laws were finally overthrown. The multiplicity of parties engendered by this contest still continues in England. At the general election for the new Parliament which has just taken place, the strict lines of ancient parties seemed to be effaced, and many were returned, not as Whigs and Tories, but as Protectionists and Anti-Protectionists.