These extracts show something of public sentiment at this stage of the great contest with Slavery. From this time forward the discussion broadened and deepened.
ADDRESS.
History abounds in vicissitudes. From weakness and humility, men ascend to power and place. From defeat and disparagement, enterprises are borne on to recognition and triumph. The martyr of to-day is gratefully enshrined on the morrow. The stone that the builders rejected is made head of the corner. Thus it always has been, and ever will be.
Only twenty years ago, in 1835, the friends of the slave in our country were weak and humble, while their great undertaking, just then showing itself, was trampled down and despised. Small companies, gathered together in the name of Freedom, were interrupted and often dispersed by riotous mobs. At Boston, a feeble association of women, called the Female Antislavery Society, sitting in a small room of an upper story in an obscure building, was insulted and then driven out of doors by a frantic crowd, politely termed at the time “gentlemen of property and standing,” which, after various deeds of violence and vileness, next directed itself upon William Lloyd Garrison,—known as the determined editor of the “Liberator,” and originator of the Antislavery Enterprise in our day,—then ruthlessly tearing him away, amidst savage threats and with a halter about his neck, dragged him through the streets, until, at last, guilty only of loving liberty, if not wisely, too well, this unoffending citizen was thrust into the common jail for protection against an infuriate populace. Nor was Boston alone. Even villages in remote rural solitude broke out in similar outrage,—while large towns, like Providence, New Haven, Utica, Worcester, Alton, Cincinnati, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York, became so many fiery craters overflowing with rage and madness. What lawless violence failed to accomplish was urged next through forms of law. By solemn legislative acts, the Slave States called on the Free States “promptly and effectually to suppress all those associations within their respective limits purporting to be Abolition Societies”;[1] and Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and New York basely hearkened to the base proposition. The press, too, with untold power, exerted itself in this behalf, while pulpit, politician, and merchant conspired to stifle discussion, until the voice of Freedom was hushed to a whisper, “alas! almost afraid to know itself.”
Since then, in the lapse of few years only, a change has taken place. Instead of those small companies, counted by tens, we have now this mighty assembly, counted by thousands; instead of an insignificant apartment, like that in Boston, the mere appendage of a printing-office, where, as in the manger itself, Truth was cradled, we have this Metropolitan Hall, ample in proportion and central in place; instead of a profane and clamorous mob, beating at our gates, dispersing our assembly, and making one of our number the victim of its fury, we have peace and harmony at unguarded doors, ruffled only by generous competition to participate in this occasion; while Legislatures openly declare their sympathies, villages, towns, and cities vie in the new manifestation, and the press itself, with increased power, heralds, applauds, and extends the prevailing influence, which, gushing from every fountain, and pouring through every channel, at last, by quickening power of pulpit, politician, and merchant, swells into an irresistible tide.
Here is a great change, worthy of notice and memory, for it attests the first stage of victory. Slavery, in all its many-sided wrong, still continues; but here in this metropolis—ay, Sir, and throughout the whole North—freedom of discussion is at length secured. And this, I say, is the first stage of victory,—herald of the transcendent future.
“Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers: