which Garrison was dragged were draped in honor of
the dead hero who did the hard work, the immortal work,
of loosing the fetters of one form of human slavery. I
remember, when a girl, and he visited my father, how a
childish fear clustered round his coming. I had heard [30]
the awful story that “he helped ‘niggers’ kill the white [1]
folks!” Even the loving children are sometimes made
to believe a lie, and to hate reformers. It is pleasant,
now, to contrast with that childhood's wrong the reverence
of my riper years for all who dare to be true, honest to [5]