"Notwithstanding the heavy rain, this youthful band could not be prevailed upon to leave the ground, but remained bravely at their post until they had shared with their parents in the honor and happiness of greeting the nation's guest.
"From Washington-square the procession passed to the Coffee-House, now named Lafayete Coffee-House (late Essex;) where, on a temporary stage, erected in front of the house, the Committee of Arrangements received their illustrious guest, and Judge Story, the president of the day, in the most interesting and eloquent manner, welcomed him in the following address:—
"General LAFAYETTE.
"SIR—Forty years have elapsed since the inhabitants of this town had the pleasure to welcome you within its limits. Many, who then hailed your arrival with pride and exultation, have descended to the grave, and cannot greet you on your long desired, return. But, thanks to a good providence, many are yet alive, who recollect with grateful sensibility, the universal joy of that occasion. Your disinterested zeal in embarking is a cause, deemed almost hopeless—your personal sacrifices in quitting a home, endeared by all the blessings with which affection and virtue can adorn life—your toils and perils in the conflicts of war, and the vicissitudes of a discouraging service—your modest dignity and enthusiasm on receiving the homage of a free people—these were all fresh in their memories, and gave an interest to the scene, which cannot be described, but which time has hallowed with his most touching grace. I stand now in the presence of some, venerable in age and character, who were the delighted witnesses of that interview, and whose hearts again glow with the feelings of that happy day.
"To us of a younger generation—the descendants of your early friends and companions in arms, a different but not less interesting privilege belongs. We are allowed the enviable distinction of meeting in his riper years, one, whom our fathers loved in their youth. We welcome you to our country, to our homes, to our hearts. We have read the history of your achievements, your honors, and your sufferings! They are associated with all that is dear to us—with the battle-grounds, consecrated by the blood of our heroes—with the tender recollections of our departed statesmen—with the affectionate reverence of our surviving patriots. Can we forget that our country was poor and struggling alone in the doubtful contest for Independence, and you crossed the Atlantic at the hazard of fortune, fame and life, to cheer us in our defence? That you recrossed it to solicit naval and military succors from the throne of France, and returned with triumphant success? That your gallantry checked in the southern campaigns, the inroads of a brave and confident enemy? That your military labours closed only with the surrender at Yorktown, and thus indissolubly united your name with the proud events of that glorious day? We cannot forget these things if we would—We would not forget them if we could. They will perish only when America ceases to be a nation.
"But we have yet higher sources of gratification on the present occasion. You have been not merely the friend of America, but of France, and of liberty throughout the world. During a long life in the most trying scenes, you have done no act for which virtue need blush or humanity weep. Your private character has not cast a shade on your public honors. In the palaces of Paris and the dungeons of Olmutz, in the splendor of power, and the gloom of banishment, you have been the friend of justice, and the asserter of the rights of man. Under every misfortune, you have never deserted your principles. What earthly prince can afford consolation like this? The favor of princes, and the applause of senates, sink into absolute nothingness, in comparison with the approving conscience of a life devoted to the good of mankind. At this very moment you are realizing the brightest visions of your youth, in the spectacle of ten millions of people prosperous and happy under a free government, whose moral strength consists in the courage and intelligence of its citizens.—These millions welcome your arrival to the shores of the west with spontaneous unanimity; and the voice which now addresses you, feeble as it is, repeats but the thoughts that are ready to burst from the lips of every American."
The General's reply was in his usual manner.—It was brief, affectionate, and full of feeling.
An impressive circumstance occurred in the delivery of the address.—When the Judge came to that part which says, "We could not forget them if we would; we would not forget them, if we could;" the spontaneous assent of the assembled people to the sentiment, was given by "No, never;" repeated by thousands of voices, and accompanied by deafening shouts of applause.
A great number of introductions to the General took place. Of them, were several revolutionary officers and soldiers.
At Beverly and Ipswich he received from the assembled inhabitants, the same cordial welcome with which he had been greeted in other towns, through which he passed. The selectmen of these places waited on him, and offered him the congratulations of their fellow citizens; the people greeted him with repeated cheers of "welcome, welcome Lafayette;" and arches were erected at several public places, containing appropriate mottoes. The houses of the villages through which he passed, after the evening set in, were brilliantly illuminated.