eaf
pauper and master of Oriental learning. But Kitto did not find them
there. In the presence of his decision and imperial energy they melted
away. Kitto begged his father to take him out of the poorhouse, even if
he had to subsist like the Hottentots. He told him that he would sell
his books and pawn his handkerchief, by which he thought he could raise
about twelve shillings. He said he could live upon blackberries, nuts
and field turnips, and was willing to sleep on a hayrick. Here was real
grit. What were impossibilities to such a resolute will? Patrick Henry
voiced that decision which characterized the great men of the Revolution
when he said, "Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at
the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not
what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me
death!"

Look at Garrison reading this advertisement in a Southern paper: "Five
thousand dollars will be paid for the head of W. L. Garrison by the
Governor of Georgia." Behold him again; a broadcloth mob is leading him
through the streets of Boston by a rope. He is hurried to jail. See him
return calmly and unflinchingly to his work, beginning at the point at
which he was interrupted. Note this heading in the _Liberator_, the
type of which he set himself in an attic on State Street, in Boston: "I
am in earnest, I will not equivocate, I will not excuse, I will not
retreat a single inch, and I will be heard." Was Garrison heard? Ask a
race set free largely by his efforts. Even the gallows erected in front
of his own door did not daunt him. He held the ear of an unwilling world
with that burning word "freedom," which was destined never to cease its
vibrations until it had breathed its sweet secret to the last slave.

At a time when abolitionists were dangerously unpopular, a crowd of
brawny Cape Cod fishermen had made such riotous demonstrations that all
the speakers announced, except Stephen Foster and Lucy Stone, had fled
from an open-air platform. "You had better run, Stephen," said she;
"they are coming." "But who will take care of you?" asked Foster. "This
gentleman will take care of me," she replied, calmly laying her hand
within the arm of a burly rioter with a club, who had just sprung upon
the platform. "Wh--what did you say?" stammered the astonished rowdy, as
he looked at the little woman; "yes, I'll take care of you, and no one
shall touch a hair of your head." With thi