uch given to
procrastination. What was not urgent he was strongly tempted to put off
for a more convenient time. His work accumulated. He labored hard and he
accomplished much, but because of this habit of postponing for to-morrow
what need not be done to-day, he was necessarily forced to leave undone
many things which he ought to have done and which he might have
accomplished had he been given to putting off for to-morrow nothing
which might be finished to-day.

The pioneer was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, but never
was he wholly cast down by his misfortunes. His cheerful and bouyant
spirit kept him afloat above his sorrows, above his griefs. The organ of
mirthfulness in him was very large. He was an optimist in the best sense
of that word, viz., that all things work together for good to them that
love goodness. In the darkest moments which the Abolition cause
encountered his own countenance was full of light, his own heart pierced
through the gloom and communicated its glow to those about him, his own
voice rang bugle-like through reverse and disaster.

In his family the reformer was seen at his best. His wife was his friend
and equal, his children his playfellows and companions. The dust of the
great conflict he never carried with him into his home to choke the love
which burned ever brightly on its hearth and in the hearts which it
contained. What he professed in the _Liberator_, what he preached in the
world, of non-resistance, woman's rights, perfectionism, he practiced in
his home, he embodied as father, and husband, and host. Never lived
reformer who more completely realized his own ideals to those nearest
and dearest to him than William Lloyd Garrison.

He had seven children, five boys and two girls. The last, Francis
Jackson, was born to him in the year 1848. Two of them died in
childhood, a boy and a girl. The loss of the boy, whom the father had
"named admiringly, gratefully, reverently," Charles Pollen, was a
terrible blow to the reformer, and a life-long grief to the mother. He
seemed to have been a singularly beautiful, winning, and affectionate
little man and to have inspired sweet hopes of future "usefulness and
excellence" in the breasts of his parents. "He seemed born to take a
century on his shoulders, without stooping; his eyes were large,
lustrous, and charged with electric light; his voice was clear as a
bugle, melodious, and ever ringing in our ears, from the dawn of day to
the