chord in the heart of the anti-abolitionist, which responds in
harmonious vibrations. Liberty--yes, that is evidently my right, and let
him beware who attempts to invade or abridge that right. Every time he
speaks of love, of human brotherhood, and the reciprocal duties of
man and man, the anti-abolitionist assents--says, yes, all right--all
true--we cannot have such ideas too often, or too fully expressed. So he
says, and so he feels, and only shows thereby that he is a man as well
as an anti-abolitionist. You have only to keep out of sight the
manner of applying your principles, to get them endorsed every time.
Contemplating himself, he sees truth with absolute clearness and
distinctness. He only blunders when asked to lose sight of himself. In
his own cause he can beat a Boston lawyer, but he is dumb when asked to
plead the cause of others. He knows very well whatsoever he would have
done unto himself, but is quite in doubt as to having the{367} same
thing done unto others. It is just here, that lions spring up in the
path of duty, and the battle once fought in heaven is refought on the
earth. So it is, so hath it ever been, and so must it ever be, when
the claims of justice and mercy make their demand at the door of human
selfishness. Nevertheless, there is that within which ever pleads for
the right and the just.

In conclusion, I have taken a sober view of the present anti-slavery
movement. I am sober, but not hopeless. There is no denying, for it is
everywhere admitted, that the anti-slavery question is the great moral
and social question now before the American people. A state of things
has gradually been developed, by which that question has become the
first thing in order. It must be met. Herein is my hope. The great
idea of impartial liberty is now fairly before the American people.
Anti-slavery is no longer a thing to be prevented. The time for
prevention is past. This is great gain. When the movement was younger
and weaker--when it wrought in a Boston garret to human apprehension, it
might have been silently put out of the way. Things are different now.
It has grown too large--its friends are too numerous--its facilities too
abundant--its ramifications too extended--its power too omnipotent, to
be snuffed out by the contingencies of infancy. A thousand strong men
might be struck down, and its ranks still be invincible. One flash from
the heart-supplied intellect of Harriet Beecher Stowe could light a
millio