anguage, at once that of his
station and his heart, as 'his children'--and that now, as a private
citizen, he hailed them in terms of equal warmth and endearment, as his
'brethren and sisters.' He alluded, with a simple eloquence which seemed
to move the Indians much, to the equal care and love with which God
regards all his children, whether savage or civilized, and to the common
destiny which awaits them hereafter, however various their lot here. He
touched briefly and forcibly on the topics of the sermon which they had
heard, and concluded with a beautiful and touching benediction upon them."

At Rochester immense multitudes assembled to receive Mr. Adams. He was
welcomed in an eloquent address from the Mayor of the city. The following
are a few extracts from the reply of Mr. Adams:--

"Mr. Mayor and Fellow-citizens:--I fear you expect from me a speech. If it
were in my power, oppressed as I am with mingled astonishment and
gratitude at what I have experienced and now see of your kindness, to make
a speech, I would gratify you with one adorned with all the chaste yet
simple eloquence which are combined in the address to which you have just
listened from your worthy Mayor. But it is not in my power. You may
probably think there is some affectation on my part, in pretending
inability to address you, knowing as many of you do, that I have often
addressed assemblies like this. But I hope for greater indulgence from you
than this. I trust you will consider that I have seen and spoken to
multitudes like that now before me, but that these multitudes had frowning
faces. Those I could meet, and to those I could speak. But to you, whose
every face is expressive of generous affection--to you, in whose every
countenance I see kindness and friendship--I cannot speak. It is too much
for me. It overcomes my powers of speech. It is a new scene to me.

* * * * * *

"Amongst the sentiments which I have expressed, and the observations which
I have made during my brief tour through this portion of your State, it
was impossible for me to forego a constant comparison with what New York
was in other days, and what it is now. I first set my feet upon the soil
of the now Empire State, in 1785. I then visited the city of New York,--at
that time a town of 18,000 inhabitants. I tarried, while in that city, at
the house of John Jay--a man whom I name, and whom all will remember, as
one of the most illustrious of the distinguished patriots who