We were but fallible men, and
doubtless often erred in feeling, speech, and action. Ours was but the
common experience of reformers in all ages.
"Never in Custom's oiled grooves
The world to a higher level moves,
But grates and grinds with friction hard
On granite bowlder and flinty shard.
Ever the Virtues blush to find
The Vices wearing their badge behind,
And Graces and Charities feel the fire
Wherein the sins of the age expire."
It is too late now to dwell on these differences. I choose rather, with
a feeling of gratitude to God, to recall the great happiness of laboring
with the noble company of whom Garrison was the central figure. I love
to think of him as he seemed to me, when in the fresh dawn of manhood he
sat with me in the old Haverhill farmhouse, revolving even then schemes
of benevolence; or, with cheery smile, welcoming me to his frugal meal of
bread and milk in the dingy Boston printing-room; or, as I found him in
the gray December morning in the small attic of a colored man, in
Philadelphia, finishing his night-long task of drafting his immortal
Declaration of Sentiments of the American Anti-Slavery Society; or, as I
saw him in the jail of Leverett Street, after his almost miraculous
escape from the mob, playfully inviting me to share the safe lodgings
which the state had provided for him; and in all the varied scenes and
situations where we acted together our parts in the great endeavor and
success of Freedom.
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