plainest proposition regarding free speech, and proclaiming it in the face of a howling but comparatively unlettered majority, who seethed, and raged, and raved about him like the waves about a light-house---we have John Quincy Adams
at an age of over seventy, presenting the Abolition petitions in Congress.
His figure is part of the Antislavery struggle.
It is clear to our instinct that if Adams
did not have Abolition in his veins, he had something almost as good; he had the thing that Abolition was the sign of, namely, courage.
His peculiar kind of courage was, in one sense, not as good as Abolition; for it was not an elixir.
It would never have abolished slavery: it was not selfperpetuating.
It would have died with him. Yet the passion within him, which he cloaked under the name of Free Speech, was in reality the Will to Pity, the Will to Love, the Will to express freely that emotional side of man's nature with which he himself was so richly endowed.
This is why the last page of this man's life lifts him into a new kind of greatness.
It makes no difference what he did before this era. His service to the Abolition cause was proportionate to his position.
His conduct showed the country what slavery pointed to, and