Caleb Cushing's speech may not be attractive enough to hold them, it is probably not propelling enough to drive them away. [More laughter.]
Is any further proof required, that a people who are educated in the great school of public life, are proof against the seductive power of eloquence? That they are moved by ideas, and not by the verbiage of sounding appeals? That it is a conscientious conviction that governs them, and not the charm of glowing periods? [Applause.]
And now suppose the meeting, which those refined and patriotic gentlemen of this neighborhood saw fit to break up—suppose it had resulted in the expression of the sentiment, that slavery could be abolished in no better way than by invading the Southern States and liberating the negroes by force of arms—suppose this proposition had been ever so publicly discussed, had been set forth in language ever so glowing and brilliant, had been urged upon you in appeals ever so warm and touching, do you think that a single individual within the reach of its influence, would have promptly resolved to shoulder his musket, to march into the South, and to undertake the terrible business? Do you not think if it had ever been seriously entertained, the same freedom of speech, which brought it forth, would have subjected it to a rigorous criticism, and would have worked its abandonment?
You may remind me of John Brown. Ah, it was not in consequence of rights and liberties safely enjoyed, but of oppression ignominiously suffered, that he entered upon his fatal career. It was not in the free and serene atmosphere of public discussion, but in the dark secresy of a despairing heart that he conceived his terrible design. [Sensation.]
Nor do I think that those who disturbed the meeting of Abolitionists had any such fears. They deemed it
