The writer has spoken of the courage of the Abolitionists. There is another trait by which they were distinguished² that, in his opinion, should not be passed over. That was their extreme hopefulness—their untiring confidence. No matter how adverse³ were the conditions, they expected to win. They never counted the odds⁴ against them. They trusted in the right which they were firmly persuaded would prevail some time or another. For that time they were willing to wait, meanwhile doing what they could to hasten its coming.

Benjamin Lundy, the little Quaker mechanic, who was undeniably the Peter-the-Hermit of the Abolitionist movement, when setting out alone and on foot, with his printing material on his back, to begin a crusade against the strongest and most arrogant⁵ institution in the country, remarked with admirable na?veté, "I do not know how soon I shall succeed in my undertaking⁶."

William Lloyd Garrison⁷, when the pioneer Anti-Slavery Society was organized by only twelve men, and they people of no worldly consequence, the meeting for lack of a better place being held in a colored schoolroom on "Nigger Hill" in Boston, declared that in due time they would meet to urge their principles in Faneuil Hall—a most audacious declaration, but he was right.

The writer, when a boy, was witness to an exhibition of the same spirit. A kinsman⁸ of his was a zealous⁹ Abolitionist, although not particularly gifted with controversial acumen¹⁰. He and his minister, as often happened, were discussing the slavery question. The minister, like many of his cloth at that time, was a staunch supporter of "the institution," which, according to his

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