It was plain from
that night that if the spirit of Abolitionism had risen, the spirit of
persecution had risen also.
A somewhat similar reception saluted the reformer in Boston. An
inflammatory handbill announced to his townsmen his arrival. "The true
American has returned, _alias_ William Lloyd Garrison, the 'Negro
Champion,' from his disgraceful mission to the British metropolis,"
etc., etc., and wound up its artful list of lies with the malignant
suggestion that "He is now in your power--do not let him escape you, but
go this evening, armed with plenty of _tar and feathers_ and administer
to him justice at his abode at No. 9 Merchant's Hall, Congress street."
In obedience to this summons, a reception committee in the shape of "a
dense mob, breathing threatenings which forboded a storm," did pay their
respects to the "true American" in front of his abode at the _Liberator_
office. Fortunately the storm passed over without breaking that evening
on the devoted head of the "Negro Champion." But the meaning of the
riotous demonstration it was impossible to miss. Like the mob in New
York it clearly indicated that the country was on the outer edge of an
area of violent disturbances on the subject of slavery.
The peril which Garrison had twice escaped was indeed grave, but neither
it nor the certainty of future persecution could flutter or depress his
spirits. "For myself," he wrote subsequently in the _Liberator_, "I am
ready to brave any danger even unto death.
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