“What is a mob?  What would the breaking of every window be?  Any evidence that we are wrong, or that slavery is a good and wholesome institution?  What if that mob should now burst in upon us, break up our meeting, and commit violence upon our persons—­would this be anything compared with what the slaves endure?  No, no:  and we do not remember them ‘as bound with them,’ if we shrink in the time of peril, or feel unwilling to sacrifice ourselves, if need be, for their sake.  I thank the Lord that there is yet life enough left to feel the truth, even though it rages at it—­that conscience is not so completely seared as to be unmoved by the truth of the living God.”

Here a shower of stones was thrown through the windows, and there was some disturbance in the audience, but quiet was again restored, and Angelina proceeded, and spoke for over an hour, making no further reference to the noise without, and only showing that she noticed it by raising her own voice so that it could be heard throughout the hall.

Not once was a tremor or a change of color perceptible, and though the missiles continued to fly through the broken sashes, and the hootings and yellings increased outside, so powerfully did her words and tones hold that vast audience, that, imminent as seemed their peril, scarcely a man or woman moved to depart.  She sat down amid applause that drowned all the noise outside.

Abby Kelly, then quite a young woman, next arose and said a few words, her first public utterances.  She was followed by gentle Lucretia Mott in a short but most earnest speech, and then this memorable meeting, the first of the kind where men and women acted together as moral beings, closed.

There was a dense crowd in the streets around the hall as the immense audience streamed out, but though screams and all sorts of appalling noises were made, no violence was offered, and all reached their homes in safety.

But the mob remained, many of its wretched members staying all night, assaulting every belated colored man who came along.  The next morning the dregs of the populace, and some respectable looking men again assembled around the doomed hall, but the usual meetings were held, and even the convention of women assembled in the lecture room to finish up their business.  The evening was to have been occupied by a public meeting of the Wesleyan Anti-Slavery Society of Philadelphia, but as the day waned to its close, the indications of approaching disturbance became more and more alarming.  The crowd around the building increased, and the secret agents of slavery were busy inflaming the passions of the rabble against the abolitionists, and inciting it to outrage.  Seeing this, and realizing the danger which threatened, the managers of the hall gave the building over to the protection of the mayor of the city, at his request.  Of course the proposed meeting was postponed.  All the mayor did was to appear in