without representation—­is far beneath that for which he died. [Here there was a general expression of strong disapprobation.] One word, gentlemen.  As much as thought is better than money, so much is the cause in which Lovejoy died nobler than a mere question of taxes.  James Otis thundered in this hall when the King did but touch his pocket.  Imagine, if you can, his indignant eloquence had England offered to put a gag upon his lips.  The question that stirred the Revolution touched our civil interests.  This concerns us not only as citizens, but as immortal beings.  Wrapped up in its fate, saved or lost with it, are not only the voice of the statesman, but the instructions of the pulpit and the progress of our faith.

The clergy, “marvellously out of place” where free speech is battled for—­liberty of speech on national sins!  Does the gentleman remember that freedom to preach was first gained, dragging in its train freedom to print?  I thank the clergy here present, as I reverence their predecessors, who did not so far forget their country in their immediate profession as to deem it duty to separate themselves from the struggle of ’76—­the Mayhews and Coopers, who remembered that they were citizens before they were clergymen.

Mr. Chairman, from the bottom of my heart I thank that brave little band at Alton for resisting.  We must remember that Lovejoy had fled from city to city,—­suffered the destruction of three presses patiently.  At length he took counsel with friends, men of character, of tried integrity, of wide views, of Christian principle.  They thought the crisis had come; it was full time to assert the laws.  They saw around them, not a community like our own, of fixed habits, of character moulded and settled, but one “in the gristle, not yet hardened into the bone of manhood.”  The people there, children of our older States, seem to have forgotten the blood-tried principles of their fathers the moment they lost sight of our New England hills.  Something was to be done to show them the priceless value of the freedom of the press, to bring back and set right their wandering and confused ideas.  He and his advisers looked out on a community, staggering like a drunken man, indifferent to their rights and confused in their feelings.  Deaf to argument, haply they might be stunned into sobriety.  They saw that of which we cannot judge, the necessity of resistance.  Insulted law called for it.  Public opinion, fast hastening on the downward course, must be arrested.

Does not the event show they judged rightly?  Absorbed in a thousand trifles, how has the nation all at once come to a stand?  Men begin, as in 1776 and 1640, to discuss principles, to weigh characters, to find out where they are.  Haply we may awake before we are borne over the precipice.

I am glad, sir, to see this crowded house, It is good for us to be here.  When Liberty is in danger Faneuil Hall has the right, it is her duty, to strike the key-note for these United States.  I am glad, for one reason, that remarks such as those to which I have alluded have been uttered here.  The passage of these resolutions, in spite of this opposition, led by the Attorney-General of the Commonwealth, will show more clearly, more decisively, the deep indignation with which Boston regards this outrage.