l am glad, fellow-citizens, that your nation is so young. This celebration also marks the beginning of another year of your national life and reminds you that the Republic of America is now 76 years old. It carries your minds back to the day, and to the act of your great deliverance and to the signs, and to the wonders, associated with that act, and that day. This, to you, as what the Passover was to the emancipated people of God. It is the birth day of your National Independence, and of your political freedom. This, for the purpose of this celebration, is the Fourth of July. With little experience and with less learning, I have been able to throw my thoughts hastily and imperfectly together and trusting to your patient and generous indulgence I will proceed to lay them before you. You will not, therefore, be surprised, if in what I have to say I evince no elaborate preparation, nor grace my speech with any high sounding exordium. That I am here to-day is, to me, a matter of astonishment as well as of gratitude. The fact is, ladies and gentlemen, the distance between this platform and the slave plantation, from which I escaped, is considerable-and the difficulties to he overcome in getting from the latter to the former are by no means slight. But neither their familiar faces, nor the perfect gage I think I have of Corinthian Hall seems to free me from embarrassment. It is true that I have often had the privilege to speak in this beautiful Hall, and to address many who now honor me with their presence. This certainly sounds large, and out of the common way, for me. The papers and placards say that I am to deliver a Fourth of July Oration. The little experience I have had in addressing public meetings, in country school houses, avails me nothing on the present occasion. Should I seem at ease, my appearance would much misrepresent me. I trust, however, that mine will not be so considered. I know that apologies of this sort are generally considered flat and unmeaning. The task before me is one which requires much previous thought and study for its proper performance. A feeling has crept over me quite unfavorable to the exercise of my limited powers of speech. I do not remember ever to have appeared as a speaker before any assembly more shrinkingly, nor with greater distrust of my ability, than I do this day. He who could address this audience without a quailing sensation, has stronger nerves than I have. A speech given at Rochester, New York, July 5, 1852
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