The right of private judgment in matters between the Creator and himself, and submission and obedience to the will of the whole, upon whatsoever respects civil polity and the administration of such affairs as concerned the colony about to be established, they regarded as entirely consistent; and the common sense of mankind, lettered and unlettered, everywhere establishes and confirms this sentiment.  Indeed, all must see, that it is the very ligament, the very tie, which connects man to man, in the social system; and these sentiments are embodied in that constitution.  Gentlemen, discourse on this topic might be enlarged, but I pass from it.

Gentlemen, we are now two hundred and thirty years from that great event.  There is the Mayflower [pointing to a small figure of a ship, in the form of confectionery, that stood before him].  There is a little resemblance, but a correct one, of the Mayflower.  Sons of New England! there was in ancient times a ship that carried Jason to the acquisition of the Golden Fleece.  There was a flag-ship at the battle of Actium which made Augustus Caesar master of the world.  In modern times, there have been flag-ships which have carried Hawkes, and Howe, and Nelson on the other continent, and Hull, and Decatur, and Stewart, on this, to triumph.  What are they all; what are they all, in the chance of remembrance among men, to that little bark, the Mayflower, which reached these shores on December 22, 1620.  Yes, brethren of New England, yes! that Mayflower was a flower destined to be of perpetual bloom! [Cheers.] Its verdure will stand the sultry blasts of summer, and the chilling winds of autumn.  It will defy winter; it will defy all climate, and all time, and will continue to spread its petals to the world, and to exhale an ever-living odor and fragrance to the last syllable of recorded time. [Cheers.]

Gentlemen, brethren, ye of New England! whom I have come some hundreds of miles to meet this night, let me present to you one of the most distinguished of those personages who came hither on the deck of the Mayflower.  Let me fancy that I now see Elder William Brewster entering the door at the further end of this hall.  A tall and erect figure, of plain dress, of no elegance of manner beyond a respectful bow, mild and cheerful, but of no merriment that reaches beyond a smile.  Let me suppose that his image stood now before us, or that it was looking in upon this assembly.

“Are ye, are ye,” he would say, with a voice of exultation, and yet softened with melancholy, “Are ye our children?  Does this scene of refinement, of elegance, of riches, of luxury, does all this come from our labors?  Is this magnificent city, the like of which we never saw nor heard of on either continent, is this but an offshoot from Plymouth Rock?

  “’...  Quis jam locus ... 
  Quae regio in terris nostri non plena laboris?’