When it came to the formation of a federal union, Virginia, with her Washington, gave the first President, and Massachusetts, with her Adams, stepped proudly to the front with the first Vice-President and second President. [Applause.] In later years, when differences came—­which differences need not be discussed—­every man here knows what part Virginia and Massachusetts bore.  It was a part which, however much we may differ with each other, bespoke the origin of the two colonies, and told that true manhood was there to do and die for what it believed was right.  When that struggle was ended, the first to clasp hands in mutual friendship and affection were Virginia and Massachusetts.  If we were to blot from the history or geography of the Nation the deeds or territory of the ancient dominions of John Smith, President of Virginia and Admiral of New England, a beggarly record of area would be left, in spite of the glorious records of other sections in recent years.

The history of America is to me not only of deep and absorbing interest in its every detail, but it is a romance; it is a fascinating detail of wonderful development, the like of which cannot be found in the annals of civilization from the remotest time.  We may go back to the time when the curtain rises on the most ancient civilization of the East, and there is nothing to compare with it.  We may take up not only the real, but the romantic history of modern European progress, and there is nothing like American history for myself.  Taking up the story of the Quaker invasion of Massachusetts as early as 1659, I find Lydia Wardell, daughter of Isaac Perkins, a freeman of the colony, whipped in Boston, because she had ceased to be a Puritan and had become a Quakeress.  Turning then to the history of Virginia in 1663, I find Colonel Edmund Scarburgh riding at the head of the King’s troops into the boundaries of Maryland, placing the broad arrows of the King on the houses of the Quakers, and punishing them soundly for non-conformity.  Upon the question of who was right and who was wrong in these old feuds, there are doubtless men who, even to this day, have deep prejudices.  Fancy how conflicting are the sentiments of a man in 1890, as to their merits, when he reflects, as I do, that Lydia Wardell was his grandmother, and Colonel Scarburgh his grandfather. [Applause and laughter.]

How absurd seems any comparison between the Puritan and Cavalier settlers of America.  There they are, with all their faults, and all their virtues.  Others may desire to contrast them.  I do not.  I stand ready to do battle against anybody who abuses either.  Their conjoint blood has produced a Nation, the like of which no man living before our day had ever fancied.  Nearly three centuries of intermingling and intermarrying, has made the traditions and the hopes of either the heritage and aspiration of us all.  Common sufferings, common triumphs, common pride, make the whole glorious history the property of every American citizen, and it is provincial folly to glorify either faction at the expense of the other.