In Boston they were waiting. This was the day when the government was to set its face against slavery. Though the conditions on which the President had promised to withhold the proclamation had not been complied with, there was room for doubt and fear. Mr. Lincoln was a man of tender heart and boundless patience; no man could tell to what lengths he might go for peace and reconciliation. An emancipation proclamation would end all compromises with slavery, change the entire conduct of the war, give it a new aim. They held watch-meetings in all the colored churches on New Year’s Eve and went on to a great mass meeting in Tremont Temple, which extended through the day and evening. A grand jubilee concert in Music Hall was scheduled for the afternoon. They expected the President’s proclamation to reach the city by noon. But the day wore on, and fears arose that it might not, after all, be forthcoming. The orchestra played Beethoven’s _Fifth Symphony_, the chorus sang Handel’s _Hallelujah Chorus_, Ralph Waldo Emerson read his “_Boston Hymn_,” written for the occasion--but still no word. A line of messengers was set up between the telegraph office and the platform of Tremont Temple. William Wells Brown, the Reverend Mr. Grimes, Miss Anna Dickinson, Frederick Douglass--all had said their lines. But speaking or listening to speeches was not the thing for which people had come together today. They were waiting. Eight, nine, ten o’clock came and went, and still no word. Frederick Douglass walked to the edge of the platform. He stood there without saying a word, and before the awful stillness of his helplessness the stirrings of the crowd quieted. His voice was hoarse. “Ladies and gentlemen--I know the time for argument has passed. Our ears are not attuned to logic or the sound of many words. It is the trumpet of jubilee which we await.” “Amen, God of our fathers, hear!” The fervent prayer had come from a black man who had dropped to his knees on the platform behind Douglass. There was a responding murmur from the crowd. Douglass stood a moment with his head bowed. Then he continued: “We are watching for the dawn of a new day. We are waiting for the answer to the agonizing prayers of centuries. We--” His eyes were caught by a movement in the crowd packed around the doors. He held his breath. A man ran down the aisle. “It’s coming--It’s coming over the wires! Now!” he shouted. The shout that went up from the crowd carried the glad tidings to the streets. Men and women screamed--they tossed their hats into the air--strangers embraced one another, weeping. Garrison, standing in the gallery, was cheered madly; Harriet Beecher Stowe, her bonnet awry, tears streaming down her cheeks, was lifted to a bench. After a while they quieted down to hear the reading of the text ... “are, and henceforward shall be, free.” Then the Reverend Charles Rue, the black man behind Douglass, lifted his magnificent voice and led them as they sang,