Two years have now passed, since, when in the enjoyment of
perfect health, I was suddenly made an invalid. Throughout this
protracted period, amidst various vicissitudes of convalescence,
I seemed to be slowly regaining the health that had been taken
from me, until I was encouraged to believe myself on the verge of
perfect recovery.
But injuries so grave as those originally received are not
readily repaired; and a recent relapse painfully admonishes me,
that, although enjoying many of the conditions of prosperous
convalescence, I am not yet beyond the necessity of caution. This
has been confirmed by the physicians in Boston and Philadelphia
most familiar with my case, who, in concurrence with counsels
previously given by medical authorities in Europe, have enjoined
travel as best calculated to promote restoration. Anxious to
spare no effort for this end, so long deferred, I to-day sail for
France.
To the generous people of Massachusetts, who have honored me with
an important trust, and cheered me by so much sympathy, I wish to
express the thanks which now palpitate in my bosom, while I say
to them all collectively, as I would say to a friend, Farewell!
These valedictory words would be imperfect, if I did not seize
this occasion to declare, what I have often said less publicly,
that, had I foreseen originally the duration of my disability,
I should at once have resigned my seat in the Senate, making
way for a servant more fortunate in the precious advantages of
health. I did not do so, because, like other invalids, I lived
in the belief that I was soon to be well, and was reluctant to
renounce the opportunity of again exposing the hideous Barbarism
of Slavery, now more than ever transfused into the National
Government, infecting its whole policy and degrading its whole
character. Besides, I was often assured, and encouraged to feel,
that to every sincere lover of civilization my vacant chair was a
perpetual speech.