New York, September 1, 1864.
My Dear Friend,
— I write, but do not know very well why, unless it be that a sad heart will
run over as well as a joyous one. Things look very, very gloomy. The shameless,
disgraceful, and treasonable proclamation of the McClellan convention, with the
universal support it finds with high and low of all anti-administration people,
and the utter apathy of the loyal people for Lincoln, are fearful. There are
but two things that could save us — a telling victory, or rather the taking of
Richmond, and Mr. Lincoln's withdrawal. The first will not take place with our
decimated army; the other will not occur. Mr. Lincoln might withdraw very
patriotically and gracefully, but he would hardly do it individually, and
certainly not be allowed to do it by his cabinet. A new convention would take
up Grant, I dare say. . . . All this is
nothing necessarily against Mr. Lincoln; but individuals wear out quickly in
revolutionary times, were it for no other reason than that familiarity with a
name takes from it the enthusiasm. Even Napoleon would not have been able to
mount and bridle the steed of revolution, had he come in at first. The fact is
— no matter what the reason — the fact
is, that there is no spark of that enthusiasm or inspiriting motive-power, call
it what you may, for Mr. Lincoln, without which you cannot move so
comprehensive an election as that of a president. We must have a new man
against a new man, and we cannot have him without Mr. Lincoln's withdrawal. Oh,
that an angel could descend and show him what a beautiful stamp on his name in
history such a withdrawal would be! He could say in his letter that it is a
universal law that names wear out in revolutions and civil wars, and that he
withdraws, &c. I do not know that history would record a nobler act than
this would be. If he does not speedily withdraw we are beaten; if we are
beaten, our country is extinguished, and loathsome disgrace is our children's
inheritance. . . . If this country gets
ultimately through, safe and hale, no matter with how many scars, a great civil
war with a presidential election in the very midst of it (while the enemy has
to stand no such calamity), I shall set it down as the most wonderful miracle
In the whole history of events. Sometimes I feel as if I should write to the
President; but then, how would he listen to a private individual in a matter of
such moment? Rulers do not divest themselves of crowns by being piped to on a
single flute. Would to God you could write to me more cheerfully!
SOURCE: Thomas Sergeant Perry, Editor, The Life and
Letters of Francis Lieber, p. 350-1
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