Samuel Gridley Howe to Charles Sumner, December 12, 1851

Boston, Dec. 12, 1851.

My Dear Sumner: — But for an aching head and a sad heart (my spirits always sink to zero when my body is out of working gear), I should write you fully about your speech, which everybody likes and praises, everybody but I! I think you made a mistake, and went too far — and I'll tell you why I think so, when I have any nervous energy to stimulate the brain.

I am glad to hear its praises however, though not so much from Hunkers as others.

Would I could have heard you! And had I known you were to speak I should have done so at any cost. I had determined upon one thing as what I would not swerve from — hearing your maiden speech. But on the 8th you did not know you were to speak.

I fear we shall not succeed in the attempt to get up a Kossuth demonstration here. I have tried in many quarters in vain. I had faint hopes of Hillard, though others said he was earnest in favour of K——. I found him in a poor mood, evidently ill and irritated. He swore by all his Gods, and with an earnestness amounting almost to fierceness, that he would never again as long as he lived take any part in anything of the kind; he denounced politics and political movements, and vowed never to go one inch out of his way for any public matter whatever.

The prospect is that we shall not have a meeting.

I saw Miss Catherine Sedgwick last evening: she felt most warmly about K—— and was indignant at the coldness here. She said she had been here two weeks and seen many people, but I was the first one who had expressed any feeling in favour of K—— being received with honour.

If our party leaders write to you they will tell you there is trouble ahead. I hope to Heaven they have not in any way pledged the party to the Democrats; we have been their bottle holders long enough. Oh! that we had nominated Mann for Governor! It may be Palfrey will go in.

We must fight the Democrats before long. They have not — the masses have not — intelligence enough to overcome their prejudices about colour. The Whigs have more — and when their tyrant oppressor — the Lord and master of their bodies and souls — Black Dan¹ — is dead politically or corporeally — if it happens soon — they will be better allies than the Dems.

But I cannot write more.

Ever thine,

S. G. Howe.

_______________

¹ Daniel Webster.

SOURCE: Laura E. Richards, Editor, Letters and Journals of Samuel Gridley Howe, Volume 2, p. 352-3

William Cullen Bryant to Miss Catherine Maria Sedgwick, June 26, 1865

roslyn, June 26, 1865

I have for some time past thought of writing to you, by way of congratulating you on the suppression of the rebellion and the close of our bloody Civil War. And yet I have nothing to say on the subject which is not absolutely commonplace. All that can be said of the terrible grandeur of the struggle which we have gone through, of the vastness and formidable nature of the conspiracy against the life of our republic, of the atrocious crimes of the conspirators, of the valor and self-sacrificing spirit and unshaken constancy of the North, and of the magnificent result which Providence has brought out of so much wickedness and so much suffering, has been said already over and over.

Never, I think, was any great moral lesson so powerfully inculcated by political history. What the critics call poetic justice has been as perfectly accomplished as it could have been in any imaginary series of events.

When I think of this great conflict, and its great issues, my mind reverts to the grand imagery of the Apocalypse — to the visions in which the messengers of God came down to do his bidding among the nations, to reap the earth, ripe for the harvest, and gather the spoil of the vineyards; to tread the wine-press, till it flows over far and wide with blood; to pour out the phials of God's judgments upon the earth, and turn its rivers into blood; and, finally, to bind the dragon, and thrust him down into the bottomless pit.

Neither you nor I, until this war began, thought that slavery would disappear from our country until more than one generation had passed away; yet a greater than man has taken the work in hand, and it is done in four years. It is a great thing to have lived long enough to see this mighty evil wrenched up from our soil by the roots and thrown into the flames.

SOURCE: Parke Godwin, A Biography of William Cullen Bryant, Volume 1, p. 227-8

Major-General John Sedgwick to his Sister, March 14, 1864

March 14, 1864.

My dear sister:

Your letter of the 9th instant came two days since. I have nothing especial to say. General Grant made a flying visit here last week. I spent the evening with him, and was most agreeably disappointed, both in his personal appearance and his straightforward, common-sense view of matters. He has gone back again, but is expecting to return in two or three weeks, and, rumour says, will take command of this army. Good feeling seemed to exist between him and General Meade.

The great raid was a great failure. It does not seem to have been made with any judgment. At the time there were no troops in Richmond, and by a bold dash it was hoped that such a command might enter the city and release our prisoners.

I am very sorry to hear that Cousin Catherine is so ill; but I hope the warm weather will invigourate her, and she may be spared to us for many years. When you write her, give her my great love. Give Cousin Mary, too, much love. Give the recruit such a present as you think suitable. The picture is in Washington. I sent it up to have it touched over, and the artist wanted to see me before completing it. I shall probably go up in a few days, and soon after will send it on. You know it was painted from a photograph, the painter never having seen me.

With much love, I am, as ever,

Your affectionate brother,

John Sedgwick.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, Correspondence of John Sedgwick, Major-General, Volume 2, p. 177-8

Major-General John Sedgwick to his Sister, October 17, 1863

Near Bull Run, October 17, 1863.

My dear sister:

I have just received your letter of the 13th instant. I have not written for the last few days, owing to events over which I had no control. You must be aware that in the last few days we have made a retrograde movement; whether there was a necessity for it I have no means of judging. We have had no fighting that deserves the name. What there has been has been decidedly in our favour. General Meade has always been ready to give the enemy battle, but with such a long time to bring up his supplies, he was always anxious for his line of retreat. I presume we shall move forward again and offer battle.

I am very glad to hear that you had such a pleasant visit with our Massachusetts cousins; when you write, give them my best love, especially Cousin Catherine. I am sorry you did not see her, as she seems so fond of you and kind to every one. Captain Halsted went off quite sick the day the movement commenced, and has not been heard from. I rely upon him for writing all my descriptive letters. He is very fond of it and happy at that style; I am not. The weather continues delightful, and were it not for that favour we should have suffered severely.

I will write again as soon as we are settled, but my fear is that this is the last of the “Army of the Potomac,” and that I may have to go South.

Yours affectionately,

J. s.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, Correspondence of John Sedgwick, Major-General, Volume 2, p. 160-1

Major-General John Sedgwick to his Sister, June 3, 1863

June 3, 1863.

My dear sister:

I have not heard from you for several days, and as I have had nothing particular to write, have not written. I received last night a long letter from Cousin Catherine from Boston. Her letter was very kind, full of expressions of love to you and our dear father. She said that you had written her, that I was fearful an effort was being made to throw the blame of the failure on my corps. I believe that was the first intention, and so wrote you, but the feeling was too strong against such an effort: every one sees that our corps has not only done its whole duty, but has really achieved the only success obtained. I wrote you that my old division were about to present me a horse, equipments, sword, etc. The horse has arrived, and is the finest in the whole army; some of the other things are now on exhibition in Philadelphia, and some they sent to Paris for. The presentation will come off about the 10th instant.

We cannot move at present, unless Lee forces us by some demonstration towards Maryland. Our troops are in fine condition, and all we want is to have our regiments filled up. There is no earnestness at the North. Governors only think about sending new regiments, and the number of appointments it will give them.

With much love,

I am, very affectionately,

J. S.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, Correspondence of John Sedgwick, Major-General, Volume 2, p. 130-1

Catharine Maria Sedgwick to Catharine Sedgwick Minot, December 7, 1860

New York, December 7, 1860.

Never, in my lifetime, have we been at so interesting a point in our political history; and if you and William did not talk on the volcanic topic before breakfast and after supper, I should think the blood of your fathers had lost all moral vitality in your veins. Oh, for the spirit of Wisdom and of Love! But alas! what hope of it, or what desert of it! I suppose you will think it quite consonant to my cowardly character if I tell you that I feel most deeply interested in the poor mothers and maidens that are trembling in the midst of their servile enemies. As for that bullying State of South Carolina, one would not much care. As C. (cousin C.) says,”Let the damned little thing go!” or as C. B. (two of the most humane men I know) says, “Plow them under, plow them under! It has been a little wasp from the beginning!”

SOURCE: Mary E. Dewey, Editor, Life and Letters of Catherine M. Sedgwick, p. 387

Catharine Maria Sedgwick to Susan Higginson Channing, March 10, 1860

Woodbourne, March 10, 1860.

My Dear Friend, — I have not written to you since the death of Eliza,^* an event in which our hearts were blended. Her affection has been a precious boon to both our lives, her life full of rich memories, her character a light from heaven — an assurance of immortality, so much is there in it of that vitality which death can not touch. I have not experienced in her death any thing of that tremulousness, that clouded perception, that failure of faith, that recoiling from the extinguishing touch of death that I sometimes am haunted with; partly, perhaps, because I did not witness the process of mortality. I heard of her illness only the day before I heard of her death, and I would not look at her after the light of her glowing eye was veiled, so that to my perception she passed over the gulf and into her inheritance. I did not see her after I came to Woodbourne. I was purposing to go over to Brookline, but put it off with that reckless delay which, in spite of experience, clings to us to the last, as if we had a secure grant of the future. She wrote to me an earnest invitation to go with her to her annual festival.^† I declined it, assigning to her the true reason, that I shrunk from being with her on an occasion to her of the most elevating excitement which I did not partake. My feelings (perhaps I should say my judgment) would recoil when hers flowed on with the force of ocean waves to high-water mark. The last time she ever put pen to paper — the pen that has done so much blessed work — was with the intention of kindly convincing me I was wrong. Her frame was then shivering with premonitory ague, her hand was weak, and after writing one common note-paper page she could write no farther, and stopped at “our festival” — words fitly her last, for her heart was in them. You will not misunderstand me, my dear Susan, nor imagine that I do not feel heartily in the great question of humanity that agitates our people. It seemed to me that so much had been intemperately said, so much rashly urged on the death of that noble martyr, John Brown, by the Abolitionists, that it was not right to appear among them as one of them.  * * * *  I wish I could know that you were as well and strong as I am, we so much need health in our old age. As the Irishman said of the sun, “What is the use of it in the day?” So youth might spare a little of what is so essential to age. But if we can learn to resign contentedly, to live cheerfully in our narrowed quarters, and to await in tranquillity our Father's last dealings on earth with us, we may still hear those blessed words, “She hath done what she could.” You have doubtless the two last great books, Hawthorne's and Florence Nightingale's — the last, one that will scatter blessings through the land. Like light and air, it is for universal good. It is rare for a person who has Miss Nightingale's wonderful powers of execution to write with such force, directness, and pithiness. I have but just begun the “Marble Faun.” I am sure you will feel, as I do, that it pours a golden light into the dim chambers of memory, and revivifies the scenes that we, too, once enjoyed. * * * *

_______________

^* Mrs. Eliza Cabot Follen.

^† The meeting of the Anti-slavery Society.

SOURCE: Mary E. Dewey, Editor, Life and Letters of Catherine M. Sedgwick, p. 377-8