WEST NEWTON, Nov. 15, 1850.
MY DEAR MR. AND MRS.
COMBE,—I received your brief note from London, dated Sept. 15; and afterwards
your letter from Edinburgh of Sept. 29. The letter gave me what I must call an
unlawful pleasure: for it fully acquitted me of what my own conscience had long
told me I was guilty of; namely, neglect of you. Mary has often said to me,
"Now, my dear, you must write to Mr. Combe;" and I had as often
replied, "Yes, I must and will." But, like all other promises, these
were made under the tacit and implied condition of possibility. But the
possibility never came; and, before I get through, I must tell you why. I have
received a copy of the Annual Report of your school; which Mary and I read
together, as we always do every thing that comes from your pen. Your Life of
Dr. Combe was sent here before I came home. Mary began to read it, but put it
off that we might read it together. Since I came home, we have begun it, and
advanced nearly half way in it; but other engagements of one kind and another
have interrupted. I find it very minute in its details; so much so, perhaps, as
to be objectionable to the general reader: but to me, who know the subject and
the writer, and who have such a deep personal interest in every thing they have
said or done, it never loses its interest. I should as soon complain of an
absent friend for giving me all the incidents of his fortune, when, the more of
each twenty-four hours he describes, the better. I like to read his letters. I
delight, and profit too, in reading a book which never departs from the
phrenological dialect, and refers every thing to phrenological principles. It
is like a review of a delightful study.
When first offered
the nomination for Congress, I had serious doubts about accepting it: but I was
in my twelfth year as Secretary of the Board of Education; and, while acting in
an official capacity, I was under the trammels of neutrality between all sects
and parties. It was just at the crisis when the destiny of our new Territory of
about six hundred thousand square miles in extent was about to be determined.
All of human history that I ever knew respecting the contest for political and
religious freedom, and my own twelve-years' struggle to imbue the public mind
with an understanding not merely of the law but of the spirit of religious
liberty, had so magnified in my mind the importance of free institutions, and
so intensified my horror of all forms of slavery, that even the importance of
education itself seemed for a moment to be eclipsed.
Besides, my fidelity
to principles had made some enemies, who, to thwart me, would resist progress,
but who, if I were out of the way, would be disarmed, and would co-operate
where they had combated. . . . The commencement of the session in December last
was full of excitement. We voted three weeks before we succeeded in making
choice of a Speaker; the issue being between freedom and slavery, modified by
its bearing upon the next Presidential election. In the Senate there were three
men, Clay, Webster, and Cass, each one of whom had staked body, reputation, and
soul on being the next President. In 1848, Gen. Cass had surrendered all that
he could think of, as principle, for the sake of winning the Southern vote.
Clay had just been returned to the Senate, and Webster had been thrown into the
background, partly for his mighty advocacy of freedom, and partly because he
had no skill in flattering the people. Clay devised a plan of indirect
opposition to the policy of Gen. Taylor, which, should it be unsuccessful,
would hardly injure its originator, but, if crowned with success, would place
him high and conspicuous above the President himself.
Up to this time, at
least ostensibly, Webster had maintained his integrity. But he supposed his
final hour had come. Cass as a Democrat, and Clay as a Whig, had offered to
immolate freedom to win the South. Webster must do more than either, or abandon
hope. He consented to treachery, and, to make his reward sure, proposed to do
more villanies than were asked of him. His 7th
of March speech was an abandonment of all he had ever said in defence of
the great principles of freedom. It was a surrender of the great interests of
freedom in the new Territories then in issue, and it was wanton impiety against
the very cause of liberty. We were not merely amazed, but astounded by it. He
artfully connected the pecuniary interests of the North with this treachery to
freedom. Our manufacturing interests were in a deplorable condition. He told
the manufacturers, that, if they would surrender freedom, they could have a
tariff. This assurance was repeated in a thousand covert forms. It brought out
the whole force of Mammon. One of the Boston newspapers, the "Daily
Advertiser," whose whole circulation was among the wealthy and
aristocratic, took ground in his defence at once. Another of them, the
"Courier," sold itself immediately for mere money to him and to his
friends; and such an overbearing and threatening tone was assumed by his whole
pretorian guard, that every other paper in the city, however clamorous it had
been for freedom before (except the "Liberator"), was silenced. The
press in Boston, for the last six months, had been very much in the condition
of the press of Paris.
I came home to visit
my family in April on account of ill health in it, and staid a month. The
public mind had not recovered from its shock; and Mr. Webster's "retainers,"
as the "Advertiser" unluckily called them, were active in fastening
their views upon the re-awakened consciousness of the public. I conversed with
many very prominent individuals. I found they agreed with me fully in regard to
Mr. Webster's treachery, and in private would speak freely, but in public would
not commit themselves to a word. This was grievous, and reminded me of what you
used to say so often, — that our people have not confidence enough in truth. I
was invited by a respectable portion of my constituents to address them. I
wrote them a letter instead. In that letter, I reviewed the course of the
leading men,—Cass, Clay, and Webster. I pointed out Mr. Webster's
inconsistencies and enormities in as searching a manner as I could, but in a
very respectful tone. He and his friends swore vengeance against me at once.
When I returned to
Washington, he cut me. He indulged in offensive remarks in private intercourse.
In a letter written to some citizens who sought to uphold his course, he put in
the most arrogant sneer that his talent could devise, and published it. That
gave me a chance to review his letter, and to discuss the question of trial by
jury for alleged fugitives. In another letter, he made another assault upon me.
This, too, I answered. Just at this moment, Gen. Taylor died. The
Vice-President, a weak and irresolute-minded man, succeeded. Mr. Webster was
appointed Secretary of State; and he thus became omnipotent, and almost
omnipresent. The cause of freedom was doomed. Thousands saw what the event
would be, and rushed to the conclusion. Three-fifths of all the Whig presses
went over in a day. The word of command went forth to annihilate me; and, if it
was not done, it was for no want of good will or effort on the part of the
hired executioners. From having been complimented on all sides, I was
misrepresented, maligned, travestied, on all sides. Not a single Whig paper in
Boston defended me. Most of them had an article or more against me every day.
The convention to nominate my successor was packed by fraudulent means, and I
was thrown overboard. . . . To bring the odium theologicum to crush me, an
evangelical was taken as my opponent. I took the stump, and put the matter to
my constituents face to face.
The election took
place last Monday, and I have beaten them all by a handsome majority. This is
something of a personal triumph, therefore; but, as a triumph of principle, it
is of infinitely more value. Nothing can exceed the elation of my friends, or
the mortification of my enemies. The latter feel like a man who has committed
some roguery, and failed of obtaining his purpose in doing it.
SOURCE: Mary Tyler
Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 335-9
