Emory Upton to his Sister, October 21, 1860

WEST POINT, October 21, 1860.

MY DEAR SISTER:  The Price of Wales created a good deal of excitement here on Monday last.  The plain was thronged with people eager to get a glimpse of the future King of England.  We were drawn up in line in front of barracks to receive the prince.  He and his suite were mounted and preceded by a platoon of dragoons as escort.  As he came galloping along the line we came to “present arms.”  I never experience such queer feelings before, and, had I not been under military discipline, I believe my enthusiasm would have given vent to itself in cheers.  The crowd was wild, but was doubtless somewhat restrained by the example of the corps.  After the review, the officers of my class were introduced to his Royal Highness.  I can now say that my rustic hand has grasped the hand of royalty.  He has a kind and very pleasant countenance, and he will probably make a good if not a brilliant sovereign.  The members of his suite are perfect gentlemen, (General Bruce, Duke of Newcastle, Dr. Ackland, and others).  They came into the engineering-rooms and I had quite an interesting conversation with them.  They spoke pure English.  We rode before them in the riding-hall with saddles, and then with blankets.  One cadet was thrown almost off his horse, but he regained his seat with such skill and address as to make the prince clap his hands.  After the ride, the prince expressed his admiration of our horsemanship to the officer in command. . . .

Bishop McIlvaine, of Ohio, preached us a sermon last Sunday. He was chaplain here thirty years ago, and during his ministry a great revival took place. He attended our prayer-meeting and commenced to relate his experience here, but, unfortunately, his interesting narrative was interrupted by the “call to quarters.” West Point was then a hot-bed of infidelity, but he rooted it out, and his influence is felt to this day. I was introduced to him, and he gave me a warm invitation to visit him at Cincinnati next year. Please give me credit for not saying anything about my studies in this letter.

SOURCE: Peter Smith Michie, The Life and Letters of Emory Upton, p. 23-4

Diary of to Amos A. Lawrence: August 29, 1860

President Felton came after his return from Canada. He speaks well of the Prince of Wales; says he should think he might rank number twenty in a class of eighty if he should study for it; thinks he has been well trained.

SOURCE: William Lawrence, Life of Amos A. Lawrence: With Extracts from His Diary and Correspondence, p. 155-6

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, April 1, 1863

Camp White, April 1, 1863.

Dearest: — We are again in communication with America after being cut off about four or five days by General Jenkins. He attacked two posts garrisoned by [the] Thirteenth Virginia — and one had Lieutenant Hicks, the color sergeant and six men of Twenty-third. In both cases General Jenkins was badly worsted losing seventy men killed or captured, while we lost only four killed and five wounded. A sorry raid so far.

Judge Matthews, I see, is to be superior court judge. I suppose his health is the cause. He had a difficulty before he left the Twenty-third which at times unfitted him for service in the field.

Awful weather for tent life the last week — snow, rain, and wind “all to once.” I am really glad you left when you did. A few weeks hence if Jenkins lets us alone we shall be in condition to enjoy your presence.

Love to the dear boys. Webb will, I am sure, study hard when he hears how much I want him to be a scholar. Birch and the others are right of course.

The Prince's [Prince of Wales] wedding you read, I know. No happier than ours!

Affectionately,

R.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 401

Brigadier-General Benjamin F. Butler to Blanche Butler, Sunday October 22, 1860

LoweLL, Oct. 22, 1860

MY GOOD GIRL: You know that I am not a constant correspondent, but I am now taking your mother's place. You need not feel alarm about your mother's eyes, as I believe the weakness to be temporary only. At least she was quite well enough last Friday evening to go with me to the Prince's Ball¹ at Boston. Aunt Harriet went with us; both were much pleased, as ladies always are, with beautiful dresses, fine music, and a gay throng. I was obliged to go down to the review of the Military.² I suppose you hardly saw the Prince; as a sight you have not lost much. He looks somewhat like your cousin Hal Read, but is not quite so intelligent in the face.

Pray do not pain me by hearing that you are homesick. A girl of good sense like you to be homesick! Never say it. Never feel it, never think it. The change, the novelty of your situation, will soon wear away, and with your duties well done, as I know they will be, you will be sustained by the pride of a well-earned joy in your return. You say the girls, your associates, seem strange to you. May they not find the same strange appearance in you? You say you think they do not like you much, and you do not like them much. Is not this because of the strangeness, and because you do not understand and know each other. It is one of the objects I desired to gain by sending you to Georgetown that you should see other manners, other customs and ways, than those around you at home. However good these may be, the difficulty is that one used to a single range of thoughts and modes of life soon comes to think all others inferior, while in fact they may be better, and are only different. This is a provincialism, and one of which I am sorry to say that Massachusetts people are most frequently guilty.

By no means give up your own manners simply because others of your associates are different. Try and see which are best, but do not cling to your own simply because they are yours. In the matter of pronunciation of which you wrote, hold fast your own, subject to your teachers. Do not adopt the flat drawl of the South. That is a patois. Avoid it. All educated people speak a language alike. T’is true Mr. Clay, said cheer for chair, but that from a defect of early association. Full, distinct, and clear utterance with a kindly modulated voice, will add a new accomplishment to a young lady, who is as perfect as Blanche in the eye of

FATHER

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¹ H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, then on a visit to the United States.

² General Butler was Brigadier General of the Massachusetts militia, having received his commission in 1857.

SOURCE: Jessie Ames Marshall, Editor, Private and Official Correspondence of Gen. Benjamin F. Butler During the Period of the Civil War, Volume 1: April 1860 – June 1862, p. 3-4

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: July 21, 1862

Jackson has gone into the enemy's country. Joe Johnston and Wade Hampton are to follow.

Think of Rice, Mr. Senator Rice,¹ who sent us the buffalo-robes. I see from his place in the Senate that he speaks of us as savages, who put powder and whisky into soldiers' canteens to make them mad with ferocity in the fight. No, never. We admire coolness here, because we lack it; we do not need to be fired by drink to be brave. My classical lore is small, indeed, but I faintly remember something of the Spartans who marched to the music of lutes. No drum and fife were needed to revive their fainting spirits. In that one thing we are Spartans.

The Wayside Hospital² is duly established at the Columbia Station, where all the railroads meet. All honor to Mrs. Fisher and the other women who work there so faithfully! The young girls of Columbia started this hospital. In the first winter of the war, moneyless soldiers, sick and wounded, suffered greatly when they had to lie over here because of faulty connections between trains. Rev. Mr. Martin, whose habit it was to meet trains and offer his aid to these unfortunates, suggested to the Young Ladies' Hospital Association their opportunity; straightway the blessed maidens provided a room where our poor fellows might have their wounds bound up and be refreshed. And now, the “Soldiers' Rest” has grown into the Wayside Hospital, and older heads and hands relieve younger ones of the grimmer work and graver responsibilities. I am ready to help in every way, by subscription and otherwise, but too feeble in health to go there much.

Mrs. Browne heard a man say at the Congaree House, “We are breaking our heads against a stone wall. We are bound to be conquered. We can not keep it up much longer against so powerful a nation as the United States. Crowds of Irish, Dutch, and Scotch are pouring in to swell their (armies. They are promised our lands, and they believe they will get them. Even if we are successful we can not live without Yankees.” “Now,” says Mrs. Browne, “I call that man a Yankee spy.” To which I reply, “If he were a spy, he would not dare show his hand so plainly.” “To think,” says Mrs. Browne, “that he is not taken up. Seward's little bell would tinkle, a guard would come, and the Grand Inquisition of America would order that man put under arrest in the twinkling of an eye, if he had ventured to speak against Yankees in Yankee land.”

General Preston said he had “the right to take up any one who was not in his right place and send him where he belonged.” “Then do take up my husband instantly. He is sadly out of his right place in this little Governor's Council.” The general stared at me and slowly uttered in his most tragic tones, “If I could put him where I think he ought to be!” This I immediately hailed as a high compliment and was duly ready with my thanks. Upon reflection, it is borne in upon me, that he might have been more explicit. He left too much to the imagination.

Then Mrs. Browne described the Prince of Wales, whose manners, it seems, differ from those of Mrs. –––, who arraigned us from morn to dewy eve, and upbraided us with our ill-bred manners and customs. The Prince, when he was here, conformed at once to whatever he saw was the way of those who entertained him. He closely imitated President Buchanan's way of doing things. He took off his gloves at once when he saw that the President wore none. He began by bowing to the people who were presented to him, but when he saw Mr. Buchanan shaking hands, he shook hands, too. When smoking affably with Browne on the White House piazza, he expressed his content with the fine cigars Browne had given him. The President said: “I was keeping some excellent ones for you, but Browne has got ahead of me.” Long after Mr. Buchanan had gone to bed, the Prince ran into his room in a jolly, boyish way, and said: “Mr. Buchanan, I have come for the fine cigars you have for me.”

As I walked up to the Prestons', along a beautiful shaded back street, a carriage passed with Governor Means in it. As soon as he saw me he threw himself half out and kissed both hands to me again and again. It was a whole-souled greeting, as the saying is, and I returned it with my whole heart, too. “Good-by,” he cried, and I responded “Good-by.” I may never see him again. I am not sure that I did not shed a few tears.

General Preston and Mr. Chesnut were seated on the piazza of the Hampton house as I walked in. I opened my batteries upon them in this scornful style: “You cold, formal, solemn, overly-polite creatures, weighed down by your own dignity. You will never know the rapture of such a sad farewell as John Means and I have just interchanged. He was in a hack,” I proceeded to relate, “and I was on the sidewalk. He was on his way to the war, poor fellow. The hackman drove steadily along in the middle of the street; but for our gray hairs I do not know what he might have thought of us. John Means did not suppress his feelings at an unexpected meeting with an old friend, and a good cry did me good. It is a life of terror and foreboding we lead. My heart is in my mouth half the time. But you two, under no possible circumstances could you forget your manners.”

Read Russell's India all day. Saintly folks those English when their blood is up. Sepoys and blacks we do not expect anything better from, but what an example of Christian patience and humanity the white “angels” from the West set them.

The beautiful Jewess, Rachel Lyons, was here to-day. She flattered Paul Hayne audaciously, and he threw back the ball.

To-day I saw the Rowena to this Rebecca, when Mrs. Edward Barnwell called. She is the purest type of Anglo-Saxon — exquisitely beautiful, cold, quiet, calm, lady-like, fair as a lily, with the blackest and longest eyelashes, and her eyes so light in color some one said “they were the hue of cologne and water.” At any rate, she has a patent right to them; there are no more like them to be had. The effect is startling, but lovely beyond words.

Blanton Duncan told us a story of Morgan in Kentucky. Morgan walked into a court where they were trying some Secessionists. The Judge was about to pronounce sentence, but Morgan rose, and begged that he might be allowed to call some witnesses. The Judge asked who were his witnesses. “My name is John Morgan, and my witnesses are 1,400 Confederate soldiers.”

Mrs. Izard witnessed two instances of patriotism in the caste called “Sandhill tackeys.” One forlorn, chills, and fever-freckled creature, yellow, dirty, and dry as a nut, was selling peaches at ten cents a dozen. Soldiers collected around her cart. She took the cover off and cried, “Eat away. Eat your fill. I never charge our soldiers anything.” They tried to make her take pay, but when she steadily refused it, they cheered her madly and said: “Sleep in peace. Now we will fight for you and keep off the Yankees.” Another poor Sandhill man refused to sell his cows, and gave them to the hospital.

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¹ Henry M. Rice, United States Senator from Minnesota, who had emigrated to that State from Vermont in 1835.

² Of ameliorations in modern warfare, Dr. John T. Darby said in addressing the South Carolina Medical Association, Charleston, in 1873: “On the route from the army to the general hospital, wounds are dressed and soldiers refreshed at wayside homes; and here be it said with justice and pride that the credit of originating this system is due to the women of South Carolina. In a small room in the capital of this State, the first Wayside Home was founded; and during the war, some seventy-five thousand soldiers were relieved by having their wounds dressed, their ailments attended, and very frequently by being clothed through the patriotic services and good offices of a few untiring ladies in Columbia. From this little nucleus, spread that grand system of wayside hospitals which was established during our own and the late European wars."

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 205-9

John Lothrop Motley to Anna Lothrop Motley, September 22, 1861

East Sheen, September 22, 1861.

My Dearest Mother: I am writing you a little note again. I can do no more until such time as we shall be settled at Vienna. We came down here last evening to spend Sunday with your old friends Mr. and Mrs. Bates. He is the same excellent, kindly old gentleman he always was, and is as stanch an American and as firm a believer in the ultimate success of our cause as if he had never left Boston.

. . . I have lost no time since I have been in England, for almost every day I have had interesting conversations with men connected with the government or engaged in public affairs.

There will be no foreign interference, certainly none from England, unless we be utterly defeated in our present struggle. We spent a few days with our friends the De Greys in Yorkshire. During my visit I went up to the north of Scotland to pass a couple of days with Lord John Russell at Abergeldie. It is an old Scotch castle, which formerly belonged to a family of Gordon of Abergeldie. The country is wild and pretty about it, with mountains clothed in purple heather all round, the Dee winding its way through a pleasant valley, and the misty heights of Lochnagar, sung by Byron in his younger days, crowning the scene whenever the clouds permit that famous summit to be visible.

I was received with the greatest kindness. There were no visitors at the house, for both Lord and Lady Russell are the most domestic people in the world, and are glad to escape from the great whirl of London society as much as they can. In the afternoons we went with the children out in the woods, making fires, boiling a kettle, and making tea al fresco with water from the Dee, which, by the way, is rather coffee-colored, and ascending hills to get peeps of the prospects.

Most of my time, however, was spent in long and full conversations tete-a-tete with Lord John (it is impossible to call him by his new title of Earl Russell).

The cotton-manufacturers are straining every nerve to supply themselves with cotton from India and other sources. But it seems rather a desperate attempt to break up the Southern monopoly, however galling it is to them.

I can only repeat, everything depends upon ourselves, upon what we do. There are a few papers, like the “Daily News,” the “Star,” and the “Spectator,” which sustain our cause with cordiality, vigor, and talent.

The real secret of the exultation which manifests itself in the “Times” and other organs over our troubles and disasters is their hatred not to America so much as to democracy in England. We shall be let alone long enough for us to put down this mutiny if we are ever going to do it. And I firmly believe it will be done in a reasonable time, and I tell everybody here that the great Republic will rise from the conflict stronger than ever, and will live to plague them many a long year.

. . . We shall probably remain another week in London, for I have not yet seen Lord Palmerston, whom I am most anxious to have some talk with, and he is expected to-morrow in London. While I was stopping with Lord John, the queen sent to intimate that she would be pleased if I would make a visit at Balmoral, which is their Highland home, about one and a half miles from Abergeldie. Accordingly, Lord John went over with me in his carriage. We were received entirely without ceremony by the Prince Consort (we were all dressed in the plainest morning costumes), who conversed very pleasantly with us, and I must say there was never more got out of the weather than we managed to extract from it on this occasion. After we had been talking some twenty minutes the door opened, and her Majesty, in a plain black gown, walked quietly into the room, and I was presented with the least possible ceremony by the Prince Consort. I had never seen her before, but the little photographs in every shop-window of Boston or London give you an exact representation of her.

They are so faithful that I do not feel that I know her appearance now better than I did before. Her voice is very agreeable and her smile pleasant. She received me very politely, said something friendly about my works, and then alluded with interest to the great pleasure which the Prince of Wales had experienced in his visit to America.

The Prince Consort spoke with great animation on the same subject. There is not much more to be said in regard to the interview. I thought that the sending for me was intended as a compliment to the United States, and a mark of respect to one of its representatives.

Most affectionately your son,

J. L. M.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 204-7

Diary of William Howard Russell: Monday, March 18, 1861

“St. Patrick's day in the morning” being on the 17th, was kept by the Irish to-day. In the early morning the sounds of drumming, fifing, and bugling came with the hot water and my Irish attendant into the room. He told me: “We'll have a pretty nice day for it. The weather's often agin us on St. Patrick's day.” At the angle of the square outside I saw a company of volunteers assembling. They wore bear-skin caps, some turned brown, and rusty green coatees, with white facings and crossbelts, a good deal of gold-lace and heavy worsted epaulettes, and were armed with ordinary muskets, some of them with flint-locks. Over their heads floated a green and gold flag with mystic emblems, and a harp and sunbeams. A gentleman, with an imperfect seat on horseback, which justified a suspicion that he was not to the manor born of Squire or Squireen, with much difficulty was getting them into line, and endangering his personal safety by a large infantry-sword, the hilt of which was complicated with the bridle of his charger in some inexplicable manner. This gentleman was the officer in command of the martial body, who were gathering to do honor to the festival of the old country; and the din and clamor in the streets, the strains of music, and the tramp of feet outside announced that similar associations were on their way to the rendezvous. The waiters in the hotel, all of whom were Irish, had on their best, and wore an air of pleased importance. Many of their countrymen outside on the pavement exhibited very large decorations, plates of metal, and badges attached to broad ribbons over their left breasts.

After breakfast I struggled with a friend through the crowd which thronged Union Square. Bless them! They were all Irish, judging from speech and gesture and look; for the most part decently dressed, and comfortable, evidently bent on enjoying the day in spite of the cold, and proud of the privilege of interrupting all the trade of the principal streets, in which the Yankees most do congregate, for the day. They were on the door-steps, and on the pavement men, women, and children, admiring the big policemen — many of them compatriots — and they swarmed at the corners, cheering popular town-councillors or local celebrities. Broadway was equally full. Flags were flying from the windows and steeples — and on the cold breeze came the hammering of drums and the blasts of many wind instruments. The display, such as it was, partook of a military character, though not much more formidable in that sense than the march of the Trades Unions, or of Temperance Societies. Imagine Broadway lined for the long miles of its course by spectators mostly Hibernian, and the great gaudy stars and stripes, or as one of the Secession journals I see styles it, the “Sanguinary United States Gridiron” — waving in all directions, whilst up its centre in the mud march the children of Erin.

First came the acting Brigadier-General and his staff, escorted by 40 lancers, very ill-dressed, and worse mounted: horses dirty, accoutrements in the same condition, bits, bridles, and buttons rusty and tarnished; uniforms ill-fitting, and badly put on. But the red flags and the show pleased the crowd, and they cheered “bould Nugent” right loudly. A band followed, some members of which had been evidently " smiling" with each other; and next marched a body of drummers in military uniform, rattling away in the French fashion. Here comes the 69th N. Y. State Militia Regiment — the battalion which would not turn out when the Prince of Wales was in New York, and whose Colonel, Corcoran, is still under court martial for his refusal. Well, the Prince had no loss, and the Colonel may have had other besides political reasons for his dislike to parade his men.

The regiment turned out, I should think, only 200 or 220 men, fine fellows enough, but not in the least like soldiers or militia. The United States uniform which most of the military bodies wore, consists of a blue tunic and trousers, and a kepi-like cap, with “U. S.” in front for undress. In full dress the officers wear large gold epaulettes, and officers and men a bandit-sort of felt hat looped up at one side, and decorated with a plume of black-ostrich feathers and silk cords. The absence of facings, and the want of something to finish off the collar and cuffs, render the tunic very bald and unsightly. Another band closed the rear of the 69th, and to eke out the military show, which in all was less than 1200 men, some companies were borrowed from another regiment of State Militia, and a troop of very poor cavalry cleared the way for the Napper-Tandy Artillery, which actually had three whole guns with them! It was strange to dwell on some of the names of the societies which followed. For instance, there were the “Dungannon Volunteers of '82,” prepared of course to vindicate the famous declaration that none should make laws for Ireland, but the Queen, Lords, and Commons of Ireland! Every honest Catholic among them ignorant of the fact that the Volunteers of '82 were, all Protestants. Then there was the “Sarsfield Guard!” One cannot conceive anything more hateful to the fiery high-spirited cavalier, than the republican form of Government, which these poor Irishmen are, they think, so fond of. A good deal of what passes for national sentiment, is in reality dislike to England and religious animosity.

It was much more interesting to see the long string of Benevolent, Friendly, and Provident Societies, with bands, numbering many thousands, all decently clad, and marching in order with banners, insignia, badges, and ribbons, and the Irish flag flying along-side the “stars and stripes.” I cannot congratulate them on the taste or good effect of their accessories — on their symbolical standards, and ridiculous old harpers, carried on stages in “bardic costume,” very like artificial white wigs and white cotton dressing-gowns, but the actual good done by these societies, is, I am told, very great, and their charity would cover far greater sins than incorrectness of dress, and a proneness to “piper's playing on the national bagpipes.” The various societies mustered upwards of 10,000 men, some of them uniformed and armed, others dressed in quaint garments, and all as noisy as music and talking could make them. The Americans appeared to regard the whole thing very much as an ancient Roman might have looked on the Saturnalia; but Paddy was in the ascendant, and could not be openly trifled with.

The crowds remained in the streets long after the procession had passed, and I saw various pickpockets captured by the big policemen, and conveyed to appropriate receptacles. “Was there any man of eminence in that procession,” I asked. “No; a few small local politicians, some wealthy store-keepers, and beer-saloon owners perhaps; but the mass were of the small bourgeoisie. Such a man as Mr. O'Conor, who may be considered at the head of the New York bar for instance, would not take part in it.”

In the evening I went, according to invitation, to the Astor House — a large hotel, with a front like a railway terminus, in the Americo-Classical style, with great Doric columns and portico, and found, to my surprise, that the friendly party was to be a great public dinner. The halls were filled with the company, few or none in evening dress; and in a few minutes I was presented to at least twenty-four gentlemen whose names I did not even hear. The use of badges, medals, and ribbons, might, at first, lead a stranger to believe he was in very distinguished military society; but he would soon learn that these insignia were the decorations of benevolent or convivial associations. There is a latent taste for these things in spite of pure republicanism. At the dinner there were Americans of Dutch and English descent, some “Yankees,” one or two Englishmen, Scotchmen, and Welshmen. The chairman, Judge Daly, was indeed a true son of the soil, and his speeches were full of good humor, fluency, and wit; but his greatest effect was produced by the exhibition of a tuft of shamrocks in a flower-pot, which had been sent from Ireland for the occasion. This is done annually, but, like the miracle of St. Januarius, it never loses its effect, and always touches the heart.

I confess it was to some extent curiosity to observe the sentiment of the meeting, and a desire to see how Irishmen were affected by the change in their climate, which led me to the room. I came away regretting deeply that so many natives of the British Isles should be animated with a hostile feeling towards England, and that no statesman has yet arisen who can devise a panacea for the evils of these passionate and unmeaning differences between races and religions. Their strong antipathy is not diminished by the impossibility of gratifying it. They live in hope, and certainly the existence of these feelings is not only troublesome to American statesmen, but mischievous to the Irish themselves, inasmuch as they are rendered with unusual readiness the victims of agitators or political intriguers. The Irish element, as it is called, is much regarded in voting times, by suffraging bishops and others; at other times, it is left to its work and its toil — Mr. Seward and Bishop Hughes are supposed to be its present masters. Undoubtedly the mass of those I saw to-day were better clad than they would have been if they remained at home. As I said in the speech which I was forced to make much against my will, by the gentle violence of my companions, never had I seen so many good hats and coats in an assemblage of Irishmen in any other part of the world.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 15-19

John Lothrop Motley to Anna Lothrop Motley, November 19, 1860

31 Hertford Street,

November 19, 1860.

My Dearest Mother: Your kind letter of 22d October reached me a few days ago, and gave me, as your letters always do, very great pleasure. As to the governor, he seems to grow younger every day, and I am sure that I should not have been up to dancing all night till five o'clock, and then getting to breakfast in the country by 8:30.

The Prince of Wales has returned, after a passage of twenty-eight days, safe and sound. I met him at dinner at Oxford just before he sailed, as I think I mentioned to you. I am told that the queen is much pleased with the enthusiasm created in America by his visit. I am sure that she has reason to be, and all good Englishmen rejoice in it. It was certainly a magnificent demonstration of the genuine and hearty good feeling that exists between the two great branches of the Anglo-Saxon race, and I read the long accounts given in the “Times” by the special correspondent of his reception in New York and Boston with the greatest pleasure.

I am very sorry that I cannot exchange congratulations with the governor on the subject of the Presidential election.¹ The account has this instant reached us by telegraph, and although I have felt little doubt as to the result for months past, and Tom will tell you that I said so at Keir, yet, as I was so intensely anxious for the success of the Republican cause, I was on tenterhooks till I actually knew the result. I rejoice in the triumph at last of freedom over slavery more than I can express. Thank God, it can no longer be said, after the great verdict just pronounced, that the common law of my country is slavery, and that the American flag carries slavery with it wherever it goes.  . . . To change the subject, you will be pleased to hear that Mr. Murray had his annual trade-sale dinner last Thursday (15th). This is given by him in the City to the principal London booksellers, and after a three-o'clock dinner he offers them his new publications. You will be glad to know that my volumes² quite took the lead, and that he disposed at once of about 3000 copies. As he only intended to publish 2000, you may suppose that he was agreeably disappointed. He has now increased his edition to 4000, and expects to sell the whole. After that he will sell a smaller and cheaper edition. The work is, however, not yet published, nor will it be for several weeks. I am very glad to hear that you are pleased with the opening pages. The volumes have cost me quite as much labor as the other work; but alas! I have no William of Orange for a hero. I hope the governor will be pleased with them.

Ever most affectionately your son,

J. L. M.

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¹ The first election of Lincoln.

² The first two volumes of the “History of the United Netherlands.”

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 106-7

George William Curtis to Charles Eliot Norton, October 14, 1860

North Shore, 14th October, 1860.

My Dear Charles, — I have been scribbling and scrabbling at such a rate that I have recently cut all my friends for my country. We are having a glorious fight. This State, I think, will astonish itself and the country by its majority. The significance of the result in Pennsylvania is, that the conscience and common sense of the country are fully aroused. The apostle of disunion spoke here last week, and, if there had been any doubt of New York before, there could have been none after he spake. Even Fletcher Harper, after hearing it, said to me, “I shall have hard work not to vote for Lincoln.”

I have been at work in my own county and district, and the other day I went to the convention to make sure that I was not nominated for Congress!

I have been writing a new lecture, “The Policy of Honesty,” and am going as far as Milwaukee in November. Here's a lot about myself, but we country philosophers grow dreadfully egotistical. I did cherish a sweet hope (it was like trying to raise figs in our open January!) that I should slip over and see you, and displace my photograph for a day or two, but I can only send the same old love as new as ever. The ball for little Renfrew¹ was a failure, though I was one of the 400, — and his reception was the most imposing pageant, from the mass of human beings, that I ever saw.

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¹ The Prince of Wales.

SOURCE: Edward Cary, George William Curtis, p. 137-8