Diary of George Templeton Strong, Saturday, October 13, 1860

From any more princes of the blood, libera nos Domine. May this nice-looking, modest boy find his way home, or at least to our boundaries, with all convenient speed.

I’ve been in hard work about His Royal Highness for forty-eight hours. I’m weary of His Royal Highness. . . . The Ball is over, thank Heaven, but the Trinity Church reception and services tomorrow are still to be. What they will be, time must tell. I’ve made the most minute, definite arrangements with Mr. Kennedy and Sergeant Cropsey and the sextons and their aids, but I fear the crowd will out-general me. And I cannot be at the church till the services are actually commencing, for the destinies compel me to accompany or escort the royal party, our guests; and Hyslop and Dunscomb, who will be at the church from nine (when the doors open) till the Prince arrives, are timid and imbecile. I’d give a great deal if tomorrow’s august transaction were done and well done.

Mr. Ruggles took Ellie and me, also Mrs. Hunt, to the Astor Library yesterday morning. Only two or three onlookers were present; Mrs. Schuyler and Mrs. John Sherwood. We waited and waited, lounged through alcoves, looked with vain longings at the titles of nice books. The trustees of the library were biding their time below, waiting to pounce on His Royal Highness the moment the sound of his chariot wheels should be heard. At length, about eleven o’clock, a noise of much people was heard without—a hooray—an opening of the police-guarded door, feet on the stone staircase, and then a vision of a girlish-looking young boy walking swiftly through the library with Dr. Cogswell, followed by the hairy-faced Duke of Newcastle with Mr. S. B. Ruggles and by William Astor, Carson Brevoort, and others of the library trustees escorting Lord Lyons and a lot of peers and honorables beside. They inspected the premises in double-quick time, and at the head of the staircase on their way out. His Highness shook hands with Cogswell and thanked him very briefly, simply, and nicely, just as any untitled gentleman would have done (think of it!), and the royal party was gone.

I spent a few minutes in looking at some of the special treasures of the library—the First Folio Shakespeare, the editio princeps of Homer, and so on, and then went down to Wall Street. . . .

At eight to the Academy of Music. The doors were not yet opened to the common herd, but my exalted official position on the committee admitted me by the royal entrance on Fourteenth Street. The house looked brilliant, blazing with lights and decorated with great masses of flowers. My post was with Charles King, Ben Silliman, and Cyrus Field in the room appointed for the reception of invited guests generally. Certain other committees had interfered with our arrangements in an unwarrantable and unconstitutional manner. The consequence of this outrage was (as we had distinctly foreseen and predicted) that the great majority of the invited guests found their way to "the floor” for themselves without being conducted thither by any legitimate organ. Our duties were therefore light. We "received” a few South American and Portuguese diplomats and General Paez and Major Delafield and Captain Cullum and sundry army and navy people and a score of city militia, colonels in most elaborate uniforms, and Mayor Wood (I had a very intimate talk with that limb of Satan); and at ten we adjourned to the special reception room and joined Hamilton Fish and old Pelatiah Perit (who looked like a duke in his dress coat and white cravat), and Peter Cooper, who looked like one of Gulliver’s Yahoos caught and cleaned and dressed up.

In came the royal party at last, with the Reception Committeemen, who had been assigned the pleasing duty of escorting them. We were presented to His Royal Highness seriatim. I had supposed that shaking hands with a Prince of Wales was indecorous, and that a bow was the proper acknowledgment of introduction to so august a personage; but when the Prince puts out his hand, or extends and proffers his fingers like anybody else, it seems ungracious to decline the honor and say, "Sir, I am so well bred as to know my place, and I am unworthy to shake hands with a descendant of James I and George III and a probable King of England hereafter.” I think of having my right-hand glove framed and glazed, with an appropriate inscription.

Fish had assigned to each of the committee the duty of conducting one of the Prince’s suite into the ballroom, and I was charged with Lord Hinchinbrooke. I had implored Fish to bear in mind that most of our committee (myself included) were unable to distinguish dukes from mere honorables and asked him to be sure to introduce each notable to his committeeman godfather (vide programmes of autos-da-fè). But he forgot to do so, and we marched into the ballroom in a very promiscuous way— Fish escorting Monseigneur, Peter Cooper tagging after them, and the rest like a flock of sheep—and took our place at the head of the room; that is, the east end. Orchestra plays "God Save the Queen,” followed by "Hail Columbia!” Aspect of the house and the crowd brilliant and satisfactory. I fall into talk with a pleasant-looking Englisher, and introduce myself. He proves to be Englehart, the Duke of Newcastle’s private secretary, and an amiable, agreeable man.

A space in our front was kept clean by the Floor Committee, and through this the crowd began to defile. Fish presenting them as they passed and people making "murgeons and jenny-fluxions to H. R. H. George Anthon passed with Ellie. . . . I was pointing out notabilities to Englehart and the Honorable Mr. Somebody, and just indicating John Van Buren as the son of one of our ex-kings, when there was a dull, ugly, jarring report, quickly followed by another of the same sort. Everybody started and peered in vain over the heads of the densely packed crowd, and wondered what it was. But there was no panic and no rush. Presently we learned that the temporary flooring had given way in two places; over the stage a couple of beams broke, causing the reports we had heard. Ellie went down into one of the pits and was frightened, but did not lose her footing, nor her self-possession.

Of course, people crowded away from this dangerous, region in all directions. The promenade became impracticable, and the Prince and his suite and most of the committee retreated to the reception and supper-rooms. A large space was presently roped off, including the two chasms in the floor, and revealing the scandalous, criminal negligence with which the work of constructing the supports had been done. A score of carpenters and policemen and the illustrious Brown were energetically repairing the damage within fifteen minutes after the accident. But there was a general sense of failure and calamity. Everything looked bilious. Everyone said the whole floor was unsafe. There could be no dancing; the ball was a disgraceful fiasco. I explained to many persons that the Reception Committee had nothing to do with the arrangements of the house. Meantime, the carpenters were working for their lives. Brown peering down into the oblong hole looked as if engaged in his ordinary sextonical duties at an interment. . , .

By midnight damages had been repaired and dancing set in. People streamed over every part of the floor the moment the Prince appeared on it. Danger was forgotten. His Royal Highness’s partners, Mrs. Goold Hoyt, Miss Lily Mason, Mrs. John Kernochan, and others, were among our prettiest women. Mrs. Governor Morgan, with whom the Prince opened the ball officially, is elderly and stout, but presentable enough. It is said that she had been taking dancing lessons for the last fortnight, rubbing up her old steps, and that when the quadrille commenced, she timidly inquired, "Your Royal Highness, isn’t it time for us to balancer?” Miss Helen Russell was overpowered when the Prince was presented. Her voice failed her for fear, and she astonished H. R. H. with a series of contortions and muscular twitchings before she succeeded in articulating an audible word. So they say; I saw little of the dancing. The way people crowded round was snobbish and rude and indecent, and I kept on the outskirts, where loafed and lounged dejectedly. . . .

While the Prince was waiting for Mrs. Camilla Hoyt, his partner. Walker, the Presbyterian bookbinder, bustled up with a young woman under his arm, introduced himself, and proceeded, "The lady with whom Your Highness was to dance doesn’t seem to be ready; allow me to introduce my daughter.’’ The Prince said, "Yes, the crowd is very dense,’’ or some such thing, and evaded this ambitious plebeian rather gracefully for so young a person. Ellie heard this propriis auribus. She was presented to the Illustrious Stranger and discoursed with him and danced in the same "Lancers.” I had a very pleasant talk with Mrs. Colonel Scott, and was introduced to Millard Fillmore, who is well-bred and cordial, but I spent most of the evening, or night rather, dawdling about and wishing it were over.

Got home at daylight, weary and worn after nearly nine hours spent in a new pair of patent leathers. Very tired. If H. R. H. appreciate my exertions, he will send me the Victoria Cross or make me a duke in partibus, at least.

This evening at Mr. Ruggles’s awhile and saw part of the Firemen’s procession pass up the Fourth Avenue. It was very brilliant, with torches, colored lights, and so forth. On Madison Square, where they no doubt displayed all their resources of Roman candles and portable fireworks, it must have been a really attractive spectacle.

SOURCE: Allan Nevins and Milton Halset Thomas, Editors, Diary of George Templeton Strong, Vol. 3, pp. 46-9

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Thursday, August 6, 1864

The sick carried early to the gates but not received; ordered to be brought at 2 p. m. Doctors have got it into their heads that some system is necessary, and so much crowding at the gate was unnecessary and detrimental; so they ordered all back but the sick of eleven detachments and that none come tomorrow but those designated. Many are taken out. It gives hope that they are going to try to help us. Men persist in flattering themselves that we are soon to be relieved. I guard against disappointment and defer hope while action is deferred. The wolf at the door will not go away bloodthirsty until driven. They brought us to Georgia according to a decision of powers that be, that no shelter should be furnished Yankee prisoners. They will not release us for our sake, have disregarded our rights and purposely wronged us. Their cause is desperate; they fight for unprovoked revenge. They fiercely kill with bullets and designedly and half disguisedly plot our lingering death, seeking to profit their cause by our suffering. They began the war in hasty spite; it will end in hellish revenge. If they believe in their cause, need we hope for mercy? Has the government raised its hand to strike out one right the North claims for itself? Have we not compromised our sense of justice to appease unreasoning wrath, and have they not placed the dagger to our hearts? Now shall we be delivered by the murderers from the hands of their agents? Not till the last pillar has been broken and the hell-born spirit that incited this war shall rule no more, will their nefarious plotting cease. Yet we have hope which all of this surmounts, they must fail.

A PRISONER'S SONG.

Strident, yet more strident,

Sound the notes of war.

In our hearts confident

Behold the end afar.

Patient, yet more patient,

We'll bear the pains of fate.

Awake, oh, spirits latent,

And ward the blows of hate!

Higher, and yet higher,

Raise the hope of love;

Let faith new strength inspire

And make us stalwart prove.

Calmer, and yet calmer,

Wait we for the light,

Through savage din and clamor,

The passing of this night.

Freedom, on forever,

O, swiftly onward stride,

Enslaving bonds to sever,

And in this land abide!

Steady, and more steady,

Let our armies go;

They are strong and ready,

They move-it seems so slow!

Starving, we are starving!

We are sinking in distress;

Disease is gnawing-carving;

Our foes do sore oppress.

Help us to see the sunlight

Of victory and feel

Treason's bane has ceased to blight,

E'er death our eyes shall seal.

There is no danger from robbers and Thompson and I walk in the cool of the evening and talk about these things. A sensible companion in tribulation, is worth a thousand fools in peace if one appreciates him. The happiest man I ever saw was a man happy under miserable circumstances; the most miserable man is one wretched when surrounded with the benefits of life, with a vacant heart, a volcanic head, an iceberg and a fiery furnace freezing and burning his nature at the same time. To be contented, to be happy here, in one sense, is a mysterious art, yet the plainest fact.

"There is a Divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough hew them as we will."

We know now how to appreciate a man who is a living statue, not a human straw, a weed, jostled by every breeze, whipped about by adverse winds. We feel like him, believe in him; we are encased in steel. He is one, at least, who appreciates us. He has not only got the poetry of our best poets, but he has the heart, and the head; not only the rhyme but the sentiment.

Recently an interesting episode occurred, but it was not devoid of cruelties incident to this place. It reveals qualities of noble patriotism and keen foresight with a tinge of stern romance. A Georgian is a prisoner here.

Early in 1861 when the war-spirit had become rampant and Georgia was swayed by men like Toombs a man whose name is said to be Hirst, probably assumed, lived not many miles from this prison, who resolved for the Union. He went North, leaving his wife at home, and joined a Western regiment. In a battle between Sherman and Johnston's armies he was captured. He was recognized by a Georgia Reserve, while carrying a sick man out, who in peaceful days lived near him. The recognition was mutual and friendly. From him he got some news of his wife, the first in three years. It was arranged to get a note to her, telling of his imprisonment. In a few days the guard was on duty and tossed the wife's letter over the dead-line in a ball of clay. Two days later the woman came before Wirz and asked an interview. It was granted, the lady to stand outside the gate thirty paces, the man at the gate, neither to speak. At sight of each other they spoke each other's names endearingly. The interview was abruptly ended, the woman ordered away, the man driven into prison. The next day she came again bringing clothing and provisions which she begged Wirz to send him. Wirz promptly ordered her away, warning her never to come again, and sent soldiers to escort her off the ground. The husband was then brought before him and an effort made to enlist him in the Rebel service. This was resented, when he was bucked and gagged and locked in the dungeon, being brought out and maliciously punished at intervals for several days. Failing to impress him into the service, by advice of doctors he was turned into the stockade. [Note.—After leaving Andersonville I, learn he escaped from a train conveying prisoners from there, after Atlanta fell. He probably visited his family and later joined Sherman's forces.]

STACK ARMS.

 

See, an officer in quest of men,

To do some work the Rebels need;

Invites us from this prison pen

To work for them while brothers bleed!

Foreswear our country, Southron? No!

For its cause is true and high!

Join the hosts of Freedom's foe?

Far better starve; in prison die!

We fight for section, Southron? No;

We fight that liberty may spread

O'er all the land that freemen know,

Where, too long, the slave had tread.

We fight for justice in the land

Where freeman's voice has been suppressed;

It shall be heard, from strand to strand,

And every wrong shall be redressed.

Patriotic to fight for wrong

Because 'tis in your section built?

To fight this evil to prolong

Does but enhance the master's guilt.

Patriotism knows no line

That shall Freedom's law restrain;

The die is cast, 'tis God's design

That slavery shall no more remain.

Ah, heed the call of destiny!

The black and white shall both be free;

And stack your arms, for liberty

O'er North and South alike shall be.

Stack arms, brave Southrons, and repent

You ever raised them 'gainst the right.

You know the force of brave dissent;

'Tis murder now to longer fight!

The "Stars and Bars" pull down, pull down;

They lead you wrong, in Slavery's ways,

More hateful than King George's crown

Our fathers spurned in other days.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 98-102

Diary of Edward Bates, Saturday, June 4, 1859

Men as old as I am, it is said, are apt to be croakers and to complain of the degeneracy and corruption of the times. Certainly I am deeply disgusted and sick at heart to witness the impudence with which vice and profligacy bare their brazen faces to public [view], glorying in their shame. Examples —

1. Carstang v Shaw

The case of Effie. C. Carstang v Henry Shaw,⁷¹ for a breach of promise to marry, occupied the Court of Common Pleas for a week, ending last thursday afternoon — For the Pl[ain]t[i]ff : Wm. Holmes (ex Presbyterian Minister) Wright⁷² & Shrive — For the Def[endan]t: Shepley⁷³ & Bates — It was a preposterous case I have no doubt a conspiracy to extort money from Mr. Shaw, who is very rich. Upon the evidence, it is my conscientious belief, that the verdict ought to have been for the defendant. Yet we were all astonished that a verdict was rendered, after but a few minutes['] deliberation, for the Plaintiff, with an assessment of damages, $100,000!!!

This atrocious verdict has excited, as it ought, the indignant denunciation of the public. We have moved for a new trial, and I do not doubt that Judge Reber⁷⁴ will take pleasure in cleansing his record from so foul a blot upon the administration of justice.

I preserve the names of the jurors who were so stupid or so wicked, or both, as to give that verdict. Here they are — < Valentine Crancer, George. W. Shadwick, Ferd: Kohler, George. H. Smith, Henry Schneider, J. L. Casperson, Charles Chenot, Leon Deno, Samuel Finch, Mauritz Sternbach, J. P. Young, Wm. N. McQueen.>

I knew not one of the jury personally — the last one, McQueen is a young Scotchman, and a merchant, and I had hoped better things of him[.]

This abominable verdict shocked the moral sense of the community, and made most men fear for the safety of property and character. But next morning it was eclipsed by a crime, far more horrible.

2. On friday morning, June 3d. Joseph Charless,⁷⁵ one of our most useful and best citizens, was brutally shot down in the street, as he was going to his place of business, by one Joseph Thornton, without provocation, without any apparent cause,⁷⁶ and without a moment's time for consideration. He was shot twice and each wound was mortal. I saw him some, 20 or 30 minutes after he was shot, lying on the floor in the store of Mr. Thompson (just at whose door, in Market Street, between 3d. and 4th. the crime was done). A few hours after he was removed to his own house, where he lingered in agony, until 7 or 8 oclock this morning, when he was relieved from his sufferings, and passed, I trust, to a better life.

It is a sad thing to me and to the whole city. I knew Mr. Charless, a boy in his father's house, forty five years ago, and have marked his course through the world ever since — A man of energy and enterprise, eminently successful in business. Of high character and unspotted reputation. For many years a professor of Christianity and now an elder in the Presbyterian church — The Pine Street Church, in charge of Revd. Mr. McPheeters. He leaves a wife, and one child, a daughter married to a gentleman of Louisiana.

As to the murderer, Thornton, he was seised [sic] immediately and put to jail. It was feared yesterday, so general and so high was the excitement, that he would be seised by the mob and torn to pieces ; at night the Military was called out, but the night passed in tranquil [l]ity — Mr. C.[harless] still lived and the certainty of his speedy death was not yet known. Today there is a gloomy tranquil[l]ity on the surface, but judging from several indications, there is a deep settled feeling of revenge diffused among the people and a general distrust of the penal justice of the law — and, from all the signs, I think it more than probable that the poor wretch will meet his doom to night.

For him I have no pity, but I dread the consequences of such unlawful violence. Such lawless acts are dangerous precedents, and the wound[s] they inflict upon society are incurable. The nearest friends of the family, Mr. Drake⁷⁷ et al: I believe, use all their influence to calm the people, and prevent mob violence.

[Marginal] Note. . . . [Rain — then cool weather] Yesterday I wore my over coat — Raglan — all day, in the court house and walking the streets. And now, Sunday morning, we need and have a good fire in the furnace.

Carlisle [sic] tells us (Vol 2. p. 254.)⁷⁸ that prince Frederick in his restrained position and penal civil occupation at Custrin,⁷⁹ became— “a man politely impregnable to the intrusion of human curiosity; able to look cheerily into the very eyes of men and talk in a social way, face to face, and yet continue intrinsically invisible to them—"

Somebody has written about the ring of Gyges⁸⁰ which, being turned in a particular direction, made the wearer invisible. But this power of social and moral invisibility in Prince Frederick, is far more efficient in controlling the conduct of men and the actual business of Society. Still, great as the power it gives, a most unhappy faculty, which cuts off its possessor from all personal sympathies, and holds his heart in cold isolation. An admirable quality no doubt, in a born ruler of men, who is high above the common sympathies of life, and too great to be comfortable. The Prince who like Frederick, has the faculty forced upon him in the hard school of oppression and suspicion, is sure to be a tyrant, when he comes to power; and the private man who habitually acts out the policy of self-concealment, is equally sure to become a cold and selfish egot —

Shakespeare or Shakespere.

Col: Fuller, ex Editor of the New York Mirror, writing from London, gives account of his visit to the British Museum — In the "Autograph Room" where are collected the hand writings of thousands of notorious [sic] men — Kings and Queens, Statesmen, Warriors, Poets, orators, Artists —

There, among the rest, he saw a letter from the Great Dramatist, the name not spelt as we are wont to spell it, but written with his o[w]n hand — Shakspere —

_______________

⁷¹ A wealthy English-born St. Louis merchant of cutlery who created the Missouri Botanical Garden.

⁷² Uriel Wright: spell-binding St. Louis criminal lawyer; state legislator; an ardent unionist until the capture of Camp Jackson (see infra, Nov. 25, 1865, note 74) aroused his indignation and led him to enlist in the Confederate Army.

⁷³ John R. Shepley, law partner of Bates.

⁷⁴ Samuel Reber, judge of the Court of Common Pleas.

⁷⁵ Importer, manufacturer, jobber of drugs, president of the Mechanics' Bank, director of the Pacific Railroad Company, alderman, director of public schools, a founder of Washington University.

⁷⁶ Mr. Charless had once been compelled to testify against him in court.

⁷⁷ Probably C. D. Drake ; see infra, Feb. 12, 1863. note 13.

⁷⁸ History of Frederick II of Prussia.

⁷⁹ Frederick II was imprisoned at Cüstrin in close confinement and later forced to work in the auditor's office there, as part of his father's effort to break his will and turn him from literature and music to military pursuits.

⁸⁰ A king of Lydia in the Seventh Century, B. C., who according to classical tradition (Herodotus tells the story) was enabled to murder his predecessor and secure his throne and his queen through the powers of invisibility given him by this magic ring.

SOURCE: Howard K. Beale, Editor, Annual Report of The American Historical Association For The Year 1930, Vol. 4, The Diary Of Edward Bates, pp. 20-3

Reverend William Alvin Bartlett to Daniel S. Dickinson, September 22, 1856

STRATFORD-ON-AVON, September 22, 1856.

DEAR SIR—I have just visited the birth-place and the tomb of Shakespeare, and knowing somewhat of your appreciation of his genius, I avail myself of a little leisure to enclose you a leaf from the old churchyard, and a plate or two, I procured in the room of his birth. The engravings may give you too favorable an idea of the appearance of the house, it being very much dilapidated. The mud walls within are literally carved with autographs-among which I noticed Sir Walter Scott's upon a pane of glass. Lucien Bonaparte left the following record of his visit in 1810:

"The eye of genius glistens to admire

How memory hails the sound of Shakespeare's lyre;

One tear I'll shed, to form a crystal shrine,

For all that's grand, immortal, and divine."

The effigy of Shakespeare in the chancel of the church, which is said to have been made from a cast of his features taken after death, is very different from the usual pictures of him. The tendency has been by artists to represent the physical as perfect as the intellectual man, whereas his face was not regularly formed, according to this bust. The right cheek is much fuller than the left, with a very prominent upper lip, and a double chin, and, on the whole, fleshy and more English in its appearance; as if he were not a stranger to the virtues of good ale. The old church with its rural surroundings, the Avon laving its southern extremity, and its associations, formed a most delightful retreat.

I have thus far had a very prosperous journey, and hope to reach London in a few days. Be pleased to remember me kindly to Mrs. Dickinson, Mrs. Courtney, and Miss Mary.

Yours, very respectfully,

W. A. BARTLETT.

SOURCE: John R. Dickinson, Editor, Speeches, Correspondence, Etc., of the Late Daniel S. Dickinson of New York, Vol. 2, p. 495-6

Daniel Webster to Franklin Haven, September 12, 1850

(PRIVATE.)

Washington, September 12, 1850.

MY DEAR SIR,—I use the confidential hand of another to write you a short letter, my eyes holding out only to perform a small part of the duty expected from them every day. I am in the midst of my periodical catarrh, or "hay fever," or whatever you please to call it, but which you know all about. I read nothing, and hardly write any thing but signatures. The disease is depressing and discouraging. I know that there is no remedy for it, and that it must have its course. It produces loss of appetite and great prostration of strength, but since the event of last week terminated, I have some little time for rest, and shutting myself up very much, I keep as quiet as I can.

My dear Sir, I think the country has had a providential escape from very considerable dangers. I was not aware of the whole extent of the embarrassment likely to arise till I came here, last December, and had opportunities of conversation with General Taylor, and the gentlemen of his administration. General Taylor was an honest and truly patriotic man; but he had quite enough of that quality, which, when a man is right, we call firmness, and when he is wrong, we denominate obstinacy. What has been called the President's plan, was simply this; to wit, to admit California under her free constitution, and to let the territories alone altogether, until they could come in as States. This policy, as it was thought, would avoid all discussion and all voting on the question of the Wilmot proviso. All that matter it was supposed, might be thus postponed, and the slavery question staved off. The objection to this plan, was the same as that to poor King Lear's idea of shoeing a company of horse in felt, and stealing upon his enemies. It was flatly impossible; that's all. But the purpose was settled and decided. General Taylor told me, in the last conversation I had with him, that he preferred that California should not come in at all, rather than that she should come in bringing the territories on her back. And if he had lived, it might have been doubtful whether any general settlement would have been made. He was a soldier, and had a little fancy, I am afraid, to see how easily any military movement by Texas could have been put down. His motto was, "vi et armis!" He had a soldier's foresight, and saw quite clearly what would be the result if Texan militia should march into New Mexico, and there be met by troops of the regular army of the United States. But that he had a statesman's foresight, and foresaw what consequences might happen in the existing state of men's opinions and feelings, if blood should be shed in a contest between the United States and one of the southern States, is more than I am ready to affirm. Yet long before his death, and in the face of that observation which he made to me, as already stated, I made up my mind to risk myself on a proposition for a general pacification. I resolved to push my skiff from the shore alone, considering that, in that case, if she foundered, there would be but one life lost. Our friend Harvey happened to be here, and with him and Mr. Edward Curtis, I held a little council the evening before the speech. What followed is known. Most persons here thought it impossible that I should maintain myself, and stand by what I declared. They wished, and hoped, and prayed, but fear prevailed. When I went to Boston soon afterwards, and was kindly received, and intimated that I should take no march backward, they felt a little encouraged. But truly it was not till Mr. Eliot's election that there was any confident assurance here that I was not a dead man. It would be of little consequence, my dear Sir, if I could only say that Boston saved me, but I can say with all sincerity, and with the fullest conviction of its truth, that Boston saved the country. From the commencement of the government, no such consequences have attended any single election, as those that flowed from Mr. Eliot's election. That election was a clear and convincing proof, that there was breaking out a new fountain of brilliant light in the East, and men imbibed hopes in which they had never before indulged. At this moment it is true that Mr. Eliot is the greatest lion that exhibits himself on Pennsylvania avenue. He is considered the personation of Boston; ever intelligent, ever patriotic, ever glorious Boston; and whatever prejudices may have existed in the minds of honorable southern men, against our good city, they are now all sunk and lost forever in their admiration of her nationality of spirit.

But I must stop here. There is much else that I could say, and may say hereafter, of the importance of the crisis through which we have passed. I am not yet free from the excitement it has produced. I am like one who has been sea-sick, and has gone to bed. My bed rolls and tosses by the billows of that sea, over which I have passed.

My dear Sir, this is for your own eye. You are much younger than I am, and hereafter possibly you may recur to this hastily dictated letter not without interest. If you think it worth reading, you may show it to T. B. Curtis, Mills, Fearing, and Harvey, &c. It is but half an hour's gossip, when I can do nothing but talk, and dictate to a confidential clerk.

Yours, always truly,

DAN'L WEBSTER.

SOURCE: Fletcher Webster, Editor, The Private Correspondence of Daniel Webster, Vol. 2, p. 386-8

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: April 8, 1864

Negroes by the hundreds are flocking to our camp; all sizes and ages, ranging from one year to one hundred years old. Poor deluded beings, how extravagant have been their conceptions relative to the Yankees. An order from headquarters at Baily Springs this evening informs us that Colonel Rowett has fought himself away from Camp Butler and returned to the command of the regiment. Remaining in camp at Jackson's until the fifteenth, we leave and report to regimental headquarters. Immediately Captain Ring receives orders to proceed with the detachment to Center Star, where we arrive in the evening and go into camp, after which patrols are sent out to Bainbridge and Lamb's Ferry. This detachment will long remember their camp and stay at the Jackson plantation; how Captain R, Sergeants N. and A. made journeys across the Blue Water, and how the Captain when coming in contact with one of the South's fair literary stars, discoursed so freely upon the American and English poets—especially upon the merits of the Bard of Avon.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 231-2

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, January 30, 1864

Camp near Orange Court House, Va.,

January 30, 1864.

The weather has been fine recently and there have been some indications of a move. Yesterday we were ordered to cook one day's rations and be ready to march, but it has turned very cold to-day and everything is quiet again.

About ten days ago I succeeded in buying some turnips and cabbage, and I found them most delightful for a change until our box from home arrived. Everything in it was in excellent condition except the sweet potatoes. It contained ten gallons of kraut, ten of molasses, forty pounds of flour, twelve of butter, one-half bushel of Irish potatoes, one-half peck of onions, about one peck of sausage, one ham, one side of bacon and some cabbage. I am expecting Edwin to visit me to-morrow and I shall offer him part of the kraut and some of the molasses, but he is so independent I am afraid he will not accept it.

I saw Colonel Hunt's wife yesterday, and she is the first lady with whom I have conversed since my return in December. He pays ten dollars a day board for himself and wife at a house near our camp.

Dr. Tyler has had his furlough extended twenty days by the Secretary of War, and will not return before February. I have been alone for over four weeks. I have had such a quiet time that I have been reading Shakespeare some recently. I received a letter from Robert Land's wife begging me to give her husband a sick furlough, and I told him to write her that if he could ever get sick again he certainly should go at once.

The postmaster is here and I must close.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 88-9

Diary of Private Daniel L. Ambrose: Friday, January 16, 1863

This morning the boys are seen wending their way to the timber to chop wood. It is very cold, and the boys are kept busy getting fuel. It snows all day, and except those detailed to get wood, the boys keep close around the camp fires, busily engaged at something. Some talking of home and friends, some about the armies, and others about the Emancipation Proclamation. Some are perusing old Waverlys, and others amusing themselves with Harper's cuts, one has a volume of Shakspeare with his mind following intently the dramatic play of Edward the "three times.” We are wondering now, how the leaders of northern democracy would feel could they hear the comments made, and the anathemas heaped upon their devoted heads by the soldiers, sitting around the winter camp-fires to-night in Mississippi. We are of the opinion that they would not consider themselves very much flattered.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 131

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 23, 1864

Snow fell all night, and was eight or ten inches deep this morning; but it was a bright morning, and glorious sunshine all day, the anniversary of the birth of Shakspeare, 300 years ago,—and the snow is melting rapidly.

The Secretary of War had a large amount of plate taken from the department to-day to his lodgings at the Spottswood Hotel. It was captured from the enemy with Dahlgren, who had pillaged it from our opulent families in the country.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 2, p. 175

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: July 19, 1864

Played some at chess and read a little in Shakespeare. Eyes quite weak. Letters from home and Floy. Quiet. Heavy firing in direction of Petersburg. Rained almost all day.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 125

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: July 20, 1864

All quiet with the pickets. Played some at chess. Read papers and "Othello." Wrote to Ella Clark.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 125

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: June 5, 1863

Big scuffle with Rob yesterday. Makes me somewhat sore. Played a game of chess with John. Read the Atlantic which A. B. lent me. Called on him. Rather better than for some time. Up most all day. Called at Mrs. Vickery's and got Shakespeare and some other books. Very pleasant.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 72

Diary of John Beauchamp Jones: March 30, 1863

Gen. Bragg dispatches the government that Gen. Forrest has captured 800 prisoners in Tennessee, and several thousand of our men are making a successful raid in Kentucky.

Gen. Whiting makes urgent calls for reinforcements at Wilmington, and cannot be supplied with many.

Gen. Lee announces to the War Department that the spring campaign is now open, and his army may be in motion any day.

Col. Godwin (of King and Queen County) is here trying to prevail on the Secretary of War to put a stop to the blockaderunners, Jews, and spies, daily passing through his lines with passports from Gens. Elzey and Winder. He says the persons engaged in this illicit traffic are all extortioners and spies, and $50,000 worth of goods from the enemy's country pass daily.

Col. Lay still repudiates Judge Meredith's decision in his instructions to the Commandants of Camps of Instruction. Well, if we have a superabundance of fighting men in the field, the foreign-born denizens and Marylanders can remain at home and make money while the country that protects them is harried by the invader.

The gaunt form of wretched famine still approaches with rapid strides. Meal is now selling at $12 per bushel, and potatoes at $l6. Meats have almost disappeared from the market, and none but the opulent can afford to pay $3.50 per pound for butter. Greens, however, of various kinds, are coming in; and as the season advances, we may expect a diminution of prices. It is strange that on the 30th of March, even in the “sunny South,” the fruit-trees are as bare of blossoms and foliage as at mid-winter. We shall have fire until the middle of May, — six months of winter!

I am spading up my little garden, and hope to raise a few vegetables to eke out a miserable subsistence for my family. My daughter Ann reads Shakspeare to me o' nights, which saves my eyes.

SOURCE: John Beauchamp Jones, A Rebel War Clerk's Diary at the Confederate States Capital, Volume 1, p. 282-3

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: February 23, 1863

Cleared off pleasantly. Busy in morning getting memorandum receipts of the stores for the month. Afternoon rode to town and beat Melissa at a game of chess. F. gone. Had a good time. Spent the evening. M. and N. went to theatre to hear Macbeth.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 57

Diary of John Hay: Tuesday, December 15, 1863

The President took Stoddard, Nicolay and me to Ford’s with him to see Falstaff in Henry IV. Dixon came in after a while. Hackett was most admirable. The President criticised his reading of a passage where Hackett said, “mainly thrust at me,” the President thinking it should read “mainly thrust at me.” I told the President I thought he was wrong; that “mainly” merely meant “strongly,” “fiercely.” The President thinks the dying speech of Hotspur an unnatural and unworthy thing — as who does not. . . .

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 141; Roy Prentice Basler, A Touchstone for Greatness: Essays, Addresses, and Occasional Pieces about Abraham Lincoln, p. 217

Diary of John Hay: December 13, 1863

The President, speaking to-day about Missouri matters, said he had heard some things of Schofield which had very much displeased him: — That while Washburne was in Missouri, he saw or thought he saw that Schofield was working rather energetically in the politics of the State, and that he approached Schofield and proposed that he should use his influence to harmonize the conflicting elements so as to elect one of each wing, Gratz Brown and Henderson. Schofield’s reply was that he would not consent to the election of Gratz Brown.

Again when Gratz Brown was about coming to Washington, he sent a friend to Schofiled to say that he would not oppose his confirmation, if he (S.) would, so far as his influence extended, agree to a Convention of Missouri to make necessary alterations in her State Constitution. Schofield’s reply, as reported by Brown to the President was that he would not consent to a State Convention. These things, the President says, are obviously transcendent of his instructions and must not be permitted. He has sent for Schofiled to come to Washington and explain these grave matters.

The President is inclined to put Rosecrans in Schofield’s place, and to give to Gen. Curtis the Department of Kansas. But Halleck and Stanton stand in his way, and he has to use the strong hand so often with those impractical gentlemen that he avoids it when he can.

To-night Hackett arrived and spent the evening with the President. The conversation at first took a professional turn, the President showing a very intimate knowledge of those plays of Shakespeare where Falstaff figures. He was particularly anxious to know why one of the best scenes in the play — that where Falstaff and Prince Hal alternately assume the character of the king — is omitted in the representation. Hackett says it is admirable to read, but ineffective on stage; — that there is generally nothing sufficiently distinctive about the actor who plays Henry to make an imitation striking.

Hackett plays with stuffing of india-rubber; — says Shakespeare refers to it when he says: “How now! blown Jack!” Hackett is a very amusing and garrulous talker. He had some good reminiscences of Houston, Crockett (the former he admires, the latter he thinks a dull man), McCarty and Prentiss. . . .

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 139-40; For the whole diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and letters of John Hay, p. 137-9.

Diary of John Hay: August 23, 1863

Last night we went to the Observatory with Mrs. Long. They were very kind and attentive. The Pre^st took a look at the moon & Arcturus. I went with him to the Soldiers’ Home, and he read Shakespeare to me, the end of Henry V, and the beginning of Richard III, till my heavy eyelids caught his considerate notice, and he sent me to bed. This morning we ate an egg, and came in very early.

He went to the library to write a letter to Conkling, and I went to pack my trunk for the North. . . . Staid about a week at Long Branch. Fine air — disgusting bathing — pretty women, and everything lovely. No politics, no war, nothing to remind me while there that there was such a thing as government or a soul to save. Count Gurowski was an undertone of nuisance — that was all.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 94; For the whole diary entry see Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and letters of John Hay, p. 82-3.

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Monday, June 16, 1862

Camp Jones, Flat Top. — A cold morning and a cloudy, clearing off into a bright, cool day.

Last night walked with Captain Warren down to General Cox's headquarters. Talked book; the general is a reader of the best books, quite up in light literature; never saw the Shakespeare novels; must try to get him “Shakespeare and his Friends.”

The extracts from Richmond papers and Jeff Davis' address to the soldiers indicates that the Rebels are making prodigious efforts to secure the victory in the approaching struggle. I trust our Government will see that every man is there who can possibly be spared from other quarters. I fear part of Beauregard's army will get there. Can't we get part of Halleck's army there?

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 291

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Thursday, September 4, 1862

Read some in “Othello.” Enjoyed some parts much. News came that Jackson had been taken with 20,000 men. Proved a lie. Tried to write a decently neat letter to Ella Clark, didn't succeed very well. Didn't finish in time for the evening mail. A good letter came from Fannie — a little behind time. Enjoyed it all. Read the latest Cleveland papers. News of the morning proved entirely false and we the ones whipped.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 30

Diary of Luman Harris Tenney: Tuesday, September 2, 1862

Slept till rather late — up in time for Sandy's breakfast. During the day wrote to Fannie Andrews. Delos called in the morning and I read Ella's letter to him. Commented upon it. In the evening Charlie came up and I again reviewed Ella's letter with him. Read some in Shakespeare and the latest papers. Received letter from home. Last one from Minnie E. Tenney.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 30