Congressman Horace Mann, September 23, 1850

For four or five days, we have had as beautiful weather here as can be had anywhere out of Eden.

We shall have a crowded week; public business pressing, which can hardly be postponed without arresting the wheels of Government; private claims urging attention, and seeking any sleepy mood of the House to steal in and get something from the full pockets of Uncle Sam; and members, tired, disgusted, and homesick, deserting their seats, and going home. In some States, the elections will come on very soon; and such of the members as are candidates will feel too anxious about their own private political fortunes to stay longer and attend to the public business. It will be a most deplorable sight, such combinations of selfish interests, and such dissolving of combinations whenever new interests intervene. It is a sad spectacle, I assure you; but I am telling tales out of school.

It is twelve o'clock. One week from this hour, no matter what is going on, an orator in the midst of a speech, or the Speaker himself with a vote but half declared, as soon as twelve o'clock comes, down will come the hammer, and this session of Congress will be adjourned. Let it come!

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 333-4

Congressman Horace Mann, September 25, 1850

Poor, dear Miss Dix! Her bill has failed this morning in the House; or, at least, it has been referred to the Committee of the Whole on the State of the Union, from which it cannot be returned should the session continue for a year. I went to carry her the news; but she has not come up to the library to-day.

Yesterday, when her bill came up, men were starting up on all sides with their objections; but to-day the point under discussion is, to pay an additional sum to the soldiers in the Mexican war for expenses of coming home, and almost all are in favor of it. It is amazing how war-mad all the South and South-west are. Conquest and numbers constitute their idea of glory. Christianity is nineteen hundred years distant from them.

I have not yet had time to read S——’s letter; but her letters have a charm for me always. I wonder how so much poetry as she has ever kept itself from flowing into rhyme. I am sure she might make her everlasting worldly fortune by writing songs for children, reasoning like a fairy on all the realities and moralities of life. Hasn't she the word-faculty? or what is the reason she doesn't do it?

I am glad Mr. Pierce has arrived.* How deep the feeling with which we look back upon perils escaped and the object of our labors secured! It must be a little more than a year since we had the fête that "welcomed" him away. I rather envied you your visit to him. I should really like to hail him again. Why could not the old soul transmigrate into another body? However, he has done his work, a great work; one that can never be undone. What he has done is not the erection of a structure that will not increase, and will decay, but it is the planting and early culture of a seed which will grow, and cannot but grow, and must protect other trees of the same healthful influences in their growth. "Lame, cold, and numb” as he is, there are few young men that could equal him in the race.

It is very cool here," autumnal," as you say; and to-day it is beginning to storm. I am always glad to hear of you "gardening;" and, when you are out, the children are out too.

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* Cyrus Pierce, of the West Newton Normal School.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 334-5

Congressman Horace Mann to Samuel Downer, September 24, 1850

WASHINGTON, Sept. 24, 1850.

MY DEAR DOWNER,

I have but time to say a word. . . .

There has just been another desperate attempt to get a tariff. Messrs. A—— and G—— were put forward to pioneer the measure. Mr. G—— moved to reconsider a bill from the Committee on Commerce, giving Canada vessels a right to lade and unlade in our ports, &c., so that it might be sent to the Committee of the Whole on the State of the Union, to be there amended by a tariff. So the motion prevailed. Then a motion to lay the subject on the table failed. Then came the question about committing with instructions, which failed by a large vote. So the whole thing slumped. We are surrounded by lobby members from Pennsylvania and New England. The men who have been ready to barter away liberty and blood and souls for profits have failed again miserably. Mr. Webster's promise made at the Revere House, that, if the North would go for conciliation (that is, the surrender of liberty), they could then have "beneficial legislation" (that is, a tariff), has not been fulfilled.

I regret as much as any one the suffering of our laboring classes; but there is a retribution in all this which gratifies one's moral sense.

Good-by to you, my friend!

HORACE MANN.

SOURCE: Mary Tyler Peabody Mann, Life of Horace Mann, p. 335

Diary of Musician David Lane, January 15, 1863

Our shanties are completed, and we moved in yesterday. They are warm and dry, and cannot but affect the health of the men favorably. I received a letter from home last night, and great was my astonishment to see, on reading it, an indictment against one dearer to me than life, and in whose behalf I plead "Not guilty."

My poor, wounded, suffering wife; what could have put such thoughts into your mind? Have you not always been the most tender, the most loving, of wives? Have you not always been by my side to advise, assist, uphold and sustain me? Have you not watched over me, in sickness and in health, and nursed me with more than a mother's tenderness? Have you not borne poverty without a murmur for my sake; and still, as a wife, you are a failure? Oh, banish such thoughts from your mind, for, I do assure you, they come of an over-sensitive imagination. You say you have always been a clog to my feet. No, no! I have been my own clog. The error was in the start. Youthful ignorance and folly added to the advice of men in whom I confided, but whose council proved a snare started me in the wrong direction, and I have continued to float downward with the tide. But, dear, I have no regrets. My life has been happy beyond the lot of most men, and what, my beloved, has made it so? Certainly not the pleasures of wealth or honors conferred by man. What, then, but the never-failing, self-sacrificing power of love which you have always lavished on your husband that has bound him to you with cords stronger than bands of steel? The only things I craved when I was sick were the tender accents of your voice and your dear hand upon my brow.

There seems to be a bond of sympathy between us that knows no bounds—is not confined by space. Many times since I left home have I visited you, or received your visits, and the impression left was that of reality. Last night, after I retired to rest—before I went to sleep, for the boys were gathered around the fire and I could hear their jests and laughter—I held your hands in both of mine, trying to comfort and console you, and it was real as reality itself. There is so much hollow-heartedness and deceit practiced here by men who, under the false guise of patriotism, seek wealth and position, that, had I all the world can bestow, I would give it all to enjoy with you one hour of social intercourse.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 25-7

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 2, 1863

Camp Pittman, Va. Our camp has been christened at last. We are building a huge oven, large enough to supply our brigade with soft bread. Furloughs are being granted to a limited number of officers and men. This will entitle our company to eight privates. In our company the lot fell between Wait Wright, of Eaton Rapids, and myself. Our cases were so similar the Colonel would not decide between us. He said we must talk it over and agree which should go first, and that, as soon as one returned, the other should go. I heard Mr. Wright's story and volunteered to remain until his return, which will be fifteen days from the date of his furlough. The past week has been very cold. It has snowed all day, and now—about four o'clock is turning to rain, and bids fair to be a rainy night.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 28

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 8, 1863

We are under marching orders again—ready to move at a minute's notice. The Ninth Army Corps is detached from the Army of the Potomac and is ordered to report to General Dix, at Fortress Monroe. The supposition is we go on an expedition somewhere—rumor says Vicksburg. The first detachment has gone, and we are awaiting the return of the transports. The men are well pleased with the idea of going farther south. For myself, I say any place but this. When we came here the country was a wilderness, covered with a heavy growth of scrub pine. Now it is a desert with scarcely a tree, and not a fence rail for miles in any direction.

It seems that Richmond has lost its strategic importance, and the "decisive blow" which was to have fallen there has been transferred to five other points, viz: Vicksburg, Port Hudson, Rosa's and Foster's expeditions, and Charleston. "If these prove successful," say the Washington papers, "the rebellion will end in thirty days." God grant them all success. When I survey the past history of the war I can see but little in the immediate future to encourage hope. The conviction is forced upon me that if the North subdue the South, the war has but just begun. It can and will be done, but time and persevering effort only will accomplish it. The people are too impatient. They demand important victories now, while fortified some place—Vicksburg, for instance—can only be taken by siege, and siege means weeks and months of waiting.

Government, urged on by the people, acts as if the salvation of the country depends on all this being accomplished before the fourth of March. But I see nothing but failure in haste.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 28-9

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 15, 1863

We are now on the “heaving sea and the bounding wave.” We were aroused yesterday morning at four o'clock, ordered to prepare breakfast and be ready to march at a minute's notice. At five-thirty the bugle sounded "fall in." We slung our accoutrements, the first time since the battle of Fredericksburg, and in fifteen minutes were en route to the depot, distance about two miles. After some delay we took cars for Aquia Creek, where we arrived at 10 o'clock a. m., and were immediately transferred to transports, bound for Fortress Monroe. The Seventy-ninth New York and Seventeenth Michigan were crowded on the North America, an old Hudson River propeller. There was hardly standing room, much less room to walk about. The day is fine, and the bay, unruffled by a breeze, presents a lively and picturesque appearance. Steamers are continually arriving and departing, sailboats of all sorts and sizes spread their white wings and glide leisurely through the still waters, while the active little tugs go whisking and snorting here and there, assisting larger and more unwieldly vessels. We left Aquia Creek at 10:30 o'clock a. m., expecting to reach the Fortress by nine o'clock next morning. I love the sea in all its forms and phases, and it was with a thrill of joy I took my seat on deck, prepared to enjoy whatever of interest might present itself. The Potomac, at Aquia Creek, is truly a noble stream, if stream it may be called, for there is no perceptible current, being, I judge, one and one-half miles wide, gradually broadening out as it nears the bay, until at its mouth it is nine miles wide. There is a striking contrast between the Maryland and Virginia shores. The Virginia side, nearly the entire distance, presents a rugged, mountainous aspect, with very few buildings in view, while the Maryland shore is level, dotted with farm buildings, and, at frequent intervals a village with its church spires glittering in the sun. In contemplating these peaceful scenes of rural life, the quiet farm houses surrounded by groves of trees, the well-tilled fields, outbuildings and fences undisturbed by war's desolating hand, the genial air of quiet repose that pervades the scene calls up emotions that have long lain dormant. For many long months, which seems as many years, my eyes have become inured to scenes of blood, of desolation and of ruin; to cities and villages laid waste and pillaged; private residences destroyed; homes made desolate; in fact, the whole country through which we have passed, except part of Maryland, has become through war's desolating touch, a desert waste. As I gazed on these peaceful scenes and my thirsty soul drank in their beauty, how hateful did war appear, and I prayed the time might soon come when “Nations shall learn war no more.”

Gradually the wind freshened, increasing in force as we neared the bay, until it became so rough the captain thought it unsafe to venture out, and cast anchor about five miles from the mouth of the river to await the coming of day. I spread my blanket on the floor of one of the little cabins and slept soundly until morning. When I awoke in the morning the first gray streaks of early dawn were illuminating the eastern horizon.

The gale having subsided, we were soon under way, and in about half an hour entered the broad Chesapeake. And here a most grand and imposing scene met my enraptured gaze. Not a breath of air disturbed its unruffled surface. Numerous vessels, floating upon its bosom, were reflected as by a mirror. A delegation of porpoises met us at the entrance to welcome us to their domain; they were twenty-two in number, were from six to eight feet in length; in color, dark brown. It was truly amusing to witness their sportive antics as they seemed to roll themselves along. They would throw themselves head foremost from the water half their length, turning as on a pivot, perform what seemed to be a somersault, and disappear.

A flock of sea gulls fell into our wake, sagely picking up any crumbs of bread that might be thrown them. They are a strange bird, a little larger than a dove, closely resembling them in color and gracefulness of motion. They followed us the whole distance, and as I watched their continuous, ceaseless flight, the effect on the mind was a sense of weariness at thought of the long-continued exertion.

Soon after we entered the bay I observed what I thought to be a light fog arising in the southeast. We had not proceeded far, however, before I discovered my mistake, for that which seemed to be a fog was a shower of rain. I was taken wholly by surprise, for I had been accustomed to see some preparation and ceremony on similar occasions. But now no gathering clouds darkened the distant sky, warning me of its approach, but the very storm itself seemed to float upon the waves and become part of it, and before I was aware, enfolded us in its watery embrace. The storm soon passed, but the wind continued through the day, and, as we neared the old Atlantic and met his heavy swells, they produced a feeling of buoyancy that was, to me, truly exhilerating.

Some of the boys were seasick, and a number "cast up their accounts" in earnest. We entered the harbor about sundown and cast anchor for the night under the frowning guns of Fortress Monroe.

Vessels of war of every class, monitors included, and sailing vessels of all sizes, crowded the harbor. It was a magnificent scene, and one on which I had always longed to gaze.

In the morning we learned our destination was Newport News, distant about five miles. We arrived about eight o'clock, marched two miles to Hampton Roads, our camping ground, pitched tents and, at noon, were ready for our dinner of coffee and hardtack.

We have a pleasant camping ground, lying on the beach, where we can watch the vessels as they pass and can pick up oysters by the bushel when the tide is out.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 30-3

Diary of Musician David Lane, February 28, 1863

Newport News is a military post, and is of no importance in any other sense. There were no villages or cities here previous to the war. Now there are quite a number of temporary buildings, and barracks to accommodate 60,000 men. It is an ideal camping ground, lying on the north bank of Hampton Roads and inclining gently to the northeast. The soil is light sand, which absorbs the rain as fast as it falls and is never muddy. The Ninth Corps, composed of forty-eight regiments, is extended in a direct line along the beach, covering about two miles in length. Stringent rules have been adopted, which, if carried out, will greatly enhance the efficiency of the men in field operations. We are to have revielle at six, when every man must turn out to roll call; breakfast call at seven, when we fall in line, march to the cook's quarters and receive our allowance of "grub.” Immediately after breakfast we are marched to the creek, where every man is required to wash hands, face and neck. From eight to half-past, police duty, or cleaning up in front of tents; from eight-thirty to ten-thirty, company drill; from this time until noon, clean guns, brasses and do any little jobs we may have on hand; dinner at twelve; from one-thirty to two thirty, skirmish drill; from three to four, battalion drill, after which is dress parade; at eight-thirty, tattoo, or go to bed; at nine, taps, or lights out.

Saturday is set apart for washing and cleaning up generally. Sunday morning at eight o'clock is inspection of arms, and at two o'clock divine service.

Some of the boys think the regular routine is reversed in our case—fighting first and drill afterward. Poor fellows; I expect they will see fighting enough yet. I have not seen a newspaper since our arrival, and know as little of what is going on in the world as did Cruso on his desert island.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 34-5

Diary of Musician David Lane, March 17, 1863

We have just received orders to be ready to march at a minute's notice, with two days' rations in our haversacks. The quiet of repose is suddenly disturbed by war's alarms; the Rebels attacked our forces today at Suffolk, about twenty miles from Norfolk. The supposition is we go to support our forces at that place. Our men are excited to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. As I write I hear their shouts and joyful exclamations. The Seventeenth has recovered its old-time energy, and is eager for the fray.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 35

Diary of Musician David Lane, March 27, 1863

Louisville, Ky. We did not go to Suffolk as I anticipated. Third Division went in our stead, while we took another direction, and in eight days, by water and rail, landed in Louisville. We broke camp at Newport News on the 19th inst., marched on board a fleet of transports, went to Norfolk, where we took in coal. While lying there a heavy storm of snow set in, which lasted several hours. It was bitterly cold, or so it seemed to us, and we suffered severely. Toward night the storm abated and we sailed for Baltimore. There we were transferred to cars and came by the way of the B. & O. R. R. to Parkersburg, W. Va. From Harper's Ferry our route followed the course of the Potomac River to Columbia, a lovely city far up among the mountains, and near the head of that river. The country from Harper's Ferry is mountainous, and Columbia is near the dividing line, from which point the water flows in opposite directions. We were three days and three nights on the cars, winding around or darting through the rocky barriers that opposed us. For, where they could not be evaded, the energy and power of man pierced their huge forms and ran his fiery engines beneath their towering summits. There are twenty-seven tunnels on this road, twenty-five of which we passed through in the daytime. Some of the shorter ones are arched with brick, others with heavy timbers, while some are cut through solid rock and need no support. At Parkersburg our three regiments were crowded into one vessel, and away we went "down the Ohio." We made a short stop at Cincinnati, where we received orders to report at once to Louisville, as an attack at that place was apprehended. We halted on our way through Louisville and partook of a free dinner, prepared for us by the loyal ladies of that city. Soft bread, potatoes, boiled ham, cakes and hot coffee were served us till all were filled (and many a haversack was also filled), when we gave three cheers and a tiger for the generous donors.

We found much excitement, as bands of guerillas came within six miles of the city the night before, conscripting men and confiscating horses and other supplies.

We stole a march on the Johnnies in coming here, they having notified the citizens that they would breakfast with them on the morning of our arrival, and when they—the citizens—saw their streets filled with soldiers, they thought the promise about to be fulfilled, but the Stars and Stripes soon undeceived them. Here our brigade was divided, the Eighth Michigan and Seventy-ninth New York going to Lebanon, the Seventeenth and Twentieth Michigan remaining at this place.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 35-7

Diary of Musician David Lane, March 31, 1863

Bardstown, where we are now encamped, is an old city of about six thousand inhabitants. The Seminary, which we now occupy as a hospital, was built when there were but three houses in Cincinnati. The majority of the people, I am told, are secessionists. We are encamped on the farm of Senator Wycliff, just outside of the city, in a fine grove of beech and maple; a beautiful stream runs through our camp, while a spring of pure water, enough to supply a brigade, bursts from a crevice in the rocks.

SOURCE: David Lane, A Soldier's Diary: The Story of a Volunteer, 1862-1865, p. 37

Diary of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, April 24, 1851

A pleasant dinner, at the close of which we heard the news of Sumner's election. In the evening came Lowell and Gurowski and Palfrey, and Sumner himself to escape from the triumph and be quiet from all the noise in the streets of Boston. He is no more elated by his success than he has been depressed by the failure heretofore, and evidently does not desire the office. Не says he would resign now if any one of the same sentiments as himself could be put in his place.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 245

Diary of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, April 25, 1851

The papers are all ringing with Sumner, Sumner! and the guns thundering out their triumph; meanwhile the hero of the strife is sitting quietly here, more saddened than exalted. Palfrey dined with us. I went to my Don Quixote at college, leaving the two Free Soilers sitting over their nuts and wine.¹

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¹ Sumner's first use of a senator's frank was upon documents to promote Palfrey's re-election to Congress. With his large correspondence, he valued the privilege, and parted with it reluctantly when it was finally discontinued in 1870. He wrote a public letter urging Palfrey's election ("Commonwealth," May 22, 1851), but it did not avail.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 245-6

Diary of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, April 27, 1851

Sumner brought a pocket-full of letters of congratulation and good advice which he has received since his election.¹

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¹ The writer may be permitted to state how he received the news. He was one of the half-dozen Free Soil students of the Law School out of one hundred or more attending it, and the rest of the one hundred were nearly all bitter against the Free Soil party. On the 23d of April he had heard that Sumner was elected, and was greatly disappointed an hour later to learn that the report was untrue. When hearing the second report of his election the next day, he distrusted it, and hastened to Boston. He was rejoiced to find this one true, and then sought Sumner in vain. On the evening of the day but one after, he found a scrap of paper in the keyhole of his room, No. 1 Divinity Hall, which proved to be from Sumner, with "Sorry not to see my valued friend" written on it. He sought Sumner at Palfrey's, near by, and found him there. The two walked, after leaving Palfrey's, along the railway track then existing, across the Common, to Longfellow's. The writer said to Sumner on the way, "This is too good; I fear you will die before taking your seat." He replied, "Perhaps that will be the best thing for me." The writer expressed the hope that his first speech in the Senate would be on foreign affairs. The two entered Craigie House,—the writer's first meeting with the poet and his wife; and leaving shortly, he walked, thoughtful, and never so happy before, to his lodgings. With much joy and hope the youth of Massachusetts greeted the election of the new senator.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 246

Charles Sumner to Theodore Parker, April 19, 1851

Court Street, Boston, April 19, 1851.

May you live a thousand years, always preaching the truth of Fast Day!¹ That sermon is a noble effort. It stirred me to the bottom of my heart, at times softening me almost to tears, and then again filling me with rage. I wish it could be read everywhere throughout the land.

You have placed the commissioner in an immortal pillory, to receive the hootings and rotten eggs of the advancing generations.

I have had no confidence from the beginning, as I believe you know, in our courts. I was persuaded that with solemn form they would sanction the great enormity, therefore I am not disappointed. My appeal is to the people, and my hope is to create in Massachusetts such a public opinion as will render the law a dead letter. It is in vain to expect its repeal by Congress till the slave-power is over thrown.

It is, however, with a rare dementia that this power has staked itself on a position which is so offensive, and which cannot for any length of time be tenable. In enacting that law, it has given to the Free States a sphere of discussion which they would otherwise have missed. No other form of the slavery question, not even the Wilmot Proviso, would have afforded equal advantages.

Very truly yours,

CHARLES SUMNER.

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¹ On the rendition of Sims, a fugitive slave.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 246; John Weiss, Life and Correspondence of Theodore Parker, Vol. 2, p. 107

Senator Charles Sumner to George Sumner, April 29, 1851

I send you papers which will show the close of the long contest here in Massachusetts. The New York “Tribune” of Friday, April 25, candidly states the states the position I have occupied.  Never was any contest in our country of any kind so protracted; never did any, except a Presidential contest, excite so much interest. The ardor and determination of the opposition to me has not been less flattering than the constant and enthusiastic support which I have received. The latter is particularly enhanced by the circumstance, well known, that I did not in any way seek the post, but expressly asked to be excused. In truth, I did not desire it. And now that the victory is won, my former dislike and indifference to it have lost none of their strength. From the bottom of my heart I say that I do not wish to be senator.¹ The honors of the post have no attraction for me; and I feel a pang at the thought that I now bid farewell to that life of quiet study, with the employment of my pen, which I had hoped to pursue. At this moment, could another person faithful to our cause be chosen in my place, I would resign. I am humbled by the importance attached to the election. Throughout Massachusetts, and even in other States, there have been bonfires, firings of cannon, ringing of bells, public meetings, and all forms of joy, to celebrate the event. As I read of these I felt my inability to meet the expectations aroused. Again, I wish I was not in the place. I am met constantly by joyful faces, but I have no joy; my heart is heavy. Never did I need sympathy and friendly succor more than now, when most of the world regards me as a most fortunate man, with a prospect of peculiar brilliancy.

The antislavery cause in Massachusetts is destined shortly to a complete and absolute triumph. The Boston set, chiefly from State Street, are profoundly ignorant of the real sentiment of the Commonwealth. I know it thoroughly. They remind me of the Bourbons and their friends. I long to commune with you on these things, and to draw from your treasures of experience and study.

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¹ The same avowal was made in letters to several friends, written in reply to congratulations.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 246-7

Senator Charles Sumner to John Bigelow, May 2, 1851

I would not affect a feeling which I have not, nor have I any temptation to do it; but I should not be frank if I did not say to you that I have no personal joy in this election. Now that the office is in my hands, I feel more than ever a distaste for its duties and struggles as compared with other spheres. Every heart knoweth its own secret, and mine has never been in the Senate of the United States, nor is it there yet. Most painfully do I feel my inability to meet the importance which has been given to this election and the expectation of enthusiastic friends. But more than this, I am impressed by the thought that I now embark on a career which promises to last for six years, if not indefinitely, and which takes from me all opportunity of study and meditation to which I had hoped to devote myself. I do not wish to be a politician.

Nothing but Boutwell's half-Hunkerism prevents us from consolidating a permanent party in Massachusetts, not by coalition, but by fusion of all who are truly liberal, humane, and democratic. He is in our way. He has tried to please Hunkers and Free Soilers. We can get along very well without the Hunkers, and should be happy to leave Hallett and Co. to commune with the men of State Street. The latter have been infinitely disturbed by the recent election. For the first time they are represented in the Senate by one over whom they have no influence, who is entirely independent, and is a “bachelor!” It was said among them at first that real estate had gone down twenty-five per cent!

I regret the present state of things in New York [the absorption of the Barnburners by the Democratic party, because it seems to interfere with those influences which were gradually bringing the liberal and antislavery men of both the old parties together. Your politics will never be in a natural state till this occurs.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 247-8

George Stillman Hillard to Senator Charles Sumner, April 25, 1851

[Court Street, April 25, 1851.]

MY DEAR SUMNER, — I cannot congratulate you on your election, because, with my political connections, that would be insincere; but I can and do say that I am glad that the lot has fallen upon you, since it must needs fall on one of your party. So far as your elevation shall prove a source of increased happiness and usefulness to you, I shall rejoice in it. No one will watch with more interest your career than I shall, or be more pleased with any accession to your solid and enduring reputation. I shall always judge of your sayings and doings in a candid and just spirit. You have now before you a noble career. May you walk in it with a statesman's steps, and more than gratify the good wishes of your friends, and more than disappoint the ill wishes of your enemies.

Yours faithfully,

G. S. H.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 250

Senator Charles Sumner to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, May 8, 1851

I cannot repress my delight in what I hear of Emerson's utterance at Concord. For an hour and a half he laid bare our evils and their author.¹ I have more satisfaction in this voice on our side than in that of any politician. So little am I prepared for my new fellowship!

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¹ Mr. Webster. This address of Mr. Emerson was not published; but he followed the same line of thought in his treatment of the Fugitive Slave law and Mr. Webster at the Tabernacle in New York, March 7, 1854. Emerson's Works, vol. xi. pp. 205–230.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 252

Senator Charles Sumner to John Jay, May 23, 1851

My aim, while attending to all the duties of my post, will be to do something to secure a hearing for our cause; and I wish in advance to bespeak the counsels of our friends, though I feel that in the last moment much must be left to my own personal discretion. As a stranger to the Senate and to all legislative bodies, I regard it to be my first duty to understand the body in which I have a seat before rushing into its contests.

SOURCE: Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner, Vol. 3, p. 252