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for him—served him right!’
When the speaker saw such a man as Charles Sumner, pursued for a lifetime by all the hounds of the political kennels, buried under a mountain of flowers and amid a great national requiem, he saw what a hypocritical thing was human favor!
We take a quarter of a century in trying to pull down his fame, and the next quarter of a century in attempting to build his monument.
Either we were wrong then, or are wrong now.
Rev. E. O. Hazen—
In culture and in acquaintance with the works of the past and with the men of the past he stood, perhaps, without a peer in this country; but his great characteristic was fidelity to what he believed to be right.
Early he came to the conclusion that his great nation possessed a pure, healthy constitution, and that the greatest evil under which the nation suffered was exceptional; that it was not an integral part of our political economy, and that properly worked, our nation could cast out that evil without a revolution and without any radical change in its organic character; and he resolved that his life should be devoted to that work; and he was successful.
Had there not been some men to do the work of Charles Sumner, there never would have been the call for such a man as Abraham Lincoln, and never would this great work have been wrought out. Though he was not seemingly endowed with that wondrous, strange, magnetic power that calls out the love of individuals for himself in an extraordinary degree, he will be followed to his grave especially with the tears of that race which he was the instrument in the hands of God so greatly of blessing.
Rev. Dr. Macarthur, Colored Baptist Church, New York—
We shall not again see another Sumner in our halls of legislation.
The school to which he belonged is a thing of the past.
We have men now of a narrower gauge, a lower tone and a feebler grasp; men who may be sharp and shrewd, but who certainly are not broad, comprehensive and scholarly.
The princely form of the great Senator we shall see no more; the fine, full, melodious voice is silent forever.
One day he is in his place, a leader and king among men; the next day he is numbered among the dead.
One day Canon Kingsley speaks loving words with him in Washington; the next evening Canon Kingsley in Brooklyn speaks loving words of him, and mourns him dead.
He has fallen crowned with honor—an apostle of liberty—a martyr of freedom.
