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ty never before exhibited. Members of Congress went armed in the streets and sat with loaded revolvers in their desks. It was in this state of popular feeling and during the debate on Kansas affairs that Mr. Sumner delivered, on the 19th and 20th of May, his speech on the Crime against Kansas. It was marked by the usual characteristics of his more elaborate efforts, exhibiting great affluence of learning, faithful research and great rhetorical finish and force. It was, in the words of Whittier, a grand and terrible philippic, worthy of the great occasion; the severe and awful truth, which the sharp agony of the national crisis demanded. The speech bore the marks of a determined purpose to make it exhaustive and complete; as impregnable in argument and cogent in rhetoric as it could be made by the materials at his command, and by the author's acknowledged ability to use them. He summoned largely to his aid the power of language, and his words became things. He divided his sub
C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874., Section Seventh: return to the Senate. (search)
f the Free States, and only 16 of the Slave States. Of the poets whose place of birth appears in Read's Female Poets of America, 71 are of the Free States, and only 11 of the Slave States. If we try authors by weight or quality, it is the same as when we try them by numbers. Out of the Free States come all whose works have a place in the permanent literature of the country, —Irving, Prescott, Sparks, Bancroft, Emerson, Motley, Hildreth, Hawthorne; also, Bryant, Longfellow, Dana, Halleck, Whittier, Lowell,— and I might add indefinitely to the list. But what name from the Slave States can find entrance there? A similar disproportion appears in the number of Patents, during the last three years, 1857, 1858, and 1859, attesting the inventive industry of the contrasted regions. In the Free States there were 9,557; in the Slave States, 1,306: making a difference of 8,251 in favor of Freedom. The number in Free Massachusetts was 1,351; in Slave South Carolina, 39. The number in Free
f the Free States, and only 16 of the Slave States. Of the poets whose place of birth appears in Read's Female Poets of America, 71 are of the Free States, and only 11 of the Slave States. If we try authors by weight or quality, it is the same as when we try them by numbers. Out of the Free States come all whose works have a place in the permanent literature of the country, —Irving, Prescott, Sparks, Bancroft, Emerson, Motley, Hildreth, Hawthorne; also, Bryant, Longfellow, Dana, Halleck, Whittier, Lowell,— and I might add indefinitely to the list. But what name from the Slave States can find entrance there? A similar disproportion appears in the number of Patents, during the last three years, 1857, 1858, and 1859, attesting the inventive industry of the contrasted regions. In the Free States there were 9,557; in the Slave States, 1,306: making a difference of 8,251 in favor of Freedom. The number in Free Massachusetts was 1,351; in Slave South Carolina, 39. The number in Free
C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874., Section Eighth: the war of the Rebellion. (search)
iefly in its company to the literary men of London. Among the good things of that evening was a short poem written for the occasion by Wm. Beattie, M. D., the gifted and well-known author of Scotland Illustrated, etc. I do not know if it has been published. I remember some of the stanzas. It is an address from England's Poets to the Poets of America. Your Garrison has faun'd the flame, Child, Chapman, Pierpont, caught the fire, And, roused at Freedom's hallow'd name, Hark! Bryant, Whittier, strike the lyre; While here hearts myriad trumpet-toned, Montgomery, Cowper, Campbell, Moore, To Freedom's glorious cause respond, In sounds which thrill through every core. Their voice has conjured up a power No fears can daunt, no foes arrest, Which gathers strength with every hour And strikes a chord in every breast,— A power that soon in every land— On Europe's shore, on ocean's flood— Shall smite the oppressors of mankind And blast the traffickers in blood. Oh, where should<
iefly in its company to the literary men of London. Among the good things of that evening was a short poem written for the occasion by Wm. Beattie, M. D., the gifted and well-known author of Scotland Illustrated, etc. I do not know if it has been published. I remember some of the stanzas. It is an address from England's Poets to the Poets of America. Your Garrison has faun'd the flame, Child, Chapman, Pierpont, caught the fire, And, roused at Freedom's hallow'd name, Hark! Bryant, Whittier, strike the lyre; While here hearts myriad trumpet-toned, Montgomery, Cowper, Campbell, Moore, To Freedom's glorious cause respond, In sounds which thrill through every core. Their voice has conjured up a power No fears can daunt, no foes arrest, Which gathers strength with every hour And strikes a chord in every breast,— A power that soon in every land— On Europe's shore, on ocean's flood— Shall smite the oppressors of mankind And blast the traffickers in blood. Oh, where should<
C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874., Section Eleventh: his death, and public honors to his memory. (search)
telling them that an enemy had been removed from the face of the earth. To-day, they will read it regretfully, and their comment will be, He was a great man, he was an honest man; as he has forgiven us, so have we long ago forgiven him. John G. Whittier to a personal friend— The dear and noble Sumner! My heart is too full for words, and in deepest sympathy of sorrow I reach out my hands to thee, who loved him so well. He has died as he wished to, at his post of duty, and when the hear noble deeds; but there was one class of American citizens who had written his name on the living monuments of their hearts. He meant that class for whose welfare he labored, suffered, and died. In the language of his life-long friend, John Greenleaf Whittier, those millions recently crowned with the blessings of liberty and enfranchisement, as they shall think of their departed friend, they will say:— We'll think of thee, O brother! And thy sainted name shall be In the blessings of the capti
telling them that an enemy had been removed from the face of the earth. To-day, they will read it regretfully, and their comment will be, He was a great man, he was an honest man; as he has forgiven us, so have we long ago forgiven him. John G. Whittier to a personal friend— The dear and noble Sumner! My heart is too full for words, and in deepest sympathy of sorrow I reach out my hands to thee, who loved him so well. He has died as he wished to, at his post of duty, and when the hear noble deeds; but there was one class of American citizens who had written his name on the living monuments of their hearts. He meant that class for whose welfare he labored, suffered, and died. In the language of his life-long friend, John Greenleaf Whittier, those millions recently crowned with the blessings of liberty and enfranchisement, as they shall think of their departed friend, they will say:— We'll think of thee, O brother! And thy sainted name shall be In the blessings of the capti
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To David Lee Child. (search)
early wrenched from the bush and two of the eggs on the ground. They were still warm, so I replaced them, righted the nest and fastened it to the twigs with strings. To my great surprise she returned to her patient labor of incubation. ... Mrs. S. returned on Friday, and I went as far as Boston with her. The day was so intensely hot that I regretted having put my head into the city. But as I was toiling along I heard a voice behind me exclaim, Maria Child! I turned and recognized John G. Whittier. He said he had missed the cars by some mistake, but now he felt the disappointment was providential; he had for a long time so wanted to see me. I could not bear to go into the office where I had been accustomed to take my friends. I knew the empty chair of that dear lost friend Ellis Gray Loring. would be too much for me. So I asked him into H.'s office, and there we chatted an hour. Mrs. S. regretted your absence, left kind remembrances for you, and told me I was a happy woman
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), Lines to L. M. Child, in response to her verses on the death of Elis Gray Loring. (search)
Lines to L. M. Child, in response to her verses on the death of Elis Gray Loring. John G. Whittier. The sweet spring day is glad with music, But through it sounds a sadder strain, The worthiest of our narrowing circle Sings Loring's dirges o'er again. O woman greatly loved I join thee In tender memories of our friend; With thee across the awful spaces, The greeting of a soul I send. What cheer hath he? How is it with him? Where lingers he this weary while? Over what pleasant fields of heaven Dawns the sweet sunshine of his smile? Does he not know our feet are treading The earth hard down on Slavery's grave? That in our crowning exultations We miss the charm his presence gave? Why on this spring air comes no whisper From him to tell us all is well? Why to our flower time comes no token Of lily and of asphodel? I feel the unutterable longing, Thy hunger of the heart is mine; I reach and grasp for hands in darkness, My ear grows sharp for voice or sign. Still on the lips of all we
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To John G. Whittier. (search)
To John G. Whittier. Wayland, September 10, 1861. Dear friend Whittier,--. .. Nothing on earth has such effect on the popular heart as songs, which the soldiers would take up with enthusiasm, and which it would thereby become the fashion to whistle and sing at the street corners. Old John Brown, Hallelujah! is performing a wonderful mission now. Where the words came from, nobody knows, and the tune is an exciting, spirit-stirring thing, hitherto unknown outside of Methodist conventicles. But it warms up soldiers and boys, and the air is full of it; just as France was of the Marseillaise, whose author was for years unknown. If the soldiers only had a song, to some spirit-stirring tune, proclaiming what they went to fight for, or thought they went to fight for,--for home, country and liberty, and indignantly announcing that they did not go to hunt slaves, to send back to their tyrants poor lacerated workmen who for years had been toiling for the rich without wages; if they had
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