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Browsing named entities in Charles Congdon, Tribune Essays: Leading Articles Contributing to the New York Tribune from 1857 to 1863. (ed. Horace Greeley).

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January (search for this): chapter 10
ite, and often advanced the most indefensible opinions in language of more than sophomorical elegance. When at his worst in public policy, he was most dulcet in his demeanor; and he vetoed necessary measures with commendable suavity. Mr. Buchanan, we regret to observe, is rather snappish, and too much inclined to snub the humble petitioners who approach the throne. The different characters of the last and of the present President may receive illustration from the following facts: Last January, when Mr. Pierce was about to retire from the presidential glees and glooms, he received from the American Bible Society a copy of the Holy Scriptures, as a token of their high regard for the office which he held. We do not know to whom the Society could more appropriately have made the donation than to one who, during his administration of public affairs, was singularly unmindful of many of the teachings of The Book. Uncharitable people might say that Mr. Pierce's case was like that of t
January 1st (search for this): chapter 9
thank the enemy who devised this scandal, for it has procured him several of the strongest puffs which he ever received in his life, and that, too, just in the nick of time. It seems that of all the diplomatic body he is the pet of the Emperor, and also (in a strictly Platonic way) of the Empress. Whether, like Mary of Argyle, he is loved for his beauty, but not for that alone, we cannot say; but of the affection there can be no doubt. Here is the certificate: I know that on the 1st of January last, when the Emperor received all the foreign dignitaries, he greeted the American minister in the most cordial manner ; and after expressing his best wishes for the continuance of good feeling between the two governments, concluded by hoping that he (Mr. Mason) would remain at his court for the coming four years. These words were heard by the Russian Embassador, who told our Minister that it was his duty to repeat the words thus addressed to him in his official capacity, to his Govern
January 1st (search for this): chapter 80
ng to the doctrine of the Negrophobist, the West India Blacks should have cut every Englishman's throat — and the worst that Thomas Carlyle, in his diabolical hatred of the African, can say is, that while he can get pumpkins for nothing, the Freedman will not dig potatoes! This the sternest moralist will admit is something less than the murders, rapes, and arsons which should have followed that memorable First of August, and which we are invited to believe will follow our own memorable First of January. For ourselves, if we are to be guided in our present duties by the precedents of the past, we prefer to select our own examples, and to draw our own conclusions. If the latest English newspapers come to us freighted with sarcastic sneers at the Emancipation of the American Slave, we can read them with equanimity, when we remember that Mr. Dundas, in 1792, proposed, in Parliament, the Emancipation of the British Blacks — that Mr. Burke proposed a bill for the same great purpose — th<
January 1st (search for this): chapter 89
e of a sublime consistency. If it must serve mammon, let us be thankful that it does not pretend to serve God! If it must ignore consistency, it should have the credit of a frank advertisement of its renunciation. What it thinks upon, the first of January it thinks for the first of January, and by no means for the second. Its avowed business is not to speak the truth, but to bull this stock and to bear that. This being understood, why should we be angry with it? All that can be said of itfirst of January, and by no means for the second. Its avowed business is not to speak the truth, but to bull this stock and to bear that. This being understood, why should we be angry with it? All that can be said of it is, that it follows its instincts, and that its instincts are commercial. It does a wholesale business in a retail way. Who blames it? Who blames the Calmucks for eating raw horse-meat? Who blames the cannibal of Sumatra for eating cooked man-meat?--not because he likes it — for he is very careful to tell the traveler that he does not like it — he only devours it as a religious duty — only that he may propitiate the god of war by masticating, swallowing and digesting the slain. He does not <
January 12th (search for this): chapter 32
ut the question? Like it! We tell you that they pine and pant to be persecuted; they prefer to be wounded; they will be much obliged to the gentleman who may shoot them; wounds will be welcome; gore will be glorious; houselessness sweeter than hospitality. A long and bloody war looms before the rolling eye of the editor of The Yorkville (S. C.) Enquirer as the sun-rise of the millennium. An ounce of lead in his clavicle would, we fancy, materially mitigate his ardor. It was upon Saturday, Jan. 12, while hundreds were engaged in training with pistol and rifle, the afternoon being, as we are told, vocal with the music of preparation, that the diarist made the following entry: If it were conceivable that all our men could be killed, South Carolina need not despair; her women can defend her! The imagination is thus carried back to the Amazonian regiments, to the petticoated squadrons of the King of Dahomey, to Boadicea and Joan of Are. It is rather a drawback to find that the Lady
March 27th (search for this): chapter 92
t of trials, the Rebels gathered together with thanksgiving; and now in their prosperity, they propose to fast! There has been nothing like this since Sheridan cried at Cumberland's comedies and laughed at his tragedies. We sadly fear that Mr. Jefferson Davis's theological education has been neglected. As there may be some religious patriarchs in like condition, and who may have doubts of their ability to fast, in a genteel, orthodox and acceptable manner, we advise them, before the 27th of March, which is the day appointed, to take a few lessons of their niggers. Many of these are great adepts, through sad and involuntary experience, in the ascetic art of fasting; many of them are living monuments of the ability of man to exist upon next to nothing; and most of them have quite as much religion, to say the least of it, as their masters. Let Mr. Davis and his friends apply at the quarter-houses of the men-servants and maid-servants, as brother Davis calls them, for all necessary
May 1st (search for this): chapter 57
t Concord and Lexington; and we believe overcoats were rather than else discarded at Bunker Hill. We know something about warm weather up here, planted as we are in close proximity to the North Pole. We beg leave to assure our brother of The Confederacy that we do not go in bear-skins the year round. Exudation will not be a phenomenon altogether new to us. We have that rarity, the hottest day of the season, even in these latitudes. What says the poet, Dr. Holmes? The folks that on the first of May, Wore winter-coats and hose, Began to say, the first of June, Good Lord, how hot it grows! And that was in Boston, the very nursery and ague-paradise of North-Easters. If ninety degrees above, in the shade, were necessarily fatal, we should have a very dying time here in New York every Summer. One set of dog-days would leave Manhattan a desert. Yet, somehow, by virtue of straw hats, linen coats, and ice at discretion, we do, some of us, survive surpassingly high temperatures. We
May 28th (search for this): chapter 20
A Church going into business. Yes, and such a business! None of your vulgar huckstering! your piddler-pedlery! your small barter of such insignificant commodities as rice, cotton, corn or tobacco! Had the General Assembly of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, which met at Evansville, Indiana, on the 28th of May, A. D. 1859, speculated in steamboats, or sold plantations, or played bull or bear with dubious stocks, somebody might have protested against making God's house a house of merchandise; but the Assembly, jealous of its dignity and emulous of ecclesiastical decorum, traded in nothing meaner than men, and thus preserved from the scandal of a censorious world the respectability of Cumberland Christianity. This is more pleasing to the fastidious mind, because, as we perceive, a decent demeanor before the world is rigidly inculcated by the Cumberland creed, the professors of which were warned by the Moderator, just before the adjournment, to walk circumspectly before the c
June (search for this): chapter 57
. Wait 'till the mercury bobs up to above eighty degrees in the shade! Confederate valor is of a dormouse variety. Just now, Chivalry is hybernating! Poor Tom's a-cold! He can't be expected to thaw into invincibility until about the middle of June. Then he will come out, like a polar bear, lean but ferocious. Then, says The Confederacy, he will revel in his tropical glory. He is never irresistibly savage until he sweats. He cannot be valorous save in his shirt-sleeves. In hot weather he in their bones. Somehow, we can not think of our gallant fellows advancing with fans in one hand and the rifle in the other. Thus far in more than one fight, they have shown themselves cool enough. We hope it will not be entirely different in June. It is curious to notice the fatuity with which the Rebels rely upon Hot Weather and the Yellow Fever. It would be still more curious to see them upon their knees praying for a pestilence-supplicating for miasma-beseeching Heaven to change the
June 1st (search for this): chapter 57
than else discarded at Bunker Hill. We know something about warm weather up here, planted as we are in close proximity to the North Pole. We beg leave to assure our brother of The Confederacy that we do not go in bear-skins the year round. Exudation will not be a phenomenon altogether new to us. We have that rarity, the hottest day of the season, even in these latitudes. What says the poet, Dr. Holmes? The folks that on the first of May, Wore winter-coats and hose, Began to say, the first of June, Good Lord, how hot it grows! And that was in Boston, the very nursery and ague-paradise of North-Easters. If ninety degrees above, in the shade, were necessarily fatal, we should have a very dying time here in New York every Summer. One set of dog-days would leave Manhattan a desert. Yet, somehow, by virtue of straw hats, linen coats, and ice at discretion, we do, some of us, survive surpassingly high temperatures. We do not call ourselves absolute salamanders — nor Shadrachs,
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