C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874.

1 In ‘My War Note-Book,’ Ms., I find the following—Jan. 1862—about parties and feeling in Washington—Cloaked Foes—Croakers, and all other Secessionists. No war ever began with greater unanimity. The mighty heart of the people leaped at a single bound, from its full but tranquil pulsations, into the wild and hurried beatings of a continental enthusiasm. From the bleak hill-sides of New England, from the shores of the ocean lakes of the North, from the undulating prairies of the distant West, from the crowded marts of commerce, and from ten thousand hamlets of peace and plenty, a million men went rushing to avenge the insulted honor of the nation, and to plant once more on our outer battlements the fallen standard of the Republic.

The flow of that current was irresistible; everything gave way to the tramp of the embattled hosts. It was no time for trifling, nor for triflers. The secret foe of the Union kept his own counsel. The men whose hearts were with the parricides of the Fatherland stood back from the on-rolling tide, and cursed the gathering tempest. But the horde of politicians, who had retired in sullen disappointment from the late Presidential election, with hearts all covered with gangrene, and pockets once filled, but now emptied of the rewards of corruption and crime,— many of these seized the first chance that invited to new scenes of robbery and peculation.

The politicians of all parties, en masse, adopted the war, and they carried it on to its last day. They, at least, ‘made a good thing out of it,’ as they said.

But this greedy horde could not all be satisfied. There were not green things enough for all the locusts; there were not lambs enough for the whole pack of wolves. They were not patriotic enough to fight anywhere except at an election; —they were too lazy to work, and they must eat, and most of them drink—a great deal. There were not commissions enough in the army, nor sinecures in civil life, for even the more ‘decent’ of this class; and finally, when the war had been inaugurated into a grand, solemn fact, and it rose up to the gaze of the world in all its stupendous proportions, black with treason, and smoking with blood unrighteously shed,—this unpaid, unbribed, unwashed locust-swarm seized the first occasion to disparage the administration, and to exaggerate the ill fortune, and condemn the management of the war.

Every disappointed seeker for office began to ‘doubt how the thing would come out.’ Day by day he shook his head despairingly; and when he was finally told to ‘get out of the way, and be off’ with himself, he swore, in the holy indignation of his soul, that ‘the generals were all fools, the Cabinet all rascals, and Old Abe a &c.’

Then the Secessionists proper. Washington swarmed with them. They were never asleep. Well might a member of Mr. Davis's cabal, in writing to a friend there (the letter was intercepted), say, ‘The Lincolnites may rest assured we shall only alarm their capital. We do not want it. It is of more use to us in their hands. It answers all our purposes. Our friends are there, and they are doing their work.’ They were, and they found no lack of coadjutors or agents in any department: while their sympathizers were slyly gliding from salon to salon in every hotel where the best society held its conversazzioni.

So, too, was it in the private houses of the rich. Washington had always been a Southern city. Now it was A secession Capital. Its society had always been of the Southern type. There were wealth, taste, pride, gallantry, beauty, pleasure, and somewhat of the abandon which we recognize the nearer we go to the tropics. Few of the rich families of the North came here, fewer still lived here. All the richest families of the South did both. Washington they looked upon as their Northern home. Here all the Foreign Embassies were established, and spasmodic efforts were made to have and hold a Republican court.

But over it all was spread the slime of Slavery. The population was made up of Foreign Ministers, Heads of Department, Members of Congress, Judges of the Supreme Court, old dowagers and wives of absent officers, poor clerks, ‘poor whites,’ shiftless and lazy negroes, and still poorer and lazier office-seekers.

Once rid of the atmosphere reeking with the slave-lash and the bowie-knife, which the politics and politicians of the South had infused into Washington, there came the first hope of Society in the capital. It was the only capital of any nation without society. I need not say that by society I mean intercourse between that body of men and women who represent the highest culture and intelligence, the greatest refinement, delicacy, and blandishments of women, the loftiest standard of honor and chivalry in men, the fullest appreciation of learning, art, and beauty to which a nation has attained. To be society worthy of the name, such reunions must represent the best civilization of the people. In later days, such society has not been seen in Washington. Its palmy days passed away with the graceful regime of Ladies Washington, Madison, Hamilton, Sedgwick, Bingham, and that glorious company of superb women who lent the fascinations of wit, taste, and beauty to adorn the early days of the Republic.

But through the medium of such society as we have had, the virus of practical secession has been industriously injected, and in all its subtlest forms. It has worn chameleon hues; it has borrowed, for the time, all the lights and shadows that lay within its reach.

In one coterie, severe criticisms were passed on generals at the head of their armies; and, with all the eagerness of cormorant birds snuffing the carrion from afar, they seized the first discouraging rumor floating on the idle wind, and blew the gentlest breeze into a tempest.

If a secession woman had a husband, or brother, or lover, who had been refused a commission in the army, she did not hesitate to predict ‘the final failure of the Yankee cause, and the ultimate triumph of the chivalric sons of the South,’ ‘the dear, sunny South.’

And thus indignant crinoline, which had flirted in vain for a lover by being patriotic, became secesh when sailing in disloyal waters.

In another circle of men, or women, or both (all of the upper classes, so called), serious and downcast looks were seen, and to every new visitor the ‘deep and painful regret’ was expressed ‘lest Mr. Lincoln might be going too far in making his arrests;’ ‘and are they not arbitrary? And then to take gentlemen from their offices, and even from their sleeping-chambers, and convey them to a distant city, and plunge them into a foul prison, tenanted by felons and haunted by rats! And then think of General Butler! that vulgar Yankee! who published one of his tyrannical edicts, and placarded the insult on every corner of the Crescent City, to the ladies of New Orleans’—!

And yet these same ‘gentle angels’ were at the time besieging President and Secretaries for a commission for——, ‘a brave and gallant fellow, who had rendered such signal services to the Federal cause, and longed so earnestly to put the old flag back where it once waved so proudly.’

This class of females have shown an alacrity and cleverness in their management in Washington which would have been admirable in any honest cause. But they were completely outdone by the artistes of the secession drama. Some few, sprightly, sharp-witted, and—as the world goes—charming women, undertook the more difficult parts. They were in no hot haste to win. They were looking for the main chance,—to fail once or twice, perhaps, but to win at last.

Never did Paul Morphy move chess-men with more studied care; never did he conceal more completely every line of expression in his face; never did his heart palpitate with half the excitement, while making his decisive and finishing play.

These women of the world watched every expression in the eyes of their listeners, and measured every gesture they made before the men who, meeting them by design or accident, swelled the retinue of their impoverished but pretentious court.

Nothing but well-merited severity, visited at the right time and on the right heads, broke up this den of she-vipers that were striking their deadly fangs into the vitals of the Republic. There was squirming and hissing, but the den, was finally broken up.

All these subtle agencies of secession worked harmoniously with bolder and more public demonstrations of disloyalty. In both Houses of Congress, men no better than South Carolina traitors (often not half so bad, and always more dangerous, unblushingly reviled the Union, laughed the Republic to scorn, and trod the holy traditions of our common-wealth into the dust.

These traitors were allowed to play the part of Catiline in open House,—in open Senate,—in the streets,—most of all, in that loud-mouthed, blatant talk which is deemed eloquence in bar-rooms, but bad manners in decent society, and treason anywhere.

And one of the chief themes of noisy discourse—illegal arrests! Why illegal? Is it illegal to arrest the murderer of a man? And is it not legal and just to seize and incarcerate the villain who is contemplating the wholesale murder of the friends of the nation—the defenders of its Union,—the protectors of its peace,—its nationality and life? Is violence to be the law? Is the wretch who brandishes the torch of the incendiary recklessly, and scatters fire, arrows, and death through peaceful and loyal communities, to go on in his dreadful mission unchecked, unmanacled, unchained?

If such men escape justice, where can good citizens look for it?

If the severity of Mr. Lincoln is complained of by treason—hatchers or treasonmongers, how infinite must be the all-forgiving benevolence of that much-abused man!

No! no! a thousand times No! No blood rests on that troubled head.