Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2

[205] the law of nations—says that the officer shall not be liable in damages, provided he had probable cause to suspect the ship of being liable to capture. Probable cause is a sufficient defence for any marine tort.

To Dr. Channing he wrote, March 31, 1842:—

I ought to apologize for the freedom with which I have marked the proofs and appended notes.¹ Believe me, I do not presume upon the value of any of the suggestions I have ventured to make, but offer them only for the consideration of your better judgment, if you have time and inclination to look at them.

To his brother George he wrote, April 1, 1842:—

Dr. Channing has put forth a glorious pamphlet on the “Creole,” in reply to Webster's sophistical despatch. One feels proud of being a countryman of Channing. His spirit is worthy of the Republic, and does us honor abroad. His is a noble elevation, which makes the pulses throb. The paltry, uncertain, shifting principles of Webster's letter are unworthy of him. The question of slavery is getting to be the absorbing one among us; and growing out of this is that other of the Union. People now talk about the value of the Union, and the North has begun to return the taunts of the South.

To his brother Henry he wrote, April 14, 1842:—

We have just heard that you are bound for Havana; perhaps at this moment you are frying under the West India sun. We are all well, as we have been for months. You know Mary has not been strong. She has been obliged to abandon her studies; but I think she has been gaining in strength for some time. Julia is very studious and attentive. She is growing up to be a delightful and most lovable person. At the last news from George, he was in Paris and about to go to Spain. I wish he would think of turning his face homewards. ... Longfellow sails for France the 24th April. I shall miss him very much.

To Henry W. Longfellow, New York.²

Court Street, Saturday, April 23, 1842.

dear Henry,—Will this parting word reach you? I write, not knowing; but the chance of again uttering a word to your soul before you descend upon the sea is enough. We are all sad at your going; but I am more sad than the rest, for I lose more than they do. I am desolate. It was to me a source of pleasure and strength untold to see you; and, when I did not see you, to feel that you were near, with your swift sympathy and kindly words. I must try to go alone,—hard necessity in this rude world of ours! for our souls always, in this life, need support and gentle beckonings, as the little child when first trying to move away from its mother's knee. God bless you,