THE GREELEY CAMPAIGN--1872
Having finished my duties on the Santo Domingo
Commission, I returned to the University in May
of 1871, devoted myself again to my duties as president
and professor, and, in the mass of arrears which had
accumulated, found ample occupation. I also delivered
various addresses at universities, colleges, and elsewhere,
keeping as remote from politics as possible.
In June, visiting New York in order to take part in a
dinner given by various journalists and others to my
classmate and old friend, George Washburne Smalley, at
that time the London correspondent of the ``New York
Tribune,'' I met, for the first time, Colonel John Hay,
who was in the full tide of his brilliant literary career and
who is, as I write this, Secretary of State of the United
States. His clear, thoughtful talk strongly impressed me,
but the most curious circumstance connected with the affair
was that several of us on the way to Delmonico's
stopped for a time to observe the public reception given to
Mr. Horace Greeley on his return from a tour through the
Southern States. Mr. Greeley, undoubtedly from the
purest personal and patriotic motives, had, with other
men of high standing, including Gerrit Smith, attached
his name to the bail bond of Jefferson Davis, which
released the ex-president of the Confederacy from prison,
and, in fact, freed him entirely from anything like
punishment for treason. I have always admired Mr. Greeley's
honesty and courage in doing this. Doubtless, too, an
equally patriotic and honest desire to aid in bringing
North and South together after the war led him to take
an extensive tour through sundry Southern States. He
had just returned from this tour and this reception was
given him in consequence.
It had already been noised abroad that there was a
movement on foot to make him a candidate for the Presidency,
and many who knew the characteristics of the man,
even those who, like myself, had been greatly influenced
by him and regarded him as by far the foremost editorial
writer that our country had ever produced, looked upon
this idea with incredulity. For of all patriotic men in
the entire country who had touched public affairs Horace
Greeley seemed the most eminently unfit for executive
duties. He was notoriously, in business matters, the
easy prey of many who happened to get access to him;--
the ``long-haired men and short-haired women'' of the
country seemed at times to have him entirely under their
sway; his hard-earned money, greatly needed by himself
and his family, was lavished upon ne'er-do-weels and cast
into all sorts of impracticable schemes. He made loans
to the discarded son of the richest man whom the United
States had at that time produced, and in every way
showed himself an utterly incompetent judge of men. It
was a curious fact that lofty as were his purposes, and
noble as were his main characteristics, the best men of
the State--men like Seward, Weed, Judge Folger, Senator
Andrews, General Leavenworth, Elbridge Spaulding, and
other really thoughtful, solid, substantial advisers of
the Republican party--were disliked by him, and yet no
other reason could be assigned than this:--that while they
all admired him as a writer, they could not be induced to
pretend that they considered him fit for high executive
office, either in the State or Nation. On the other hand,
so far as politics were concerned, his affections seemed to
be lavished on politicians who flattered and coddled him.
Of this the rise of Governor Fenton was a striking
example. Doubtless there were exceptions to this rule, but
it was the rule nevertheless. This was clearly and indeed
comically shown at the reception given him in Union
Square on the evening referred to. Mr. Greeley appeared
at a front window of a house on the Broadway side and
came out upon a temporary platform. His appearance
is deeply stamped upon my memory. He was in a rather
slouchy evening dress, his white hair thrown back off his
splendid forehead, and his broad, smooth, kindly features
as serene as the face of a big, well-washed baby.
There was in his appearance something at the same time
na<i:>ve and impressive, and the simplicity of it was
increased by a bouquet, huge and gorgeous, which some
admirer had attached to his coat, and which forced upon
the mind of a reflective observer the idea of a victim
adorned for sacrifice.
He gave scant attention to his audience in the way of
ceremonial greeting, and plunged at once into his subject;
--beginning in a high, piping, falsetto voice which, for a
few moments, was almost painful. But the value of his
matter soon overcame the defects of his manner; the
speech was in his best vein; it struck me as the best, on the
whole, I had ever heard him make, and that is saying
much. Holding in his hands a little package of
cards on which notes were jotted down, he occasionally
cast his eyes upon them, but he evidently trusted to the
inspiration of the hour for his phrasing, and his trust was
not misplaced. I never heard a more simple, strong,
lucid use of the English language than was his on that
occasion. The speech was a very noble plea for the restoration
of good feeling between North and South, with an
effort to show that the distrust felt by the South toward
the North was natural. In the course of it he said in
substance:
``Fellow Citizens: The people of the South have much
reason to distrust us. We have sent among them during
the war and since the war, to govern them, to hold office
among them, and to eat out their substance, a number of
worthless adventurers whom they call ``carpet-baggers.''
These emissaries of ours pretend to be patriotic and pious;
they pull long faces and say `Let us pray'; but they spell
it p-r-E-y. The people of the South hate them, and they
ought to hate them.''
At this we in the audience looked at each other in
amazement; for, standing close beside Mr. Greeley, at
that very moment, most obsequiously, was perhaps the
worst ``carpet-bagger'' ever sent into the South; a man
who had literally been sloughed off by both parties;--
who, having been become an unbearable nuisance in New
York politics, had been ``unloaded'' by Mr. Lincoln, in an
ill-inspired moment, upon the hapless South, and who was
now trying to find new pasture.
But this was not the most comical thing; for Mr.
Greeley in substance continued as follows:
``Fellow Citizens: You know how it is yourselves.
There are men who go to your own State Capitol, nominally
as legislators or advisers, but really to plunder and
steal. These men in the Northern States correspond to the
`carpet-baggers' in the Southern States, and you hate
them and you ought to hate them.'' Thus speaking, Mr.
Greeley poured out the vials of his wrath against all this
class of people; blissfully unconscious of the fact that on
the other side of him stood the most notorious and corrupt
lobbyist who had been known in Albany for years;--
a man who had been chased out of that city by the sheriff
for attempted bribery, had been obliged to remain for a
considerable time in hiding to avoid criminal charges of
exerting corrupt influence on legislation, and whom both
political parties naturally disowned. Comical as all this
was, it was pathetic to see a man like Greeley in such a
cave of Adullam.
During this summer of 1871 occurred the death of
one of my dearest friends, a man who had exercised a
most happy influence over my opinions and who had
contributed much to the progress of anti-slavery ideas in
New England and New York. This was the Rev.
Samuel Joseph May, pastor of the Unitarian Church in
Syracuse, a friend and associate of Emerson, Garrison,
Phillips, Gerrit Smith, and one of the noblest, truest, and
most beautiful characters I have ever known.
Having seen the end of slavery, and being about eighty
years of age, he felt deeply that his work was done, and
thenceforward declared that he was happy in the idea
that his life on this planet was soon to end. I have never
seen, save in the case of the Hicksite Quaker at Ann
Arbor, referred to elsewhere, such a living faith in the
reality of another world. Again and again Mr. May said
to me in the most cheerful way imaginable, ``I am as much
convinced of the existence of a future state as of these
scenes about me, and, to tell you the truth, now that my
work here is ended, I am becoming very curious to know
what the next stage of existence is like.'' On the afternoon
of the 1st of July I paid him a visit, found him much
wearied by a troublesome chronic complaint, but contented,
cheerful, peaceful as ever.
Above him as he lay in his bed was a portrait which I
had formerly seen in his parlor. Thereby hung a curious
tale. Years before, at the very beginning of Mr. May's
career, he had been a teacher in the town of Canterbury,
Connecticut, when Miss Prudence Crandall was persecuted,
arrested, and imprisoned for teaching colored children.
Mr. May had taken up her case earnestly, and, with the aid
of Mr. Lafayette Foster, afterward president of the United
States Senate, had fought it out until the enemies of Miss
Crandall were beaten. As a memorial of this activity of
his, Mr. May received this large, well painted portrait of
Miss Crandall, and it was one of his most valued possessions.
On the afternoon referred to, after talking about
various other matters most cheerfully, and after I had told
him that we could not spare him yet, that we needed him at
least ten years longer, he laughingly said, ``Can't you
compromise on one year?'' ``No,'' I said, ``nothing less
than ten years. ``Thereupon he laughed pleasantly, called
his daughter, Mrs. Wilkinson, and said, ``Remember;
when I am gone this portrait of Prudence Crandall is to
go to Andrew White for Cornell University, where my
anti-slavery books already are.'' As I left him, both of
us were in the most cheerful mood, he appearing better
than during some weeks previous. Next morning I
learned that he had died during the night. The portrait
of Miss Crandall now hangs in the Cornell University Library.
My summer was given up partly to recreation mingled
with duties of various sorts, including an address in honor
of President Woolsey at the Alumni dinner at Yale and
another at the laying of the corner stone of Syracuse
University.
Noteworthy at this period was a dinner with Longfellow
at Cambridge, and I recall vividly his showing me
various places in the Craigie house connected with interesting
passages in the life of Washington when he occupied it.
Early in the autumn, while thus engrossed in everything
but political matters, I received a letter from my
friend Mr. A. B. Cornell, a most energetic and efficient
man in State and national politics, a devoted supporter
of General Grant and Senator Conkling, and afterward
governor of the State of New York, asking me if I would
go to the approaching State convention and accept its
presidency. I wrote him in return expressing my reluctance,
dwelling upon the duties pressing upon me in connection
with the university, and asking to be excused. In
return came a very earnest letter insisting on the
importance of the convention in keeping the Republican party
together, and in preventing its being split into factions
before the approaching presidential election. I had, on
all occasions, and especially at various social gatherings
at which political leaders were present, in New York and
elsewhere, urged the importance of throwing aside all
factious spirit and harmonizing the party in view of the
coming election, and to this Mr. Cornell referred very
earnestly. As a consequence I wrote him that if the
delegates from New York opposed to General Grant could be
admitted to the convention on equal terms with those who
favored him, and if he, Mr. Cornell, and the other managers
of the Grant wing of the party would agree that the
anti-Grant forces should receive full and fair representation
on the various committees, I would accept the presidency
of the convention in the interest of peace between
the factions, and would do my best to harmonize the differing
interests in the party, but that otherwise I would not
consent to be a member of the convention. In his answer
Mr. Cornell fully agreed to this, and I have every reason
to believe, indeed to know, that his agreement was kept.
The day of the convention having arrived (September 27,
1871), Mr. Cornell, as chairman of the Republican State
committee, called the assemblage to order, and after a
somewhat angry clash with the opponents of the administration,
nominated me to the chairmanship of the convention.
By a freak of political fortune I was separated in this
contest from my old friend Chauncey M. Depew; but
though on different sides of the question at issue, we sat
together chatting pleasantly as the vote went on, neither
of us, I think, very anxious regarding it, and when the
election was decided in my favor he was one of those who,
under instructions from the temporary chairman, very
courteously conducted me to the chair. It was an immense
assemblage, and from the first it was evident that there
were very turbulent elements in it. Hardly, indeed, had
I taken my seat, when the chief of the Syracuse police
informed me that there were gathered near the platform
a large body of Tammany roughs who had come from New
York expressly to interfere with the convention, just as
a few years before they had interfered in the same place
with the convention of their own party, seriously wounding
its regular chairman; but that I need have no alarm
at any demonstration they might make; that the police
were fully warned and able to meet the adversary.
In my opening speech I made an earnest plea for peace
among the various factions of the party, and especially
between those who favored and those who opposed the
administration; this plea was received with kindness, and
shortly afterward came the appointment of committees.
Of course, like every other president of such a body, I
had to rely on the standing State committee. Hardly one
man in a thousand coming to the presidency of a State
convention knows enough of the individual leaders of politics
in all the various localities to distinguish between their
shades of opinion. It was certainly impossible for me to
know all those who, in the various counties of the State,
favored General Grant and those who disliked him. Like
every other president of a convention, probably without
an exception, from the beginning to the present hour, I
received the list of the convention committees from the
State committee which represented the party, and I received
this list, not only with implied, but express assurances
that the agreement under which I had taken the
chairmanship had been complied with;--namely, that the
list represented fairly the two wings of the party in
convention, and that both the Grant and the anti-Grant
delegations from New York city were to be admitted on equal
terms.
I had no reason then, and have no reason now, to believe
that the State committee abused my confidence. I feel sure
now, as I felt sure then, that the committee named by me
fairly represented the two wings of the party; but after
their appointment it was perfectly evident that this did
not propitiate the anti-administration wing. They were
deeply angered against the administration by the fact that
General Grant had taken as his adviser in regard to New
York patronage and politics Senator Conkling rather than
Senator Fenton. Doubtless Senator Conkling's manner
in dealing with those opposed to him had made many
enemies who, by milder methods, might have been brought
to the support of the administration. At any rate, it was
soon clear that the anti-administration forces, recognizing
their inferiority in point of numbers, were determined to
secede. This, indeed, was soon formally announced by one
of their leaders; but as they still continued after this
declaration to take part in the discussions, the point of order
was raised that, having formally declared their intention
of leaving the convention, they were no longer entitled to
take part in its deliberations. This point I ruled out,
declaring that I could not consider the anti-administration
wing as outside the convention until they had left it. The
debates grew more and more bitter, Mr. Conkling making,
late at night, a powerful speech which rallied the forces of
the administration and brought them victory. The anti-
administration delegates now left the convention, but before
they did so one of them rose and eloquently tendered
to me as president the thanks of his associates for my
impartiality, saying that it contrasted most honorably with
the treatment they had received from certain other members
of the convention. But shortly after leaving they
held a meeting in another place, and, having evidently
made up their minds that they must declare war against
everybody who remained in the convention, they
denounced us all alike, and the same gentleman who had
made the speech thanking me for my fairness, and who
was very eminent among those who were known as ``Tammany
Republicans,'' now made a most violent harangue
in which he declared that a man who conducted himself
as I had done, and who remained in such an infamous
convention, or had anything to do with it, was ``utterly
unfit to be an instructor of youth.''
Similar attacks continued to appear in the anti-
administration papers for a considerable time afterward, and at
first they were rather trying to me. I felt that nothing
could be more unjust, for I had strained to the last degree
my influence with my associates who supported General
Grant in securing concessions to those who differed from
us. Had these attacks been made by organs of the opposite
political party, I would not have minded them; but
being made in sundry journals which had represented the
Republican party and were constantly read by my old
friends, neighbors, and students, they naturally, for a
time, disquieted me. One of the charges then made has
often amused me as I have looked back upon it since, and
is worth referring to as an example of the looseness of
statement common among the best of American political
journals during exciting political contests. This charge
was that I had ``sought to bribe people to support the
administration by offering them consulates.'' This was
echoed in various parts of the State.
The facts were as follows: An individual who had made
some money as a sutler in connection with the army had
obtained control of a local paper at Syracuse, and, through
the influence thus gained, an election to the lower house of
the State legislature. During the winter which he passed
at Albany he was one of three or four Republicans who
voted with the Democrats in behalf of the measures
proposed by Tweed, the municipal arch-robber afterward
convicted and punished for his crimes against the city of
New York. Just at this particular time Tweed was at the
height of his power, and at a previous session of the
legislature he had carried his measures through the
Assembly by the votes of three or four Republicans who were
needed in addition to the Democratic votes in order to
give him the required majority. Many leading Republican
journals had published the names of these three or
four men with black lines around them, charging them,
apparently justly, with having sold themselves to Tweed
for money, and among them the person above referred
to. Though he controlled a newspaper in Syracuse, he
had been unable to secure renomination to the legislature,
and, shortly afterward, in order to secure rehabilitation
as well as pelf, sought an appointment to the Syracuse
postmastership. Senator Conkling, mindful of the man's
record, having opposed the appointment, and the President
having declined to make it, the local paper under
control of this person turned most bitterly against the
administration, and day after day poured forth diatribes
against the policy and the persons of all connected with
the actual government at Washington, and especially
against President Grant and Senator Conkling.
The editor of the paper at that time was a very gifted
young writer, an old schoolmate and friend of mine, who,
acting under instructions from the managers of the paper,
took a very bitter line against the administration and its
supporters.
About the time of the meeting of the convention this
old friend came to me, expressed his regret at the line he
was obliged to take, said that both he and his wife were
sick of the whole thing and anxious to get out of it, and
added: ``The only way out, that I can see, is some appointment
that will at once relieve me of all these duties, and
in fact take me out of the country. Cannot you aid me by
application to the senator or the President in obtaining a
consulate?'' I answered him laughingly, ``My dear ----,
I will gladly do all I can for you, not only for friendship's
sake, but because I think you admirably fitted for the place
you name; but don't you think that, for a few days at
least, while you are applying for such a position, you
might as well stop your outrageous attacks against the
very men from whom you hope to receive the appointment?''
Having said this, half in jest and half in earnest, I
thought no more on the subject, save as to the best way of
aiding my friend to secure the relief he desired.
So rose the charge that I was ``bribing persons to support
the administration by offering them consulates.''
But strong friends rallied to my support. Mr. George
William Curtis in ``Harper's Weekly,'' Mr. Godkin in
``The Nation,'' Mr. Charles Dudley Warner and others
in various other journals took up the cudgels in my behalf,
and I soon discovered that the attacks rather helped than
hurt me. They did much, indeed, to disgust me for a time
with political life; but I soon found that my friends, my
students, and the country at large understood the charges,
and that they seemed to think more rather than less of me
on account of them. In those days the air was full of that
sort of onslaught upon every one supposed to be friendly
to General Grant, and the effect in one case was revealed
to me rather curiously. Matthew Carpenter, of Wisconsin,
was then one of the most brilliant members of the United
States Senate, a public servant of whom his State was
proud; but he had cordially supported the administration
and was consequently made the mark for bitter attack, day
after day and week after week, by the opposing journals,
and these attacks finally culminated in an attempt to base
a very ugly scandal against him upon what was known
among his friends to be a simple courtesy publicly
rendered to a very worthy lady. The attacks and the scandal
resounded throughout the anti-administration papers,
their evident purpose being to defeat his re<e:>lection to the
United States Senate.
But just before the time for the senatorial election in
Wisconsin, meeting a very bright and active-minded student
of my senior class who came from that State, I asked
him, ``What is the feeling among your people regarding
the re<e:>lection of Senator Carpenter?'' My student
immediately burst into a torrent of wrath and answered: ``The
people of Wisconsin will send Mr. Carpenter back to the
Senate by an enormous majority. We will see if a gang
of newspaper blackguards can slander one of our senators
out of public life.'' The result was as my young friend
had foretold: Mr. Carpenter was triumphantly re<e:>lected.
While I am on this subject I may refer, as a comfort to
those who have found themselves unjustly attacked in
political matters, to two other notable cases within my
remembrance.
Probably no such virulence has ever been known day
after day, year after year, as was shown by sundry presses
of large circulation in their attacks on William H. Seward.
They represented him as shady and tricky; as the lowest
of demagogues; as utterly without conscience or ability;
as pretending a hostility to slavery which was simply
a craving for popularity; they refused to report his
speeches, or, if they did report them, distorted them. He
had also incurred the displeasure of very many leaders
of his own party, and of some of its most powerful presses,
yet he advanced steadily from high position to high
position, and won a lasting and most honorable place in the
history of his country.
The same may be said of Senator Conkling. The attacks
on him in the press were bitter and almost universal;
yet the only visible result was that he was re<e:>lected to the
national Senate by an increased majority. To the catastrophe
which some years later ended his political career,
the onslaught by the newspapers contributed nothing; it
resulted directly from the defects of his own great
qualities and not at all from attacks made upon him from
outside.
Almost from the first moment of my acquaintance with
Mr. Conkling, I had endeavored to interest him in the reform
of the civil service, and at least, if this was not
possible, to prevent his actively opposing it. In this sense
I wrote him various letters. For a time they seemed successful;
but at last, under these attacks, he broke all bounds
and became the bitter opponent of the movement. In his
powerful manner and sonorous voice he from time to time
expressed his contempt for it. The most striking of his
utterances on the subject was in one of the State conventions,
which, being given in his deep, sonorous tones, ran
much as follows: ``When Doctor-r-r Ja-a-awnson said that
patr-r-riotism-m was the l-a-w-s-t r-r-refuge of a scoundr-r-rel,
he ignor-r-red the enor-r-rmous possibilities of
the word r-refa-awr-r-rm!''
The following spring (June 5, 1872) I attended the
Republican National Convention at Philadelphia as a
substitute delegate. It was very interesting and, unlike the
enormous assemblages since of twelve or fifteen thousand
people at Chicago and elsewhere, was a really deliberative
body. As it was held in the Academy of Music, there was
room for a sufficient audience, while there was not room
for a vast mob overpowering completely the members of
the convention and preventing any real discussion at some
most important junctures, as has been the case in so many
conventions of both parties in these latter years.
The most noteworthy features of this convention were
the speeches of sundry colored delegates from the South.
Very remarkable they were, and a great revelation as to
the ability of some, at least, of their race in the former
slave States.
General Grant was renominated for the Presidency,
and for the Vice-Presidency Mr. Henry Wilson of Massachusetts
in place of Schuyler Colfax, who had held the position
during General Grant's first term.
The only speeches I made during the campaign were
one from the balcony of the Continental Hotel in Philadelphia
and one from the steps of the Delavan House at
Albany, but they were perfunctory and formal. There
was really no need of speeches, and I was longing to go at
my proper university work. Mr. James Anthony Froude,
the historian, had arrived from England to deliver his
lectures before our students; and, besides this, the university
had encountered various difficulties which engrossed
all my thoughts.
General Grant's re<e:>lection was a great victory. Mr.
Greeley had not one Northern electoral vote; worst of all,
he had, during the contest, become utterly broken in body
and mind, and shortly after the election he died.
His death was a sad ending of a career which, as a
whole, had been so beneficent. As to General Grant, I believe
now, as I believed then, that his election was a great
blessing, and that he was one of the noblest, purest, and
most capable men who have ever sat in the Presidency.
The cheap, clap-trap antithesis which has at times been
made between Grant the soldier and Grant the statesman
is, I am convinced, utterly without foundation. The
qualities which made him a great soldier made him an
effective statesman. This fact was clearly recognized
by the American people at various times during the
war, and especially when, at the surrender of Appomattox,
he declined to deprive General Lee of his sword,
and quietly took the responsibility of allowing the
soldiers of the Southern army to return with their horses
to their fields to resume peaceful industry. These
statesmanlike qualities were developed more and more
by the great duties and responsibilities of the Presidency.
His triumph over financial demagogy in his vetoes
of the Inflation Bill, and his triumph over political demagogy
in securing the treaty of Washington and the Alabama
indemnity, prove him a statesman worthy to rank
with the best of his predecessors. In view of these
evidences of complete integrity and high capacity, and
bearing in mind various conversations which I had with him
during his public life down to a period just before his
death, I feel sure that history will pronounce him not only
a general but a statesman in the best sense of the word.
The renomination of General Grant at the Philadelphia
convention was the result of gratitude, respect, and conviction
of his fitness. Although Mr. Greeley had the support
of the most influential presses of the United States, and
was widely beloved and respected as one who had borne
the burden and heat of the day, he was defeated in obedience
to a healthy national instinct.
Years afterward I was asked in London by one of the
most eminent of English journalists how such a thing
could have taken place. Said he, ``The leading papers of
the United States, almost without exception, were in favor
of Mr. Greeley; how, then, did it happen that he was in
such a hopeless minority?'' I explained the matter as
best I could, whereupon he said, ``Whatever the explanation
may be, it proves that the American press, by its wild
statements in political campaigns, and especially by its
reckless attacks upon individuals, has lost that hold upon
American opinion which it ought to have; and, depend
upon it, this is a great misfortune for your country.'' I
did not attempt to disprove this statement, for I knew but
too well that there was great truth in it.
Of my political experiences at that period I recall two:
the first of these was making the acquaintance at Saratoga
of Mr. Samuel J. Tilden. His political fortunes were
then at their lowest point. With Mr. Dean Richmond of
Buffalo, he had been one of the managers of the Democratic
party in the State, but, Mr. Richmond having died,
the Tweed wing of the party, supported by the canal
contractors, had declared war against Mr. Tilden, treated
him with contempt, showed their aversion to him in every
way, and, it was fully understood, had made up their
minds to depose him. I remember walking and talking
again and again with him under the colonnade at Congress
Hall, and, without referring to any person by name, he
dwelt upon the necessity of more earnest work in redeeming
American politics from the management of men utterly
unfit for leadership. Little did he or I foresee that
soon afterward his arch-enemy, Tweed, then in the same
hotel and apparently all-powerful, was to be a fugitive
from justice, and finally to die in prison, and that he, Mr.
Tilden himself, was to be elected governor of the State of
New York, and to come within a hair's-breadth of the
presidential chair at Washington.
The other circumstance of a political character was my
attendance as an elector at the meeting of the Electoral
College at Albany, which cast the vote of New York for
General Grant. I had never before sat in such a body, and
its proceedings interested me. As president we elected
General Stewart L. Woodford, and as the body, after the
formal election of General Grant to the Presidency, was
obliged to send certificates to the governor of the State,
properly signed and sealed, and as it had no seal of its
own, General Woodford asked if any member had a seal
which he would lend to the secretary for that purpose.
Thereupon a seal-ring which Goldwin Smith had brought
from Rome and given me was used for that purpose. It
was an ancient intaglio. Very suitably, it bore the figure
of a ``Winged Victory,'' and it was again publicly used,
many years later, when it was affixed to the American
signature of the international agreement made at the
Peace Conference of The Hague.
The following winter I had my first experience of
``Reconstruction'' in the South. Being somewhat worn with
work, I made a visit to Florida, passing leisurely through
the southern seaboard States, and finding at Columbia
an old Yale friend, Governor Chamberlain, from whom I
learned much. But the simple use of my eyes and ears
during the journey gave me more than all else. A visit
to the State legislature of South Carolina revealed vividly
the new order of things. The State Capitol was a beautiful
marble building, but unfinished without and dirty
within. Approaching the hall of the House of Representatives,
I found the door guarded by a negro, squalid and
filthy. He evidently reveled in his new citizenship; his
chair was tilted back against the wall, his feet were high
in the air, and he was making everything nauseous about
him with tobacco; but he soon became obsequious and
admitted us to one of the most singular deliberative bodies
ever known--a body composed of former landed proprietors
and slave-owners mixed up pell-mell with their
former slaves and with Northern adventurers then known
as ``carpet-baggers.'' The Southern gentlemen of the
Assembly were gentlemen still, and one of them, Mr.
Memminger, formerly Secretary of the Treasury of the
Confederate States, was especially courteous to us. But soon
all other things were lost in contemplation of ``Mr.
Speaker.'' He was a bright, nimble, voluble mulatto who,
as one of the Southern gentlemen informed me, was ``the
smartest nigger God ever made.'' Having been elevated
to the speakership, he magnified his office. While we were
observing him, a gentleman of one of the most historic
families of South Carolina, a family which had given to
the State a long line of military commanders, governors,
senators, and ambassadors, rose to make a motion. The
speaker, a former slave, at once declared him out of order.
On the member persisting in his effort, the speaker called
out, ``De genlemun frum Bufert has no right to de floh;
de genlemun from Bufert will take his seat,'' and the
former aristocrat obeyed. To this it had come at last.
In the presence of this assembly, in this hall where dis-
union really had its birth, where secession first shone out
in all its glory, a former slave ordered a former master
to sit down, and was obeyed.
In Charleston the same state of things was to be seen,
and for the first time I began to feel sympathy for
the South. This feeling was deepened by what I saw in
Georgia and Florida; and yet, below it all I seemed to see
the hand of God in history, and in the midst of it all I
seemed to hear a deep voice from the dead. To me, seeing
these things, there came, reverberating out of the last
century, that prediction of Thomas Jefferson,--himself a
slaveholder,--who, after depicting the offenses of slavery,
ended with these words, worthy of Isaiah,--divinely inspired
if any ever were:--``I tremble when I remember
that God is just.''