In the winter of 1859 he writes to the same friend upon New York City
politics with a passionate vivacity that old New Yorkers will sadly
appreciate.
"I took up the paper this morning that announced Fernando Wood's
election by two thousand plurality. If you had seen the way in which
I brought down my hand upon the table,--minding neither muscle nor
mahogany, you would know how people at a distance, especially if they
have ever lived in New York, feel about it. I hope he will pay you
well. I wish he would take out some of your rich, stupid, arms-folding,
purse-clutching millionnaires into Washington Square and flay them
alive. Something of the sort must be done, before our infatuated city
upper classes will come to their senses."
To his Sister, Miss F. Dewey.
SHEFFIELD, Oct. 5, 1859.
I HAVE got past worrying about things, myself. I see all these
movements, this way and that way, as a part of that great oscillation
in which the world has been swinging, to and fro, from the beginning,
and always advancing. These are the natural developments of the freed
mind of the world; and whoever lives now, and yet more, whoever shall
live through this century, must take this large and calm philosophy
to his heart, or he will find himself cast upon the troubled waters
without rudder [253] or compass. Daniel Webster, one day at Marshfield,
when his cattle came around him to take an ear of corn each from his
hand, said to Peter Harvey, who was by, as he stood looking at them,
"Peter, this is better company than Senators." So I am tempted to
turn from all the religious wranglings and extravagances of the time,
to nature and to the solid and unquestioned truths of religion. I
sometimes doubt whether I will ever read another word of the ultraists
and the one-sided men. They will do their work, and it will all come to
good in the long run; but it is not necessary that I should watch it or
care for it. I did, indeed, print a political sermon four months ago,
and I said a few words in the "Register" last week (which I will send
you), but I am not the man to be heard in these days. I can't take a
side. . . .
Yours as always,