{FN 25: The Great Fair, held in New York for the benefit of
the Sanitary Commission, and of which Mrs. Lane was the chief
manager and inspiring power.}
[268] To Rev. Henry Bellows, D.D. SHEFFIELD, Dec. 31, 1863.
. . . Ah! heaven,--what is rash or wise, shortsighted or far-seeing,
too fast or too slow, upon the profound and terrible question, "What
is to be done with slavery?" You have been saying something about it,
and I rather think, if I could see it, that I should very much agree
with you. Bryant and I had some correspondence about it a year ago,
and I said to him; "If you expect this matter to be all settled up in
any brief way, if you think that the social status of four millions
of people is to be successfully placed on entirely new ground in five
years, all historical experience is against you."
However, the real and practical question now is, How ought the
Government to proceed? Upon what terms should it consent to receive
back and recognize the Rebel States? I confess that I am sometimes
tempted to go with a rush on this subject,--since so fair an
opportunity is given to destroy the monster,--and to make it the very
business and object of the war to sweep it out of existence. But
that will be the end; and for the way, things will work out their
own issues. And in the mean time I do not see that anything could be
better than the cautious and tentative manner in which the President is
proceeding.
One thing certainly has shaken my old convictions about the feasibility
of immediate emancipation, and that is the experiment of emancipated
labor on the Mississippi and about Port Royal. But the severest trial
of emancipation, as of democracy,--that is, of freeing black men as of
freeing white men,--may not be found at the start, but long after.
[269] To the Same.
SHEFFIELD, Feb. 12, 1864.
REVEREND AND DEARLY BELOVED, THOU AND THY PEOPLE,--We are so much
indebted to you all for our four pleasant days in the great city, that
I think we ought to write a letter to you. We feel as if we had come
out of the great waters; the currents of city life run so strong, that
it seems to us as if we had been at sea; so many tall galleys are
there, and such mighty freights are upon the waves, and the captains
and the very sailors are so thoroughly alive, that--that--how shall I
end the sentence? Why, thus, if you please,--that it seems to me as if
I ought to be there six months of the year, and that somebody ought to
want me to do something that would bring me there. But somebody,--who
is that? Why, nobody. You can't see him; you can't find him; Micawber
never caught him, though he was hunting for him all his life,--always
hoped the creature would turn up, though he never did.
Well, I 'm content. I am more, I am thankful. I have had, all my life,
the greatest blessing of life,--leave to work on the highest themes
and tasks, and I am not turned out, at the end, on to the bare common
of the world, to starve. I have a family, priceless to me. I have many
dear and good friends, and above all I have learned to draw nigh to a
Friendship which embraces the universe in its love and care, if one may
speak so of That which is almost too awful for mortal word. . . .
But leaving myself, and turning to you,--what a monstrous person you
are! a prodigy of labor, and a prodigy in some other ways that I could
point out. I always thought that the elastic spring in your nature was
[270] one of the finest I ever knew, but I did not know that it was
quite so strong. You, too, know of a faith that can remove mountains.
The Great Fair is one mountain. I hope you will get the "raffles"
question amicably settled. There is the same tempest in the Sheffield
teapot; for we have a fair on the 22d, and they have determined here
that they won't have raffles.
What made you think that I "dread public prayers "? Did I say anything
to you about it? If I did, I should not have used exactly the word
"dread." The truth is, that state of the mind which is commonly called
prayer becomes more and more easy, or at least inevitable to me; but
the action has become so stupendous and awful to me, that I more and
more desire the privacy in it of my own thoughts. "Prayers,"-"saying
one's prayers," grows distasteful to me, and a Liturgy is less and less
satisfying. Communion is the word I like better.
But I have touched too large a theme. With our love to E. and your
lovely children, let me be,
Always your friend,