It was therefore a foregone conclusion that Sumner and his party should quarrel. The military and personal character of General Grant’s first administration furnished the casus belli. These great men had no reciprocal appreciation the one for the other. Sumner was honest in the belief that Grant knew nothing but war, and quite as honest was Grant in supposing that Sumner had done nothing but talk. The breach, in consequence, widened between the latter and his party for it naturally enough espoused the cause of the President.
Sumner’s imposing figure grew more distant and companionless. Domestic unhappiness too was eating into his proud heart. His health began to decline. The immedicable injury which his constitution had sustained from the assault of Brooks developed fresh complications, and renewed all of the old bodily suffering. A temper always austere and imperious was not mended by this harassing combination of ills. Alone in this extremity he trod the wine-press of sickness and sorrow. He no longer had a party to lean on, nor a state to support him, nor did any woman’s hand minister to him in this hour of his need. He had left to him nothing but his cause, and to this he clung with the pathos and passion of a grand and solitary spirit. Presently the grass-hopper became a burden, and the once stalwart limbs could not carry him with their old time ease and regularity to his seat in the Senate, which accordingly became frequently vacant. An overpowering weariness and weakness was settling on the dying statesman. Still his thoughts hovered anxiously about their one paramount object. Like as the eyes of a mother about to die are turned and fixed on a darling child, so turned his thoughts to the struggling cause of human brotherhood and equality. For it the great soul would toil yet a little longer. But it was otherwise decried, and the illustrious Defender of Humanity passed away in this city March 11, 1874, leaving to his country and to mankind, as a glorious heritage, the mortal grandeur of his character and achievements.
CHARLES SUMNER.
| [On seeing some pictures of the interior of his home.] |
| Only the casket left, the jewel gone Whose noble presence filled these stately rooms, And made this spot a shrine where pilgrims came— Stranger and friend—to bend in reverence Before the great, pure soul that knew no guile; To listen to the wise and gracious words That fell from lips whose rare, exquisite smile Gave tender beauty to the grand grave face. Upon these pictured walls we see thy peers,— Poet and saint and sage, painter and king,— A glorious band;—they shine upon us still; Still gleam in marble the enchanting forms Whereon thy artist eye delighted dwelt; Thy fav’rite Psyche droops her matchless face, Listening, methinks, for the beloved voice Which nevermore on earth shall sound her praise. All these remain,—the beautiful, the brave, The gifted, silent ones; but thou art gone! Fair is the world that smiles upon us now; Blue are the skies of June, balmy the air That soothes with touches soft the weary brow; And perfect days glide into perfect nights,— Moonlit and calm; but still our grateful hearts Are sad, and faint with fear,—for thou art gone! Oh friend beloved, with longing, tear-filled eyes We look up, up to the unclouded blue, And seek in vain some answering sign from thee. Look down upon us, guide and cheer us still From the serene height where thou dwellest now; Dark is the way without the beacon light Which long and steadfastly thy hand upheld. Oh, nerve with courage new the stricken hearts Whose dearest hopes seem lost in losing thee! |
| Charlotte Forten Grimke. |