The services of the father, as friend of the slave, have been aptly commemorated by a cenotaph in Westminster Abbey, situated in the nave, on the left side of the great door as you enter, and close to the imposing monument of Fox. The son now lies in the same historic burial-place and beneath the same mighty roof,[15] but in Poets’ Corner, distant by more than the whole length of the nave from the tablet erected in honor of his father. In all that multitude of monuments to the illustrious dead, if we except the line of kings, there is but one other instance of father and son enshrined in the Abbey, and that is Lord Chatham and William Pitt, whose monuments are also distant from each other by more than the whole length of the nave.
Such is the conspicuous fellowship of the two Pitts and the Macaulays, father and son, although most unlike in circumstances of life and the services which have secured this common foothold of immortality. In each case, the father, even with the fame of Lord Chatham, has new glory from the son. The resting-places of the two Pitts are known at once on entering the Abbey. Hereafter, the stranger, who has stood with grateful admiration before the grave of the younger Macaulay, will seek with reverent step the simple tribute to his father, the Abolitionist,—mindful that the love of Human Freedom in which the son was cradled and schooled gave to his character some of its best features, and to his career of authorship its earliest triumph.
My purpose is simply to introduce this new-found testimony against Slavery, and not to dwell on the life or character of the author. If I followed a hint from him, the way would be open. Nobody can forget that in one of his most magnificent essays he has availed himself of the interest, transient it may have been, created by a newly discovered prose work of Milton, and has reminded his readers that the dexterous Capuchins never choose to preach on the life and miracles of a Saint till they have awakened the devotional feelings of their auditors by exhibiting some relic of him,—a thread of his garment, a lock of his hair, or a drop of his blood. Here, indeed, is a relic of Macaulay; but I venture no further.
Charles Sumner.
STATUE OF HORACE MANN.
Letter to Dr. Samuel G. Howe, March 5, 1860.
