MR. PRESIDENT,—The last Representative of Massachusetts snatched away by death during the session of Congress was Robert Rantoul, Jr. Ripe in years and brilliant in powers, this distinguished person tardily entered these Halls, and he entered them not to stay, but simply to go. Congress was to him only the antechamber to another world. Since then ten years have passed, and we are now called to commemorate another Representative of Massachusetts snatched away by death during the session of Congress. Less ripe in years and less brilliant in powers, Mr. Bailey occupied less space in the eyes of the country; but he had a soul of perfect purity, a calm intelligence, and a character of his own which inspired respect and created attachment; and he, too, was here for so brief a term that he seems only to have passed through these Halls on his way, without, alas! the privilege of health as he passed.
Born in 1823, Mr. Bailey had not reached that stage of life, when, according to a foreign proverb, a man has given to the world his full measure;[311] and yet he had given such measure of himself as justified largely the confidence of his fellow-citizens. This was the more remarkable, as he commenced life without those advantages which assure early education and open the way to success. At two years of age he was an orphan, of humble parentage and scanty means. From school he followed the example of Franklin, and became a printer. There is no calling, not professional, which to an intelligent mind affords better opportunities of culture. The daily duties of the young printer are daily lessons. The printing-office is a school, and he is a scholar. As he sets types, he studies, and becomes familiar at least with language and the mystery of grammar, orthography, and punctuation, which, in early education, is much; and if he reads proofs, he becomes a critic. At the age of twenty-two our young printer changed to a student of law, and in 1848 was admitted to the bar.
In the very year of his admission to the bar the question of Slavery assumed unprecedented proportions, from the efforts made to push it into the Territories of the United States. Although he took no active part in the prevailing controversy, it must have produced its impression on his mind. It was to maintain prohibition of Slavery in the Territories, and to represent this principle, that he was chosen to Congress.[312] In a speech at the time he upheld this cause against the open opposition of its enemies and the more subtle enmity of those who disparaged the importance of the principle. Never had Representative a truer or nobler constituency. It was of Worcester, that large central county of Massachusetts, and broad girdle of the Commonwealth, which, since this great controversy began, has been always firm and solid for Freedom. To represent a people so intelligent, honest, and virtuous was in itself no small honor.
But with this honor came those warnings which teach the futility of all honor on earth. What is honor to one whom death has already marked for his own? As life draws to its close, the consciousness of duty done, especially in softening the lot of others, must be more grateful than anything which the world alone can supply. Even the spoiler, Death, cannot touch such a possession. And this consciousness rightly belonged to the invalid who was now a wanderer in quest of health. Compelled to fly the frosts of his Massachusetts home during the disturbed winter of 1860, when these civil commotions were beginning to gather, he journeyed nearer to the sun, and in the soft air of the Mexican Gulf found respite, if not repose. There he was overtaken by that blast of war, which, like
“A violent cross wind from either coast,”
swept over the country. Escaping now from the menace of war in Florida, as he had already escaped from the menace of climate in Massachusetts, he traversed the valley of the Mississippi, and succeeded in reaching home. At the session of Congress called to sustain the Government he appeared to take his seat; but a hand was fastened upon him which could not be unloosed. Again he came to his duties here during the present session; for while the body was weak, his heart was strong. He often mourned his failing force, because it disabled him from speaking and acting at this crisis. He longed to be in the front rank. Yet he was not a cipher. He was a member of the Committee on Territories in the House of Representatives, and its Chairman[313] relates that this dying Representative was earnest to the last that his vote should be felt for Freedom. “Let me know when you wish my vote, and, though weak, I shall surely be with you,” said the faithful son of Massachusetts. This is something for his tombstone; and I should fail in just loyalty to the dead, if I did not mention it here.
As a member of this Committee, he put his name to a report which became at once a political event. In the uneventful life of an invalid, who was here for a few weeks only, it should not be passed over in silence. By a resolution adopted on the 23d of December, 1861,[314] the Committee on Territories was instructed “to inquire into the legality and expediency of establishing Territorial Governments within the limits of the disloyal States or districts.” After careful consideration of this momentous question, the Committee reported a bill to establish temporary provisional governments over the districts of country in rebellion against the United States.[315] This bill assumed two things, which, of course, cannot be called in question: first, that throughout the Rebel region the old loyal State Governments had ceased to exist, leaving no person in power there whom we could rightfully recognize; and, secondly, that the Constitution of the United States, notwithstanding all the efforts of Rebellion, was still the supreme law throughout this region, without a foot of earth or an inhabitant taken from its rightful jurisdiction. Assuming the absence of State Governments and the presence of the National Constitution, the bill undertook, through the exercise of Congressional jurisdiction, to supply a legitimate local government, with a governor, legislature, and court; but it expressly declared that “no act shall be passed, establishing, protecting, or recognizing the existence of Slavery; nor shall said temporary government, or any department thereof, sanction or declare the right of one man to property in another.” In a succeeding section it was made the duty of the authorities “to establish schools for the moral and intellectual culture of all the inhabitants, and to provide by law for the attendance of all children over seven and under fourteen years of age not less than three months in each year.” With a thrill of joyful assent Mr. Bailey united with the majority of the Committee in this bill. It was his last public act, almost his only public act in Congress, and certainly the most important of his public life. As a record of purpose and aspiration it will not be forgotten.
To such a measure he was instinctively moved by the strength of his convictions and his sense of the practical policy needed for the support of the Constitution. He had no indulgence for the Rebellion, and saw with clearness that it could be ended only by the removal of its single cause. His experience at the South added to his appreciation of the true character of Slavery, and increased his determination. He did not live to see this Rebellion subdued, but he has at least left his testimony behind. He has taught by what sign we are to conquer. He has shown the principle which must be enlisted. Better than an army is such a principle; for it is the breath of God.
Mr. Bailey was clear in understanding, as he was pure in heart. His life was simple, and his manners unaffected. His, too, were all the household virtues which make a heaven of home, and he was bound to this world by a loving wife and an only child. He was happy in being spared to reach his own fireside. Sensible that death was approaching, he was unwilling to continue here among strangers, and, though feeble and failing, he was conveyed to Fitchburg, where, after a brief period among kindred and friends, he closed his life. His public place here is vacant, and so also is his public place in Massachusetts. But there are other places also vacant: in his home, in his business, and in his daily life among his neighbors, in that beautiful town scooped out of the wooded hills, where he was carried back to die.