I think both justice and generosity demand that among the tributes we weave for him, there should be distinct and emphatic mention of this simplicity of character. He was a man among men. From the first, he had none of those assumptions of conscious superiority that mark the aristocrat. If anything, he was rather careless than careful of his dignity, and would sooner shock than mock the fastidious airs and tastes of those who prate about culture, or pride themselves on their "nobility." Fox quaintly said, of the elder Pitt, that he "fell up stairs" when he was elevated to the peerage. Many a man cannot stand going up higher. He becomes haughty, proud; he affects dignity, he lords it over God's heritage, he becomes too big with conscious superiority. Like Jeshurun, he waxes fat and kicks. He falls up stairs, if not down.
The warm, soft, genial side of Mr. Chandler's nature was unveiled in social life and most of all in the domestic circle. The play of his smile, the roar of his laughter, the delicacy and tenderness of his sympathy, his stalwart defense of those whom he loved, the childlike traits that drew him to children and drew children to him, none appreciate as do those who knew him best as friend, husband and father. The man of public affairs, he could lay one hand firmly on the helm of state, while with the other he fondly pressed his grandchildren to his bosom, or playfully roused them to childish glee.
This aspect of his many-sided character makes his death an irreparable loss to his own household. Even the great grief of a nation cannot represent by its "extensity," the intensity of the more private sorrow that secludes itself from the public eye. He was, to those whom he specially loved, both a tower for strength, and a lover and friend for comfort and sympathy. Those who were "at home" with him and especially those who were the peculiar treasures of his heart, knew him as no others could. Happy is the minister who forgets not his parish at home—the church that is in his own house—and happy is the public man, whose private life is not simply the revelation of the hard, coarse and unattractive side of his character.
That is I am sure no ordinary occurrence, which has made forever memorable the Calends of this November. Death, however frequent and familiar by frequency, can never, to the thoughtful, be an event of common magnitude; the exchange of worlds cannot be other than a most august experience. But this death has about it colossal proportions; it stands out and apart like a mountain in a landscape. It is recognized as a calamity not only to a household, but to the city, the State, the Nation; and it may be doubted whether, since the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, any single announcement has so startled the public mind and moved the popular heart as when on the 1st day of November it was announced that Zachariah Chandler was found sleeping his last sleep.
Ulysses S. Grant is a man of few words—and like his shot and shell they weigh a good deal and are well aimed. Let us hear his verdict on Mr. Chandler:
"A nation, as well as the State of Michigan, mourns the loss of one of her most brave, patriotic and truest citizens. Senator Chandler was beloved by his associates and respected by those who disagreed with his political views. The more closely I became connected with him the more I appreciated his great merits.
U. S. GRANT.
"Galena, Ill., Nov. 9, 1879."
It is evident that it is no ordinary man who has departed from among us. It is not "a self-evident truth that all men are created equal," if we mean equality of gifts and graces, capacity, opportunity or even responsibility; and the people of these United States do not need to be told that Mr. Chandler was no common man. It was by no accident that he held in succession, and filled with success, posts of such importance and trusts of such magnitude. He did not drift into prominence; he rose by sheer force of character and by the fitness of things. Born to be a leader, endowed with those qualities that mark a man destined to leadership, having rare business faculty, and sagacity, tact and talent, large capacity for organization and administration, his hand was naturally at the helm.
Mr. Chandler's leadership reached beyond and beneath the visible conduct of affairs. As Moses was the inspiration, of which Aaron was the expression, he was often the power behind the throne. He who has now left us, forever, belonged to the illustrious few who were the special counselors of Mr. Lincoln and the instigators of many of his wisest and best measures. There is an inner history of the war which has never been written and never will be. The lips that alone could disclose those secrets are fast closing in eternal silence, and the scroll will find no man worthy to loose its seals.
Mr. Chandler could not have been wholly ignorant of the risk he ran in his laborious and prolonged campaign-work; but when his country seemed in peril his tongue could not keep silence. Just before starting on his last journey westward, he said to me: "In my judgment the crisis now upon us is more important than any since Lee surrendered, and as grave as any since Sumter was fired on." Those who knew him best will not be surprised that, with such an impression of the magnitude of the issues now before the American people, he could not spare himself, but gave himself without reserve to his country, sacrificing his life itself on the altar of his own patriotism.