CHAPTER XII.

THE TRANSIT OF A YEAR.

LET us now revert to the events following the inauguration of 1873, to which I have referred in an earlier chapter. Returning to our Chamber, the Vice-President resumed the chair at 12:47 o'clock, the ceremonies on the portico having occupied not half an hour. After the passage of the usual resolutions, fixing the hour of daily meeting and providing for the notification of the President that the Senate had convened in obedience to his

proclamation, the Senate adjourned to the following Thursday.

This special session of the Senate was called by the President, principally, if not wholly, to have that body act upon his nominations of men to office. The session being purely for the transaction of executive business, no legislation was permissible. There was no House of Representatives, and would be none until the following December, unless an extraordinary occasion should in the meantime arise requiring the exercise of its power. After appointing its committees for the session, and attending to the business submitted by the

satisfied, the question was determined by a game of chance. The clerk placed in a box as many slips of paper as there were representatives, each bearing the name of a representative, and he then drew these slips from the box one at a time. (The member oldest in continuous service, and also Mr. Alexander H. Stephens, who, on account of his age and infirmity, was "entitled to consideration on the part of the House," were permitted to choose seats before the drawing commenced.) Then all the other members retired beyond the outer row, and each representative, as the slip bearing his name was drawn and called, came forward and selected a seat. It was quite an amusing performance; the law-makers enjoyed the fun fully as much as did the spectators in the gallery; and the countenances of the fortunate members beamed with the smiles of childish joy.

In the Senate, this matter of seats is settled in a different way. At the beginning of every Congress, the newly elected senators choose from among the vacant seats in the order in which each senator notifies Captain Bassett, on the principle of "first come, first served;" and if they do not get satisfactory seats, they "speak" for other seats, in the event of such seats becoming vacant during their term of office. Captain Bassett keeps a record of all these requests in a book, and often the same seat will be spoken for by three or four senators. I remember one senator, who had a seat very desirable on account of its location, who became suddenly ill-so ill that he was not expected to live. Several of the other senators applied for his seat; and, when the senator heard of it, he declared he would not die. And he did not; he even lived to see the seats of these senators who had spoken for his become vacant.

Within a few days both Houses were in running order, and things went on quietly for several months. But on the eleventh of March, 1874, the monotony was broken. My attention on that day was attracted to this unusual language used by the Chaplain of the Senate in his opening prayer:

"We miss some of our number, who are withdrawn from these seats and are lying prostrate with sickness and disease; and especially one who but yesterday came into this Chamber with all the

presence of his manly form, but now, when we meet again this morning, lies close to the edge of the dark river."

remember his calling me to him and making some pleasant remarks as he whittled the end of his pen-holder. That pen I have to-day, the last he ever used in the Senate, and probably in the world. I went to the House of Representatives to get away from the gloom, but found the shadow wherever I went. I remained in the Hall of Representatives until three o'clock, and was just on the point of leaving, when the Speaker arose and in a trembling voice remarked:

"The Chair lays before the House the following telegram this moment received." And then, amid painful silence and suspense, the Clerk read:

"Senator Sumner died at ten minutes before three o'clock."

The effect of the announcement was startling. The vast audience seemed dazed and actually at a loss for breath, and the House at once adjourned. It is needless to describe the sensation produced throughout the city. The news of that death instantly spread like a pall over the country, and caused profound national grief.

The next day the Senate adjourned after passing resolutions in regard to the funeral arrangements, and the House did likewise. On Friday, the thirteenth, the Senate assembled at the usual hour. The desk and chair of the deceased senator were covered with crape, and the walls of the room were heavily draped in mourning. The senators came in noiselessly. The air was oppressive, and the Senate floor and galleries were strangely silent when the Diplomatic Corps arrived, dressed in black, and took the seats prepared for them. tered the House of Representatives in a body, the senators standing as the members were being seated; following the representatives came the Supreme Court of the United States, and the

President and his Cabinet.

Then en

Immediately afterward the Committee of Arrangements was announced. Then came a solemn procession: the casket containing the remains of the dead statesman borne by six officers, and escorted by the Committee of Arrangements of the House and Senate, the pall-bearers and mourners. As the cortege entered, the Chaplain of the Senate, who preceded it, slowly repeated the words:

"I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me,

cluded, the Vice-President pro tempore (Senator Carpenter) said:

“The services appointed to be performed by the Committee of

Arrangements having terminated, the Senate of the United States intrusts the mortal remains of Charles Sumner to its Sergeantat-Arms and a Committee appointed by it, charged with the melancholy duty of conveying them to his home, there to be committed earth to earth, in the soil of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Peace to his ashes!"

The procession again formed, and as it left the Chamber the spectators rose, glancing after it with eyes almost obscured by tears. At three o'clock the funeral train, all draped in black, left the railroad station, while the church-bells of the city tolled mournfully.

The ceremonies reminded me of those I had witnessed at the Capitol just a year before. Yet what a contrast! Then the city was in holiday attire, and the nation rejoiced at the beginning of a new Administration. On this occasion the city was shrouded in the emblems of grief. And, as Senator Anthony feelingly said, "the sad intelligence of the death of this great senator had extended beyond the shores of our own country, arousing profound regret and sympathy wherever humanity weeps for a friend, 'wherever liberty deplores an advocate.""

Upon the death of a senator or representative, it is customary for both Houses to set aside a day for memorial services.' In accordance with this usage, the Senate, on the 27th of April, resolved, "That, as an additional mark of respect to the memory of Charles Sumner, long a senator from Massachusetts, business be now suspended, that the friends and associates of the deceased may pay fitting tribute to his public and private virtues." The House, on the same day, “in sympathy with the action of the Senate," adopted a similar resolution.

I need not dwell upon what was said. Partisan animosities were forgotten, and men of opposite political faiths vied with one another in eulogizing the life and character of the dead senator. The demonstration in Congress was but one of many held throughout the country. At last, every one was able to look calmly and dispassionately upon the deeds of the great senator, and estimate them at their worth. But it had not been so during his career. His independence and fearlessness of thought and action had aroused the fury of all parties; and partisan hate is almost implacable. When Charles Sumner entered upon his duties as a senator, he was treated by his adversaries in the Senate in a manner which violated all the courtesies of that body. He died respected by all, one of the foremost statesmen of the age.

It is not the design nor province of these papers

to criticise political factions or their principles. Parties, like the men composing them, are necessarily fallible; they have their virtues—they have also imperfections. Good, upright citizens entertain opposite political views; and the man of honest convictions, with the courage to express them, - although we may think them erroneous,- is always entitled to our respect.

another.

--

a statesman is

But a politician is one thing The former will favor any party in order to gain personal advantage; the latter will oppose all parties in the maintenance of what he conceives to be right. And it was because Charles Sumner was a statesman, that honorable men of all shades of opinion joined in honoring his memory by testifying to the purity of his motives and the exalted dignity of his life. The sincerity of his convictions none could question; and those familiar with the perils and the opposition he had encountered in their utterance best understood the moral grandeur of his character.

I can not enter into a detailed account of his senatorial life. It is sure to be found in any complete history of his country. I will only say that his first great speech in the Senate, delivered in August, 1852, contained this noble declaration, which was true of his entire public life:

"I HAVE NEVER BEEN A POLITICIAN. THE SLAVE OF PRINCIPLES, I CALL NO PARTY MASTER.” He lived to see the triumph of the principles which he was then advocating in the face of most bitter opposition; and the tribute paid to his memory by his friend and associate, Senator Anthony, was as just as it was eloquent. "His eulogy is his life; his epitaph is the general grief; his monument, builded by his own hands, is the eternal statutes of freedom."

A friend of humanity, his policy was peace, and the settlement of disputes between nations by arbitration instead of by war was one of his fondest dreams. Possessed of such benignant sentiments, on December 2, 1872, he introduced a bill which he requested to have "read in full for information." I shall give it here; for to carry it to the desk was one of my first acts as a page. It was as follows:

"A Bill to regulate the Army Register and the Regimental Colors of the United States.

never became a law. But it was discussed elsewhere! The Legislature of Massachusetts heard of it with deepest indignation. The act of Senator Sumner was stigmatized as "an attempt to degrade the loyal soldiery of the Union and their grand achievements"; and a resolution of censure was introduced and passed by the legislature of the State which had made him its senator. The men who voted for it could not have known their senator well. His whole life was a contradiction of the charge.

The resolution of censure was an injustice, which would have provoked some men to wrath. But with Mr. Sumner it occasioned not anger but grief. He had served his State for more than twenty years; and it had stood proudly by him in all his efforts. That it should now, after his long and faithful career, misinterpret his motives, and seem to brand him with reproach, was perhaps the saddest blow he had ever sustained. The effect upon him was visible not only to friends but to strangers. His manner betrayed how it bore upon his mind. Yet that session wore away and December appeared, and the senator was again found at

his seat on the opening day, this time to introduce his famous Civil Rights Bill - the first bill of the session. But, as the days slipped by, his face was less frequently seen in the Senate. December, January, February passed — his visits were few and brief.

On the 10th of March, however, he was in attendance. I remember it well. I had not seen him for quite a while, and he called me to his desk. I thought he looked more cheerful than usual, and I asked after his health. As he whittled a pen, he smilingly chatted with me, and stated that he had come to the Senate to hear pleasant news. He had scarcely made the remark, when Senator Boutwell, his colleague, arose and sent up to the clerk's desk to be read a resolution of the Massachusetts Legislature. As the clerk proceeded, all eyes turned upon Senator Sumner who was eagerly listening. It was a resolution rescinding the vote of censure! Within a few moments after the reading, the senator left the Chamber, and, as I parted from him at the door, he shook hands kindly, and said: "Good-bye!" Those were his last words to me. The next day he was dead!

of her thread;

She pushed and she pulled till her fingers bled;

And when she had twisted, and puckered and knotted,

"My doll has a crazy quilt!" she said.