Fellow-Citizens of the Senate and House of Representatives,—

I have been officially notified that the people of Massachusetts, by concurrent votes of both branches of the Legislature, have charged me with the duty of representing them in the Senate of the United States for another term of six years, on the expiration of that which I now have the honor to hold. This renewed trust I accept with gratitude enhanced by the peculiar circumstances under which it is bestowed. But far beyond every personal gratification is the delight of knowing, by this sign, that the people of Massachusetts, forgetting ancient party hates, have at last come together in fraternal support of a sacred cause, compared with which the fate of any public servant is of small account.

When first selected for this eminent trust, I was a stranger to all official life. Untried in public affairs, I was taken up, and placed, without effort of my own, and even without antecedent aspiration, in the station where, after an experience of nearly six years, you now, with spontaneous unanimity, bid me remain. About to commence a fresh term of service, I turn with honest pride to that which is about to close, while I greet anew the duties and responsibilities of my position,—hoping, that, by conscientious endeavor, I may do something in the future better than in the past, and mindful that “he that girdeth on his harness should not boast himself as he that putteth it off.”

The duties of a public servant are not always conspicuous. Much of his time is absorbed in cares which, if not obscure, are little calculated to attract public attention. Massachusetts justly expects that no such interests shall be neglected. But, by solemn resolutions of her Legislature, by the votes of her people, and by the voice of her history, Massachusetts especially enjoins upon her representatives to see, that, at all hazards, and whatever else may suffer, Freedom shall prevail. I cannot neglect this injunction.

Alike by sympathy with the slave and by determination to save ourselves from wretched thraldom, we are all summoned to the effort now organized for the emancipation of the National Government from a degrading influence, hostile to civilization, which, wherever it shows itself, even at a distance, is brutal, vulgar, and mean, constituting an unnatural tyranny, calculated to arouse the generous indignation of good men. Of course, no person, unless ready to say in his heart that there is no God, can doubt the certain result. But this result, like every great good, can be accomplished only by well-directed effort. I know something of the labor and trial which such service imposes; I also know something of the satisfaction it affords, giving to all who truly espouse it a better joy than anything in office or honor. In the weary prostration of months, from which I have now happily risen, the sharpest pang came out of my enforced separation from the cause which was so dear to me; and now my content is in the assurance that to this service I may dedicate the vigorous health which, through medical care and the kindly ministrations of Nature, I am permitted to expect. In this well-founded assurance, I welcome the trust which has been again conferred upon me, while I once more bespeak the candid judgment of my fellow-citizens, and once more invoke the guardianship of a benignant Providence.

I have the honor to be, fellow-citizens, with grateful regard,

Your faithful servant and Senator,

Charles Sumner.

Boston, January 22, 1857.

I cannot accept this public approval of my speech without seizing the occasion to express a heartfelt joy that I was permitted to make it, and also my humble determination, with returning strength, to do something that shall still further unmask the portentous Barbarism which has fastened on our Republic, and installed itself in all the high places of power.

I have the honor to be, Sir, with much respect,

Your faithful servant,

Charles Sumner.

With a farewell to my country, as I seek a foreign land, hoping for health long deferred, I give my last thoughts to suffering Kansas, with devout prayers that the ruffian Usurpation which now treads her down may be peaceably overthrown, and that she may be lifted into the enjoyment of freedom and repose.

Ever faithfully yours,

Charles Sumner.

P. S. I entrust this to the pilot, and hope it may reach you.

James Redpath, Esq.

Hôtel de la Paix, Rue de la Paix,
April 30, 1857.

GENTLEMEN,—I have been honored by your communication of the 28th April, where, after referring to my services as Senator of the United States, in language generous beyond the ordinary experience of political life, you are pleased to invite me, in the name of the American merchants residing in Paris, to a public dinner, at such time as may be most convenient to myself.

The voice of hospitality is pleasant in a strange land. But the hospitality which you offer is enhanced by the character and number of those who unite in it, among whom I recognize well-known names, intimately associated with the commerce of my country in one of its most important outposts.

There is one aspect in which your invitation is especially grateful. It is this. If I have been able to do anything not unworthy of your approbation, it is because I never failed, whether in majorities or minorities, against all obloquy, and at every hazard, to uphold those principles of Liberty which, just in proportion as they prevail under our Constitution, make us an example to the nations. And since my public course cannot be unknown to you, I am permitted to infer that the public testimony with which you now honor me is offered in some measure to those principles,—dearer to me than any personal distinction,—with which I am proud to know that my name is associated.

The invitation you send me, coming from such a source, couched in terms so flattering, and possessing such an import, presents a temptation difficult to resist. But I am admonished by the state of my health, which is yet far from its natural vigor, that I must not listen to it, except to express my gratitude. In making this excuse, let me fortify myself by the confession that I left home mainly to withdraw from the excitements of public life, and particularly from all public speaking, in the assurance that by such withdrawal, accompanied by that relaxation which is found in change of pursuit, my convalescence would be completed. The good physician under whose advice I have acted would not admit that by crossing the sea I had been able at once to alter all the conditions under which his advice was given.

I cannot turn coldly from the opportunity you offer me. My heart overflows with best wishes for yourselves individually, and also for the commerce which you conduct, mingled with aspirations that your influence may always add to the welfare and just renown of our country. As American merchants at Paris, you are representatives of the United States on a foreign mission, without diplomatic salary or diplomatic privilege. But it belongs to the felicity of your position that what you do well for yourselves will be well for your country, and, more than any diplomacy, will contribute to strengthen the friendly ties of two powerful nations. Pardon the allusion, when I add that you are the daily industrious workmen in that mighty loom whose frame stands on the coasts of opposite continents, whose threads are Atlantic voyages, whose colors are the various enterprises and activities of a beneficent commerce, and whose well-wrought product is a radiant, speaking tissue,—more beautiful to the mind’s eye than any fabric of rarest French skill, more marvellous than any tapestry woven for kings,—where every color mingles with every thread in completest harmony and on the grandest scale, to display the triumphs and the blessings of Peace.

Accept the assurance of the sincere regard with which I have the honor to be, Gentlemen,

Your faithful servant and fellow-citizen,

Charles Sumner.

I see our politics now in distant perspective, and I am more than ever satisfied that our course is right. It is Slavery which degrades our country, and prevents its example from being all-conquering. In fighting our battle at home we fight the battle of Freedom everywhere. Be assured, I shall return, not only with renewed strength, but with renewed determination to give myself to our great cause.

Ever sincerely yours,

Charles Sumner.

To the generous people of Massachusetts, who have honored me with an important trust, and cheered me by so much sympathy, I wish to express the thanks which now palpitate in my bosom, while I say to them all collectively, as I would say to a friend, Farewell!

These valedictory words would be imperfect, if I did not seize this occasion to declare, what I have often said less publicly, that, had I foreseen originally the duration of my disability, I should at once have resigned my seat in the Senate, making way for a servant more fortunate in the precious advantages of health. I did not do so, because, like other invalids, I lived in the belief that I was soon to be well, and was reluctant to renounce the opportunity of again exposing the hideous Barbarism of Slavery, now more than ever transfused into the National Government, infecting its whole policy and degrading its whole character. Besides, I was often assured, and encouraged to feel, that to every sincere lover of civilization my vacant chair was a perpetual speech.

Charles Sumner.

On board Steamer Vanderbilt,
New York Harbor, May 22, 1858.

It is with a pang unspeakable that I find myself thus arrested in the labors of life and in the duties of my position. This is harder to bear than the fire. I do not hear of friends engaged in active service—like Trumbull in Illinois—without a feeling of envy.

…

Charles Sumner.

Surely, by her past history, and all that she has done for human improvement, we are her debtors. Without Italian genius what now were modern civilization? There is no art, or science, or activity, or grace, in which she has not excelled or led the way. If I went into detail, I must mention not only sculpture, painting, engraving, and music, but also astronomy, navigation, bookkeeping, and jurisprudence; and I must present an array of great names, such as no other country can boast. And to all these I must add the practical discoveries of the mariner’s compass, the barometer, the telescope applied to astronomy, and the pendulum as a measure of time.

To the political skeptics and infidels who affect to doubt the capacity for freedom of this illustrious people I would say, that Italy, in modern times, was the earliest home of political science, and the earliest author of some of those political truths which have since passed into principles. Besides, divided into separate, sovereign States, with separate systems of legislation, her condition is coincident with our own, to the extent of possessing those local facilities for self-government which are our boast. And then there is the spirit of her sons, as shown in recent efforts, giving assurance of courage, and of that rarer wisdom which knows how to guide and temper courage, both of which shone so conspicuous in the Venetian Manin, worthy compeer of our own Washington.

Allow me to add, that I confidently look to the day when we may welcome into the fellowship of nations a community new in external form, but old in constituent parts,—separate in local governments, but bound in perfect union, with one national flag, one national coin, and one national principle, giving to all the strength of unity,—E Pluribus Unum,—and constituting the United States of Italy. And may God speed this good time!

Accept the assurance of the respect with which I have the honor to be, Gentlemen,

Faithfully yours,

Charles Sumner.

SIR,—I ask attention to an eloquent and characteristic article on Slavery, by Macaulay, never yet printed in our country with his name. It is in an old number of the “Edinburgh Review,” while Jeffrey was its editor, and in point of time preceded the famous article on Milton. It is, indeed, the earliest contribution of the illustrious writer to that Review, of which he became a chief support and ornament. As such, it belongs to the curiosities of literature, even if it did not possess intrinsic interest from subject and style.

Here are seen, no longer in germ, but almost in perfect development, those same great elements of style which appear in the maturer essays and the History,—mastery of language, clearness of statement, force, splendor of illustration, an irrepressible sequence of thought and argument, and that same whip of scorpions which he afterward flourished over Barère: all these are conspicuous in this first effort, where he utters the honest, gushing indignation of his soul. Never has Slavery inspired speaker or writer to more complete and scornful condemnation.

The article was called forth by British Slavery in the West Indies; but it is just as applicable to American Slavery. Mutato nomine, de te fabula narratur. Every line bears upon the slave-drivers of our country, with greater force even than upon the slave-drivers of the West Indies; for audacity here goes further than it was ever pushed in the British dominions. It is interesting to find how exact the parallel becomes. In the picture of illiberal men conspiring to support Slavery Macaulay seems to delineate us.

Aiming to exhibit Slavery in its laws, without dwelling on the accumulated instances of cruelty, he puts the case on the strongest ground; and here his unimpeachable witness is the statute-book itself. But this same argument bears with equal force upon our Slavery; so that, in reading his indignant exposure of the West India jurisprudence, we see rising before us the kindred enormities of our own Slave States, and acknowledge the truth of his generous words.

He seems also to have anticipated that flagrant sophism, which, under the guise of Popular Sovereignty, insists that men shall be at liberty—“perfectly free” is the phrase of the Nebraska Bill—to buy and sell fellow-men.

The threats of disunion, coming from slave-drivers, are also foreshown, and treated with the scorn they merit.

The sensitiveness of slave property—the same in our Slave States as in the British West Indies—is aptly described in the remark, that a pamphlet of Mr. Stephen or a speech of Mr. Brougham is sufficient to excite all the slaves in the colonies to rebel. And it is shown that in a servile war the master must be loser; for his enemies are his chattels. Whether the slave conquer or fall, he is alike lost to the owner. In the mean time, the soil lies uncultivated, the machinery is destroyed. And when the possessions of the planter are restored to him, they have been changed into a desert.[12]

Here also is an exhibition of the incompatibility between Slavery and Christianity, which ought to be read in every Southern pulpit:—

Such is the philippic against Slavery by the first writer of the English language in our day, and one of the first in all times. As testimony to a sacred cause, it is priceless; as a contribution to literature, it cannot be forgotten. Why it was suppressed by American publishers, who gave us the earliest collection of Macaulay’s Essays ever printed in England or America, I know not. Unhappily, this suppression was too much in harmony with the received American system from that day to this, whether in publishing Humboldt’s work on Cuba, the Bishop of Oxford’s work on the American Church, or the engraving of Ary Scheffer’s “Christus Consolator,” from all of which the slave is shut out. That this blame may not fall upon the author himself, it is important to know that the American collection was made without any list supplied by him. In the modesty of his nature, he regarded his contributions to Reviews as fugitive pieces, which he abandoned to the world, without caring to gather them together. It will be for posterity to rejudge this judgment.

In this statement, I rely upon personal recollection of conversations with him. More than twenty years ago—as also more recently—I was in the habit of meeting the great writer in the society of London; and I remember well how, on one of these occasions, when told that an American bookseller proposed to publish a collection of his articles, he very positively protested against it, and refused to furnish a list. Nor is it out of place to add here, that, while his wonderful conversation left on the mind an ineffaceable impression of eloquence and fulness, perhaps without parallel, it also showed a character of singular integrity.

This article is not alone in attesting his sympathy with the Antislavery cause. The first public appearance of Macaulay, while yet a very young man, was at an Antislavery meeting; and one of his most stinging speeches, at the maturity of his powers, in the House of Commons, bore testimony to the depth and constancy of this sentiment.[14] This was natural; for he was son of Zachary Macaulay, one of the devoted Abolitionists who helped to carry, first, the abolition of the slave-trade, and then, at a later day, the abolition of Slavery itself, in the British dominions.

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.