upon ours! Not less mistaken was his idea that the withdrawal of the main body of the Democratic party from Congress would be the very best plan to give to that which was left the control of the North.

Mr. Slidell was a man of the world and a scheming politician, yet never a statesman. He had some reputation as a lawyer, but not as an advocate or pleader. Few men had more influence over James Buchanan, and none did so much to mislead that ill-starred President. His rule was implacable hostility to all who did not agree with him. He was faithful to those who followed him, but his prejudices always dominated his friendships. He had undoubted courage, but his mistake was a belief that the best way to adjust a dispute was by an appeal to the "code of honor." Born in New York in 1793, he did not adopt Louisiana as his home till he had passed his majority; but he soon rose to leadership in the Democratic party. He was successively United States District Attorney, member of the State Legislature, Representative in Congress, Minister to Mexico, and United States Senator. It is easy to under stand, upon reading his speech, how well qualified he was for the Confederate service. He had some diplomatic experience, spoke French fluently, had been much in foreign countries, and was perhaps the very man to make Louis Napoleon the ally of Jefferson Davis. But he made slow progress on his mission. He was constantly baffled-the prey of false promises and undying remorse. His capture by Captain Wilkes of the San Facinto and his imprisonment in Fort Warren were not auguries of a fortunate career; and, doubtless, when he saw his proud predictions disappointed, his State captured by the despised Yankees, his associates beaten on land and sea, and the Democratic party every where utterly broken, he was not sorry to hear the last call. His associate commissioner, James M. Mason, of Virginia, preceded him to the final rest by a very few months. His colleague, J. P. Benjamin, who with him left the

Senate on the same 4th of February, 1861, is a barrister before the London courts, and is now a foreigner, as he was before he became naturalized under the laws of a country he sought to destroy. The man he most disliked in Louisiana, poor Pierre Soulé, the brilliant and superficial Frenchman, passed away after the saddest closing years. His friend Howell Cobb has gone. His confrère, Jesse D. Bright, has left Indiana to become a member of the Kentucky Legislature. And James Buchanan sleeps his last sleep in the Lancaster cemetery. It is certain that Mr. Slidell desired to lay his bones among his kindred in America. He tired of life in Paris, wealthy as he was in his own right and in the success of his connections; but for some reason the efforts of his friends to make his return easy were not persisted in, and in his seventy-eighth year he died in a strange land.

[August 13, 1871.]

XXXII.

BETWEEN December, 1860, and the 19th of April, 1861, was crowded a series of events which, carefully preserved, would have constituted many chapters of absorbing interest. But neither side believed entirely in the absolute certainty of hostilities; few were sufficiently composed to keep a regular diary outside the daily printed reports, and these, at least at the immediate theatre of operations, the nation's capital, were relatively inferior to the full and exact reflections of the doings of the world in the newspapers of these times. Some persons did, perhaps, journalize their experience, but much that entered into the real history of the period can only be rescued from oblivion by utilizing unrecorded memories. I recollect that as early as December, 1860, I called upon the people of Pennsylvania to

my

put themselves in the condition of armed assistance to the Government. For this letter I was severely censured as an alarmist. The most sagacious men did not give up the hope of reconciliation. Mr. Lincoln's inaugural, conceived in the best Christian spirit, was easily construed into a prayer for compromise; and one of the most thoughtful speeches of Judge Douglas, in which he contended that the difficulties could be amicably arranged, was inspired by that inaugural. In recurring to letters of March, 1861, I find myself busily seconding these efforts. The firing upon Sumter, on the 14th of April, however, dissipated all these expectations, and men began to look for the worst. From that day Baltimore city became an obedient echo of the agitation throughout the South. Lying directly across the great highway leading to Washington, it was soon evident that no troops could be sent to the defense of the latter without danger. But even then few persons were willing to admit that the pro-slavery mob of the city would dare to attack the soldiers on their way to the immediate scene of peril. Among these was Charles Sumner, Senator in Congress from Massachusetts, who relates an incident that typifies the prevailing sentiment in Baltimore, and his own characteristic firmness and self-reliance. At noon on the 18th of April, 1861, he bought a ticket at Washington for Baltimore, and arriving there, entered his full name on the books of Barnum's Hotel. Preferring a quiet hour, he crossed the street and ordered an early dinner at Guy's Monument House, always famous for its good fare, and a favorite resort of the celebrities when they visited the Monumental City. Dinner over, he called on a New England friend and resident, remained to tea, and then returned through a by-street to Barnum's, entering at the side door. In the hall he met a gentleman who seemed much excited by his presence, and anxious for his safety. Conscious of his own rectitude, he walked up to the office and demanded the key of his room, to which he was soon followed by the proprietor of

SENATOR SUMNER IN BALTIMORE.

159 the hotel, the late lamented Zenos Barnum, and another gentleman. There he was informed that the fact of his being in the house had obtained publicity, and that a large and angry crowd was outside threatening violence and demanding his life. His answer was that he felt perfectly secure as long as he was under that roof, and that he would hold the proprietors responsible for any outrage that might be attempted upon him. Mr. Barnum did not conceal his apprehensions alike for his great establishment and for the safety of his guest. Under his advice Mr. Sumner consented to remove to a more inaccessible room, where he remained for some time, discussing the situation of the country with his kind-hearted and generous host. He could distinctly hear the threatenings of the surging mob outside, and he felt that there was little doubt that nothing was needed but the opportunity to stimulate them to the wildest violence. Baltimore was completely in the hands of reckless and blood-thirsty men. They thought the Government powerless. Freedom of opinion was only tolerated on one side. The newspapers, with the exception of the Baltimore American, added fuel to the fire, and Union men were constrained to silence to save person and property. The nation's capital was almost entirely unprotected, and, although the North was at last rousing to a full sense of the public peril, as yet no troops had gone forward in response to the call of the Executive. Acting under the advice and the exhortations of Mr. Barnum, Mr. Sumner rose early on the morning of the 19th, and in a private carriage crossed the then quiet streets of the city to the Philadelphia station, where he entered the first train eastward, reaching Philadelphia in a few hours. On the way, and I think at Havre-de-Grace, he met the men of the 6th Massachusetts going South, and saw their happy faces and heard their joyous shouts. When he got to Philadelphia he found the streets crowded with people discussing the crisis. To get exact information, he called at the office of The Press, 413 Chestnut Street,

near Fourth, where he met Mr. J. G. L. Brown, then as now my business manager, and learned for the first time the particulars of the attack upon the 6th Massachusetts on their way through Baltimore. Had he taken the train of the 19th instead of the 18th, he would undoubtedly have been among the first victims of the rebellion, and possibly Barnum's Hotel would have fallen before the infuriated fiends who were seeking for objects upon which to wreak their vengeance and their ingratitude.

Zenos Barnum is dead, but I can not withhold a tribute to his memory, nor refuse to recall the many happy hours I spent in his society, when he, McLaughlin, and Dorsey had charge of the old hotel, still one of the best in the South. In the days before the war, when politics were not divided or disturbed by slavery, it was very agreeable to Northern men to stop over and enjoy its superior comforts, spacious rooms, unrivaled table, and really refined society. Every such visit was followed by an entertainment at Guy's Monumental House, where the men of both parties met in friendly consultation, and where Whigs and Democrats canvassed candidates, prepared platforms, and laid plans for future campaigns.

Baltimore was for many years the chosen spot for political national conventions, and Barnum's and Guy's the head-quarters of the respective factions. It was in Baltimore that Martin Van Buren was nominated and renominated. It was in Baltimore where Joseph Holt, of Kentucky, thrilled the nation by an electric speech in vindication of Richard M. Johnson, in 1840. It was in Baltimore that James K. Polk was nominated, in 1844. It was in Baltimore, in 1848, that Lewis Cass was nominated. It was in Baltimore that Franklin Pierce was nominated by the Democrats, and Winfield Scott by the Whigs, in 1852. It was in Baltimore that John C. Breckinridge was presented as the candidate of the slaveholders, and Stephen A. Douglas ratified as the candidate of the Independent Democracy, in 1860. It