declined to go bail, he had no conscientious scruples against it - he would as lief somebody else would do it. I wrote our notice of the book, and I believe it gives a better idea of Choate than any other man in the country than Parker could (or would) have given. Our children will appreciate it, as they will John Brown, more fairly than we. The ducks- my own raising-were as fine as any I ever saw or ate, and I felt somewhat disappointed that you did not come, especially as you had no better reason. It is never "ridiculous" to seek good food. Come Saturday, if you can and will. In our editorial to-day, you will recognize some of your ideas and expressions as to Brown's final taking off. I didn't mean my man should adopt the language, but only use the idea, with the others that I fished up for him- but he said he could not spoil yours, and brought it to me, as a quotation from a private letter. This would not do,- and as there wasn't time to wholly remodel the article, I made a nice piece of patchwork of it, only shrewd people will be amused by the abrupt changes in style from feeble to forcible and back to feeble again. However, I think it is a good article all around, and if you aren't ashamed of it I shall be relieved. February 9, 1860. Mrs. B. and I came back from Albany to-day, after a pleasant visit. I saw various people, and learned a few new things. The most interesting thing however was a dinner with Thurlow Weed, and a long private talk with him. He is a great man one of the most remarkable men of our time- one whom I had rather have had such an interview with than with any president of our day and generation. He is cool, calculating, a man of expedients, who boasts that for thirty years he has not in political affairs let his heart outweigh his judgment, and yet a man with as big a heart, as quick to feel and as prompt to act, as the best of the men you and I have seen. He is quite encouraged as to Seward; if Douglas is not nominated, and a Southern man is, at Charleston, he says Seward's election would be a sure thing he knows it. But enough of Lord Thurlowyou shall have more of our talk when I see you if you want it. To his Wife. CHICAGO, May 18, 1860. I have just received your letter of Monday night, for which I had been anxiously waiting for two days. The excitement is tremendous, and the nomination of Abe Lincoln has just been made. Mr. Seward's friends are disappointed and sad, but everybody else feels that it is a right result, and that the Republicans will succeed with him. We hope Mr. Banks will be added for Vice-President to-night, but are content any way. With Mr. Lincoln we shall have an administration that will recognize him, and give him a chance for 1864, which is perhaps early enough. I am now disposed to go over to Burlington (Iowa) to-morrow, and spend Sunday with Mr. Fitz-Henry Warren. Colonel Lincoln and Mr. Hooper, of Boston, are going, and earnestly desire me to accompany them. I shall be home in any event next week, from Wednesday, but probably not till Friday or Saturday. My cold is much better to-day, but I am wearied out, and must rest a day or two somewhere before starting for home. I shall probably be in Chicago on Tuesday or Wednesday next, and may be reached there by telegraph if occasion requires. If rain is not abundant, have the trees in the yard around the house, and in the lot, newly set out, freely watered. The strawberries should be watered every day if the weather is dry, and every two or three days any way. Water is their need. The grape-vines, too, must be freely watered. To Charles Allen. June, 1860. As usual, I came home sick; indeed, but for the threatened boil which disciplines me as Job of old was not comforted, I should probably have remained in Washington over Sunday. As it is I am unhorsed, literally and figuratively. The news of Mr. Ripley's death followed quickly your foreshadowing; but I did not know of it until I read Vose's paragraph this morning,- for I did not go to the office, and it was not known I was home. There were some things wanting to the perfect man in F. R., but it is rare you find so much ster ling stuff in one life as he has put into his. We may well be happy to compromise with our aspirations on such results as he has shown-results, I mean, of life and character rather than of worldly endowment. We shall hope to be softer-shall we be able to be as just? To your mother this must come with sad and serious suggestion; and you all have our sympathy and thought. Singular, is it not,- or would be, if not so often illustrated, that his wife, hovering so long on the brink of the grave, survives him, who bade fair for years more? I shall keep at home pretty closely now for six weeks, partly because Hood goes off for a month, and partly because it is best for me. With horse, and regular habits, and the consolations of wife and babies, I can mend better here than away. We want to see you, and you will come as early as you can, advising me in advance, that we may have a clear field. Once only, so far as is known, did Mr. Bowles "drop into verse." Middle-aged people will remember a certain kind of album once in vogue, with leaves of different colors, devoted to autographs and friendly or sentimental effusions. One of the women employed as compositors on the Republican brought her album to him for a contribution, and he gave her this: Our Lucy's album! Come and write, Young men and maidens all; Put dainty thoughts in phrases trite, Lovers may write their hopes and fears On leaves of blushing hue; Wise women, getting into years, Will scribble on the blue; White for the girls; - why! bless the dears! Pass round the book, and let it claim Free gifts from generous souls. An album only asks a name, Here, take it, SAMUEL BOWLES. "REPUBLICAN" OFFICE, September, 1860. CHAPTER XXVI. ILL HEALTH. OT long after Mr. Bowles's return to the Republican in the autumn of 1857, he began to suffer from violent headaches,-Nature's sharp signal that the engine had been overdriven. But he held close to his work, and for three years more his power of labor was not perceptibly impaired. From that time on to the end of his life, he was in constant battle with physical infirmity. By avoiding such close application to his work as had been his previous habit, and by a succession of journeys longer or shorter, he kept himself equal to the main guidance of the Republican, and to a life very full and rich in its activities. Yet through it all he was a crippled man. The full delight and power of health he never tasted, after the tide of vitality began to ebb when he was only thirty-four. It was after that age that he did his best thinking and writing, fought his greatest fights, carried his newspaper to its highest attainment, and ripened in his most characteristic personal traits. But much of the work was done at sore cost, by strain of will instead of free spontaneity, with penalty of suffering days and restless nights. The actual achievement was tantalized by the sense of higher possibilities, seen but unachieved. There was really but one resource and hope for full recovery, rest, complete and long-continued. But he felt the necessity, first, of winning a competence for himself and his growing family. He felt, too, as editor and as citizen, the absorbing demands made by the swift succeeding acts in the great national drama. When, returning from the Traveller, he took again the working oar in the Republican, he wrote to a friend, October 19, 1857: "I would rather be 'fancy-free' for a few months or a year longer, but how can a man in these times?" In "these times" the Buchanan Administration was trying to force upon Kansas the fraudulent Lecompton constitution. The Supreme Court had just denied the possibility of American citizenship to any man with a black skin, and given slavery a legal foothold throughout the territories. Liberty, opposed by the government, found its champion in the press. To take part in the debate, to express, and by expressing intensify, that public opinion which was to dethrone slavery,- was a task for which a man might well be willing to spend his life-blood. The circumstances of his early life had wrought into Samuel Bowles like a second nature the habit of unresting activity. He had almost lost the power of mental quiescence. In his own house, sheltered and watched over, he might for some brief hours sink into the languid torpor which the overtaxed system craved. But no home in the same town with his newspaper could be to him a refuge from the cares and thoughts connected with it. The best resource was in going away for a time. But he could hardly find any place where his social nature would not soon engage him in stirring conversations with old friends or new. How can a man get mental rest who hates solitude and who stimulates every mind he meets? This man had no taste for solitude, no genius for lonely |