MR. DICKINSON TO THE MISSES KNAPP.

THE ORCHARD LUBRARY,

Sunday, October 16, 1864.

MY DEAR ELIZA AND MELISSA-We were all pained to hear of the death of your excellent mother. Though long expected, because of her infirm health, it is none the less startling and mournful. I have sometimes thought that the separation from those who command our solicitude and watchfulness, because of their weakness and depression, was more painful than from those in the full tide of health and hope. Her death brings up for me a long train of memories. She was a few years my senior, and when I was a rustic boy, was fully developing in early and beautiful womanhood. I remember her marriage with your father, when I was yet a boy, but had commenced to go in SOciety. All the scenes of the little quiet party, to me then novel and brilliant, are as fixed in my mental vision now, as they were when I gazed upon them with the unclouded eye of youth, when they were passing before me.

I saw her in after years, when she was yet young, in a life chequered with sorrows, which she bore with the fortitude and patience known only to a woman and a Christian; and I thank Heaven that, though separated by distance, I was permitted to know her again, and revive a too long slumbering affection, and to see through the clouds and darkness which had gathered over her that same genial, affectionate spirit. which made all who knew her love her dearly. Poor humanity is not permitted to know why the good are so afflicted here, while the undeserving are surrounded with what the world calls blessings, but we have faith that there is truth and justice in the divine economy, and that the Lord loveth whom He chasteneth, and that they will find their full measure of re ward. All those who knew and loved her will mour. her loss, and to you earth will seem strange and her transit will leave a void which cannot be supplied. She will not return to us, but we shall go to her. Alas! how brief must be the space which separates those of advanced years from the fearful change; and even the young have no assurance of extension.

We all send you the assurance of our mournful sympathies,

and shall mingle our prayerful tears with yours, that God may bless this bereavement to us; that He may shield and protect you. It must be a pleasing reflection to you, as it is to us all, that you were permitted to watch over her during the long and painful season of her loneliness and depression; that you were permitted to stand by her bedside in the last earthly struggles, and to smooth ber pillow and close her eyes with the hands of daughterly affection. You must write us fully and open; this affliction will draw us nearer to you, and we shall desire to benefit you in any manner possible. So command us freely. We regret we could not have been with you in this day of affliction, and would, could we have been seasonably advised. We will remember you with renewed and increased affection during the remnant of pilgrimage that is allotted us.

Your affectionate uncle,

D. S. DICKINSON.

MR. CONKLING TO MR. DICKINSON.

UTICA, November 9, 1864.

MY DEAR SIR-I seize the first moment, now that the tumult is passing, to beg you to accept my grateful acknowledgments for your generous sympathy. Your name, your presence, your letters, your approval, have strengthened us all; and added to the enthusiasm and attachment with which Oneida everywhere regards you, I trust it may yet be mine to attest, in some tangible mode, my appreciation of your kindYour friend and servant,

ness.

ROSCOE CONKLING.

MR. DICKINSON TO MR. STEARNS.

BINGHAMTON, November 28, 1864.

MY DEAR SIR-Your favor of the 8th instant reached here during my absence for a few days, and since my return I have been too much engaged with business matters, deferred unti after the election, to give it earlier attention.

An invitation was sent me to attend the meeting of wa

democrats in the city of New York, to which you allude, but I was addressing the electors in a remote part of the State, and did not receive it. I glanced hurriedly over the published proceedings, and I believe entirely approved them; but it seemed to me then, as it still does, that the meeting failed to present and discuss some of the most prominent and stirring issues of the day; issues which will not pass by us, if we seek to avoid them; issues which must and will enter into the very essence and life-blood of a true and enlarged and liberalized democracy, and form its foundations, and serve as its touchstone. For years there has been practically but little democracy save its venerated name, and its vicious and perverted and demoralized organization; and it is no matter how soon nor how summarily the latter is annihilated, with its defiling and desecrating leaders, to the end that its betrayed and plundered masses may gather again its disintegrated elements, and vindicate anew its principles and re-establish its power.

No higher tribute, perhaps, could be paid to a mere name than that which for a season has been bestowed by the honest masses upon democracy; and no other cause save that, and the Christian religion, could withstand for a twelvemonth such disgraceful associations as have gathered around it. The chief' spirits of its organization have been recently mere machinerunning, spoils-jobbing, place-hunting politicians, living by office-brokerage, and thriving by trade in political exchange; but without one single democratic instinct, antecedent, theory, or tradition whatsoever. Since this dastardly and murderous rebellion has been tugging at the nation's throat, a few fossilized Know Nothings have come to reinforce this ignoble leadership, and these twin ornaments of democracy (!) have wielded the destinies of this once great, powerful, and controlling party; have, in derogation of all its cherished principles, exerted its energies to embarrass the government and encourage the rebellion—to jeopard the very existence of democratic institutions, and

"Shut the gates of mercy on mankind."

And yet, in spite of all these repellent forces, the charm of the democratic name has assembled great numbers around its

naked framework, and commanded a large popular vote. This should admonish us that democratic principles are dear to the masses; that the very name is a strong rallying-cry, and that in the overturning and upheaving of old organizations, true democracy, when restored to its former high estate, under the flag of the Union, will bear down all opposition.

Every true democrat has, in sentiment, been anti-slavery in the abstract. He must now be so in the concrete. Democrats and anti-slavery men have heretofore differed, not in doctrine, but in its application. The anti-slavery organizations sought to wage an immediate and exterminating war of opinion upon the institution of domestic slavery in the States of the Union. The democrats, as heirs and representatives, proposed to abide by the stipulations of their ancestors, and leave the institution exclusively to the States where it existed; trusting to the influence of time and the progress of a world's opinion to correct an acknowledged evil, and remove a foul stain upon our national escutcheon. The slave States were wont to point to the federal constitution as their sword and shield, and democracy in return acknowledged their right to enjoy the immunity. But this state of things has passed away forever. The slaveinterest, intoxicated by previous successes, vauntingly inquired, with the Babylonish king, whether it had not built this institution by its mighty power; and in an evil moment for itself, but one auspicious for the cause of justice and liberty, inaugurated a rebellion for its alleged advantage and perpetuity; and the booming of the first gun at Sumter was a proclamation of freedom on earth and good will towards men, and sent this modern Nebuchadnezzar to pasture.

The question no longer admits of expedients, compromises or palliatives; but the true democracy must and will assert its fundamental principles of liberty, equality, and the rights of man, and neither slumber nor repose until the last handcuff has been cast away, the last human fetter has been broken, the crack of the last slave-whip has resounded, the last human being been sold into bondage in freedom's holy land; until the school-house rises upon the auction-block, and the church above the slave-pen. Then, and not till then, will the democracy have accomplished one great feature of its heaven-born

mission.

I forbear at this time to comment upon the blessings which will flow from an improved system of industry, and a new social structure. But the subject is replete with interest and instruction.

The financial questions which now claim our consideration, whether of banking or revenue, will demand all the best lights which wisdom and experience can afford us; and they too will stand prominently in the foreground of the future, with their pressing necessities and mighty responsibilities, and must be met and disposed of accordingly.

I would gladly present my views upon them, but time is not given me. I may resume the matters of your communication at a future day. In the mean time,

I am sincerely yours,

D. S. DICKINSON.

MR. DICKINSON TO MRS. COURTNEY.

DELAWARE HOUse, Port Jervis,

December 21, 1864.

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MY DEAR LYDIA-We that were to have arriven have arrove about 9, just in time to attend a bawl here, though I did not dance. I only saw the chaps as they came down to the bar, and the sistern as they passed up and down the sitting-room, dressed like the Summit girls; "some in white, some in silk, and some in muslin de laine." They had for music, I should judge, the "sackbut, psaltery, and harp, and all kinds of music;" but I resolutely refused to "fall down," till I did so for the night. We got a supper in one room and retired before eleven. Your mother was of course delighted, for you know she enjoys such things. The "light fantastic toe" seemed to me rather heavy; for the dancing sounded like the rehearsal of "Berry Huckle; ""tiddle-bump, tiddle-thump, tiddle-clump, tiddlecrash, tiddle-smash, tiddle-bang!" and then the calls sounded like an old farmer driving dull oxen. They kept it going nearly all night. I lost most of it, having unfortunately fallen asleep; though when the servants went through the hall they stepped heavier than the enchanted horse that made all the bells in Paris ring when he put his hoof down. Your mother lay