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 touchFor 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. stone. 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, 66 December 21, 1864. 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 awake to hear it, and does not, of course, feel quite as well as I do; though she is her kind of comfortable, and we go on at half past ten. Tell that girl we have all learned so much-and none more so than the undersigned, the party of the first part. I mean, tell that spritely Julia (I don't know if I spell sprightly right), if you are not well enough, that her "uncle" will be obliged to her if, some time when she is in Broadway, she will step into Anthony's, and get half a dozen of my cartes de visite -full length, old edition, small figure, and one hand in the vest buzzum. Ask Stevie to call upon the man who is making my shoes (as odd a thing for me as it was for the junior Weller to have a new suit), and get the amount of his bill. If Steve is coming soon he may bring them, and if he stays long, he may send them by express. * * * * * * * * * Much, very much love from us to yourself, my dear child, and our beloved Stevie and Julia, with the affectionate remembrances which the Christmas and New Year's season ought to suggest and sanctify, and would, if men would be rational. Your affectionate father, D. S. DICKINSON. MR. DICKINSON TO MRS. JACKSON. ALBANY, January 18, 1865. MY DEAR MRS. JACKSON-I am pained beyond description to hear of the death of your husband, and my early and excellent friend. No event for years has so cast a dark and saddened shadow over me, and none has taught me so impressively that "verily this is not our abiding city." You came to Binghamton shortly before I did, and the Doctor was one of my earliest and most intimate acquaintances, and an early and true friendship grew up between us which was never shaken, and has been terminated only by death. I know you must feel the impotency of any human consolation, and yet I would tender you words of sympathy and condolence, and feel to exclaim for myself, in the language of the stricken |