AP Sources:
1836-1861
Dorothea Dix,
Memorial to the Legislature of Massachusetts (1843)
…About two
years since leisure afforded opportunity and duty prompted me to visit several
prisons and almshouses in the vicinity of this metropolis. I found, near Boston,
in the jails and asylums for the poor, a numerous class brought into unsuitable
connection with criminals and the general mass of paupers. I refer to idiots
and insane persons, dwelling in circumstances not only adverse to their own
physical and moral improvement, but productive of extreme disadvantages to all
other peoples brought into association with them. I applied myself diligently
to trace the causes of these evils, and sought to supply remedies. As one
obstacle was surmounted, fresh difficulties appeared. Every new investigation
has given depth to the conviction that it is only by decided, prompt, and
vigorous legislation the evils to which I refer, and which I shall proceed more
fully to illustrate, can be remedied. I shall be obliged to speak with great
plainness, and to reveal many things revolting to the taste, and from which my
woman’s nature shrinks with peculiar sensitiveness. But truth is the
highest consideration. I tell what I have seen–painful and shocking as the details
often are–that from them you may feel more deeply the imperative
obligation which lies upon you to prevent the possibility of a repetition or
continuance of such outrages upon humanity. If I inflict pain upon you, and
move you to horror, it is to acquaint you with sufferings which you have the
power to alleviate, and make you hasten to the relief of the victims of
legalized barbarity.
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Susan, an
anonymous mill worker from Lowell, describes her life to a friend (1844)
I went into the
mill to work a few days after I wrote to you. It looked very pleasant at first,
the rooms were so light, spacious, and clean, the girls so pretty and neatly
dressed, and the machinery so brightly polished or nicely painted. The plants
in the windows, or on the overseer’s bench or desk, gave a pleasant
aspect to things….
…You ask if
the girls are contented here: I ask you, if you know of any one who is perfectly contented. Do you
remember the old story of the philosopher, who offered a field to the person
who was contented with his lot; and when one claimed it, he asked him why, if
he was so perfectly satisfied, he wanted his field. The girls here are not
contented; and there is no disadvantage in their situation which they do not
perceive as quickly, and lament as loudly, as the sternest opponents of the
factory system do. They would scorn to say they were contented, if asked the
question; for it would compromise their Yankee spirit–their pride,
penetration, independence, and love of "freedom and equality" to say
that they were contented
with such a life as this. Yet, withal, they are cheerful. I never saw a happier
set of beings. They appear blithe in the mill, and out of it. If you see one of
them, with a very long face, you may be sure that it is because she has heard
bad news from home, or because her beau has vexed her. But, if it is a Lowell
trouble, it is because she has failed in getting off as many "sets"
or "pieces" as she intended to have done; or because she had a sad
"break-out," or "break-down," in her work, or something of
that sort.
…You also
ask how I get along with the girls here. Very well indeed….
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Francis Parkman,
from his observations of life on the Oregon Trail (1847)
The Platte and
the Desert
We were now at
the end of our solitary journeyings along the St. Joseph trail. On the evening
of the twenty-third of May we encamped near its junction with the old
legitimate trail of the Oregon emigrants. We had ridden long that afternoon,
trying in vain to find wood and water, until at length we saw the sunset sky
reflected from a poll encircled by bushes and rocks. The water lay in the
bottom of a hollow, the smooth prairie gracefully rising in ocean-like swells
on every side. We pitched our tents by it; not, however, before the keen eye of
Henry Chatillon had discerned some unusual object upon the faintly-defined
outline of the distant swell. But in the moist, hazy atmosphere of the evening,
nothing could be clearly distinguished. As we lay around the fire after supper,
a low and distant sound, strange enough amid the loneliness of the prairie,
reached our ears–peals of laughter, and the faint voices of men and
women. For eight days we had not encountered a human being, and this singular
warning of their vicinity had an effect extremely impressive.
About dark a
sallow-faced fellow descended the hill on horseback, and splashing through the
pool, rode up to the tents. He was enveloped in a huge cloak, and his broad
felt hat was weeping about his ears with the drizzling moisture of the evening.
Another followed, a stout, square-built, intelligent-looking man, who announced
himself as a leader of an emigrant party, encamped a mile in advance of us.
About twenty wagons, he said, were with him; the rest of his party were on the
other side of the Big Blue, waiting for a woman who was in the pains of
childbirth, and quarrelling meanwhile among themselves.
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Henry David
Thoreau, from "Civil Disobedience" (1849)
I heartily accept
the motto–"That government is best which governs least;" and I
should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out,
it finally amounts to this, which also I believe–"That government is
best which governs not at all;" and when men are prepared for it, that
will be the kind of government which they will have. Government is at best but
an expedient; but most governments are usually, and all governments are
sometimes, inexpedient. The objections which have been brought against a
standing army; and they are many and weighty, and deserve to prevail, may also
at last be brought against a standing government. The government itself, which
is only the mode which the people have chosen to execute their will, is equally
liable to be abused and perverted before the people can act through it. Witness
the present Mexican War, the work of comparatively a few individuals using the
standing government as their tool; for, in the outset, the people would not
have consented to this measure.
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John C. Calhoun,
speech to the Senate regarding the slavery question (March 4, 1850)
I have, Senators,
believed from the first that the agitation of the subject of slavery would, if
not prevented by some timely and effective measure, end in disunion.
Entertaining this opinion, I have, on all proper occasions, endeavored to call
the attention of both the two great parties which divide the country to adopt
some measure to prevent so great a disaster, but without success. The agitation
has been permitted to proceed with almost no attempt to resist it, until it has
reached a point when it can no longer be disguised or denied that the Union is
in danger. You have thus had forced upon you the greatest and the gravest
question that can ever come under your consideration–How can the Union be
preserved?
To give a
satisfactory answer to this mighty question, it is indispensable to have an
accurate and thorough knowledge of the nature and the character of the cause by
which the Union is endangered. Without such knowledge it is impossible to
pronounce, without any certainty, by what measure it can be saved; just as it
would be impossible for a physician to pronounce, in the case of some dangerous
disease, with any certainty, by what remedy the patient could be saved, without
similar knowledge of the nature and character of the cause which produced it.
The first question, then, presented for consideration, in the investigation I
propose to make in order to obtain such knowledge, is–What is it that has
endangered the Union?
To this question
there can be but one answer–that the immediate cause is the almost
universal discontent which pervades all the States composing the Southern
section of the Union. This widely-extended discontent is not of recent origin.
It commenced with the agitation of the slavery question, and has been
increasing ever since….
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Daniel Webster,
his response to Calhoun (March 7, 1850)
Mr.
President–I wish to speak to-day, not as a Massachusetts man, nor as a
Northern man, but as an American, and a member of the Senate of the United
States. It is fortunate that there is a Senate of the United States; a body not
yet removed from its propriety, not lost to a just sense of its own dignity and
its own high responsibilities, and a body to which the country looks, with
confidence, for wise, moderate, patriotic, and healing counsels. It is not to
be denied that we live in the midst of strong agitations, and are surrounded by
very considerable dangers to our institutions and government. The imprisoned
winds are let loose. The East, the North, and the stormy South combine to throw
the whole sea into commotion, to toss its billows to the skies, and disclose
its profoundest depths. I do not affect to regard myself, Mr. President, as
holding, or as fit to hold, the helm in this combat with the political
elements; but I have a duty to perform, and I mean to perform it with fidelity,
not without a sense of existing dangers, but not without hope. I have a part to
act, not for my own security or safety, for I am looking out for no fragment
upon which to float away from the wreck, if wreck there must be, but for the
good of the whole, and the preservation of all; and there is that which will
keep me to my duty during this struggle, whether the sun and the stars shall
appear, or shall not appear for many days. I speak to-day for the preservation
of the Union. "Hear me for my cause." I speak to-day, out of a
solicitous and anxious heart, for the restoration to the country of that quiet
and that harmony which make the blessing of this Union so rich, and so dear to
us all. These are the topics that I propose to myself to discuss; these are the
motives, and the sole motives, that influence me in the wish to communicate my
opinions to the Senate and the country; and if I can do any thing, however
little, for the promotions of these ends, I shall have accomplished all that I
expect.
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Walt Whitman,
preface to "Leaves of Grass" (1855)
America does not
repel the past or what it has produced under its forms or amid other politics
or the idea of castes or the old religions…accepts the lessons with
calmness…is not so impatient as has been supposed that the slough still
sticks to opinions and manners and literature while the life which served its
requirements has passed into the new life of the new forms…perceives that
the corpse is slowly borne from the eating and sleeping rooms of the
house…perceives that it waits a little while in the door…that it
was fittest for its days…that its action has descended to the stalwart
and wellshaped heir who approaches…and that he shall be fittest for his
days.
The Americans of
all nations at any time upon the earth have probably the fullest poetical
nature. The United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem. In the
history of the earth hitherto the largest and most stirring appear tame and
orderly to their ampler largeness and stir. Here at last is something in the
doings of man that corresponds with the broadcast doings of the day and night.
Here is not merely a nation but a teeming nation of nations. Here is action
untied from strings necessarily blind to particulars and details magnificently
moving in vast masses. Here is the hospitality which forever indicates
heroes…. Here are the roughs and beards and space and ruggedness and
nonchalance that the soul loves. Here the performance disdaining the trivial
unapproached in the tremendous audacity of its crowds and groupings and the
push of its perspective spreads with crampless and flowing breadth and showers
its prolific and splendid extravagance. One sees it must indeed own the riches
of the summer and winter, and need never be bankrupt while corn grows from the
ground or the orchards drop apples or the bays contain fish or men beget
children upon women.
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Sue Sparks Keitt,
letter to a northern friend (March 4, 1861)
My dear Friend,
March 4th 1861
You say truly the
hand of the South will not be raised against you. It will be raised only in self-defense, and I know you will not join the ranks
that come here to fight us. You must allow me to say we are right in this
movement you condemn and you must believe me when I say we did [not] break up
the Union you so much love, nor bring about the crisis you so much deplore. Tis
true we have refused to accept Lincoln for a President. What of that? Did you
think the people of the South, the Lords Proprietors of the land would let this
low fellow rule for them? No! His vulgar facetiousness may suit the race of
clockmakers and wooden nutmeg vendors. Even Wall street brokers may accept him
once they do not protest but never will he receive the homage of Southern
gentlemen. See the
disgusting spectacle now presented to the world by the Federal government. The
President Elect of the American people on his triumphal march to the Capitol,
Exhibits himself at rail way depots, bandies jokes with the population, kisses
bold women from promiscuous crowds, jests with fighters of the prize ring, and
back to back challenges height with hod-carriers. And, to crown this
disgraceful progress, flees from an imaginary assassin, and under the cover of
night and in disguise Enters the Capitol; and, there to day, amid Cannon and
bristling bayonets this man is proclaimed the President of the American People.
O! Shame, Shame, should we submit to such degradation. Tis the military
despotism of Europe, without its royal insignia, kingly dignity, and imperial
presence.
…Who are
these Black Republicans [the term used by southerners to describe Lincoln and
his ilk]? A motley throng of san culotte and Dames des Halles, Infidels and
free lovers, interspersed by Bloomer women, fugitive slaves, and amalgamists.
What are the doctrines they teach, the religion they preach from their pulpits?
Equity and justice? Peace and good will towards men? No, but the Jesuitical
dogma of the Expediency of crime when a doubtful good may come. Such crimes as
murder, arson, perjury and theft find ready absolution if the record be accompanied
by a stolen slave, and bears the red seal of Southern blood. Again I say to my friends at the
North–and dear ones I have–come out from among them least your own
robes become sullied.