istrusted and hated by the Brahmin class of his own city, still adored
by the children and grandchildren of slaves. Charles Sumner, like Edward
Everett, seems sinking into popular oblivion, in spite of the statues
and portraits and massive volumes of erudite and caustic and high-minded
orations. He may be seen at his best in such books as Longfellow's
"Journal and Correspondence" and the "Life and Letters" of George
Ticknor. There one has a pleasant picture of a booklover, traveler,
and friend. But in his public speech he was arrogant, unsympathetic,
domineering. "Sumner is my idea of a bishop," said Lincoln tentatively.
There are bishops and bishops, however, and if Henry Ward Beecher, whom
Lincoln and hosts of other Americans admired, had only belonged to the
Church of England, what an admirable Victorian bishop he might have
made! Perhaps his best service to the cause of union was rendered by his
speeches in England, where he fairly mobbed the mob and won them by his
wit, courage, and by his appeal to the instinct of fair play. Beecher's
oratory, in and out of the pulpit, was temperamental, sentimental in
the better sense, and admirably human in all its instincts. He had an
immense following, not only in political and humanitarian fields, but
as a lovable type of the everyday American who can say undisputed things
not only solemnly, if need be, but by preference with an infectious
smile. The people who loved Mr. Beecher are the people who understand
Mr. Bryan.

Foremost among the journalists of the great debate were William Lloyd
Garrison and Horace Greeley. Garrison was a perfect example of the
successful journalist as described by Zola--the man who keeps on
pounding at a single idea until he has driven it into the head of
the public. Everyone knows at least the sentence from his salutatory
editorial in "The Liberator" on January 1, 1831: "I am in earnest--I
will not retreat a single inch--AND I WILL BE HEARD." He kept this vow,
and he also kept the accompanying and highly characteristic promise:
"I will be as harsh as truth and as uncompromising as justice. On this
subject, I do not wish to think, or write, or speak, with moderation."
But there would be little political literature in the world if its
production were entrusted to the moderate type of man, and the files of
"The Liberator," though certainly harsh and full of all uncharitableness
towards slave-owners, make excellent reading for the twentieth century
Am