Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 4

December 12, 1872.

Dear Charles,—I wish I could come on and see you. I would were I not tied here by so many engagements. I want to beg you to rest: to strike work for a while. If you must stay in Washington why, stay! but go to the Senate only semi-occasionally; or if you must cling to your old rule, and go there daily, why then lounge in half an hour, just to report yourself; take no part in debate or business, but go home leisurely. This is what Massachusetts wishes you to do. The time has come again when your simple presence there will be and do work enough for one man. We shall need you too much in times ahead; to allow you now to waste your strength on matters other men can handle. Every one will grant your full right to just such relaxation. Every one has a right to claim that you save yourself for the future. Now, don't sacrifice your life for a scruple of too rigid adherence to routine duty. I remember the nights I passed with you when you were ill. They taught me that you are not equal yet to such work as you are undertaking. When we differed, I forbore to urge this on you; now I feel freer to do so. Due care and a fair amount of such relaxation as I advise will save you, in the Senate or foreign office, for many a year. Let me in the names of all your friends beg you to trust us, and be advised, at last, for once to take some care of yourself,—if not on your own account, then for our sakes and for the country and cause to which you belong. Now, be good and listen! With ever thorough and cordial regard,

Affectionately yours,

Wendell Phillips.

And again, the day after he had parted with his friend in Washington:—

New York, Tuesday, Feb. 18, 1873.

Dear Sumner,—It is useless for me ever to try to say to you what I would of my affection. So my farewell seemed very cold. That was only this foolish Saxon shame of showing emotion,—ashes on the surface, no matter how much fire below. I shall long remember your last nod from the window, and I wondered as the cars rolled along whether your ride seemed lonelier yesterday than the days before. I did enjoy with all my heart, and most tenderly, the opportunity of seeing so much of you. Years—and something more cruel than years—narrow the circle; but the narrower it becomes, we must draw the closer together. I gave up calling on Mrs. Eames,—not caring to leave you. So please forward the apology I inclose, and understand all I would say. Mind, and be lazy; feel sure how thoroughly and affectionately I am your brother,

Wendell Phillips.