o his doctrine of secession, had
just died, quite unconscious of the fact that his speeches held the
explosives that were to shatter the South and destroy half a million of
his beloved people. Clay, too, was death-stricken, and with great pathos
referred to himself as "a stag scarred by spears, worried by wounds,
dragging his mutilated body to his lair to lie down and die." Webster
was now gray and broken, with the shadow of the eclipse already drawing
near. In such a moment Charles Sumner began his career by an appeal to
the "everlasting yea" and the "everlasting nay."--"I desire to speak
to-day of some laws greater than any passed in this capital or this
country; older than America, older than India--I mean the laws of God."

Hitherto slavery had been the aggressor, crowding into Texas, edging
into Missouri, with bullets forcing its way into Kansas. Freedom had
always been on the defensive. Now all was changed, with the coming of a
man whose watchword was "Slavery must be destroyed; liberty must be
preserved." That cold body called the Senate became immediately
conscious of the new influence that entered into the very being of the
government, like iron into the rich blood of the physical system.
Charles Sumner made it clear from the beginning that the movement
against slavery was from the Everlasting Arm. With expediency he had
nothing to do, but only with eternal right and eternal wrong. One day
Daniel Webster reminded his young successor of the importance of looking
on the other side, indicating that a shield that was gold on one side
might at least be silver on the other, to which Sumner replied, "There
is no other side." This Boston scholar became a voice for law, "whose
seat is the bosom of God, and whose speech is the melody of the world."
These eternal laws of God rose up to stay the progress of slavery like
the beetling granite cliffs of Maine, that send forth their voice to the
onrushing tides, saying, "Here stay your proud waves--thus far, and no
farther."

Ancestry, opportunity and events all conspired to equip Charles Sumner
with those implements that make man great. Like Phillips, he was a
descendant of the early settlers of Boston. His father led the men who
delivered Garrison out of the hands of the mob, and who told the excited
populace that unless Boston was careful "our children's heads will be
broken by cannon-balls." The plastic, critical hours of his youth were
spent in Harvard College and in the