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Updated: June 6, 2025
There is nothing more degrading than to worship such a God. Lower than this the soul can never sink. If the doctrine of eternal damnation is true, let me have my portion in hell, rather than in heaven with a God infamous enough to inflict eternal misery upon any of the sons of men. Second. With having spoken a few kind words of Robert Collyer and John Stuart Mill.
The Oliver Exhibit at the great Fair was a kind of meeting-place for a group of such choice spirits as Philip D. Armour, Sam Allerton, Clark E. Carr and Joseph Medill; and then David Swing, Robert Collyer, Doctor Frank Gunsaulus and 'Gene Field were added to the coterie. 'Gene Field's column of "Sharps and Flats" used to get the benefit of the persiflage.
When the captain and Grey and I again congratulated him, he replied, "I am much obliged to all my kind friends here, but I know that your good wishes are sincere." Numberless speeches on the subject were made at supper, and when Captain Collyer shook his late boatswain by the hand at parting, he assured Sir Jonathan that nothing had given him greater pleasure than so doing.
Robert Collyer tells of seeing Lincoln in the summer of 1861, on the steps of the White House, "answering very simply and kindly to the marks of respect some soldiers had come to pay him, who stood in deep ranks on the grass, that had been top-dressed with compost enough to cover the whole District of Columbia, as the chairman of the committee that had to pass the account told me.
Collyer and Oliver were born the same year Eighteen Hundred Twenty-three. Both had the same magnificent health, the same high hope and courage that never falters, and either would have succeeded in anything into which he might have turned his energies. Chance made Oliver a mechanic and an inventor. He evolved the industrial side of his nature.
But still I hear a voice calling to me, as my mother often did, when I was a boy 'Peter, Peter, it is about bed-time, and I have an old man's presentiment that I shall be taken soon." He loved the Institute he had founded to the last hour of his consciousness. A few weeks before his death he said to Reverend Robert Collyer:
Not a trigger was pulled, and except for a few prods with the points of bayonets, which caught the Frenchmen in their nether ends, no blood was drawn. Captain Collyer had not been quite so fast asleep, nor had boys Bluff and Cuff been quite so stupid as the Johnny Crapauds had fancied.
Captain Collyer had desired that I should come down by the coach to the George at Portsmouth, where he would send his coxswain to meet me, and take me to the tailor, who would make my uniform, a part of my outfit which our country town had been unable to supply. It was a bright summer morning when my father accompanied us to Piccadilly, whence the Portsmouth coach started.
To avoid this she also kept away, and began to pepper us rather more than was pleasant. Her captain had clearly determined that we should not get to leeward. "She must have it as she wishes," cried Captain Collyer. "Give it her, my lads." At that moment the canvas which had concealed our main-deck guns was triced up, and in right good earnest we poured our whole broadside into our opponent.
Captain Collyer, politely bowing, observed that he had often heard of his having taken a piratical craft in a very gallant way, which, in fact, he had, but not, as he asserted, alone; he had a dozen stout hands to back him, which makes all the difference. The name of a cousin of mine, Captain Ceaton, was mentioned.
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