The Stillwater Tragedy
The Stillwater Tragedy By Thomas Bailey Aldrich I It is close upon daybreak. The great wall of pines and hemlocks that keep off the west wind from Stillwater stretches black and indeterminate against the sky. At intervals a dull, metallic sound, like the guttural twang of a violin string, rises form the frog-invested swamp skirting the highway. Suddenly the birds stir in their nests over there in the woodland, and break into that wild
The meaning of the word "citizen" is directly and plainly recognized by
the latest amendment of the constitution (the fifteenth.)
"_The right of the citizens of the United States to vote_ shall not be
denied or abridged by the United States, or by any State, on account of
race, color, or previous condition of servitude." This clause assumes
that the right of citizens, _as such_, to vote, is an existing right.
Mr. Richard Grant White, in his late work on Words and their Uses, says
of the word citizen: "A citizen is a person who has certain political
rights, and the word is properly used only to imply or suggest the
possession of these rights."
Mr. Justice Washington, in the case of _Corfield vs. Coryell (4 Wash,
C.C. Rep. 380)_, speaking of the "privileges and immunities" of the
citizen, as mentioned in Sec. 2, Art. 4, of the constitution, after
enumerating the personal rights mentioned above, and some others, as
embraced by those terms, says, "to which may be added the elective
franchise, as regulated and established by the laws or constitution of
the State in which it is to be exercised." At that time the States had
entire control of the subject, and could abridge this privilege of the
citizen at its pleasure; but the judge recognizes the "elective
franchise" as among the "privileges and immunities" secured, to a
qualified extent, to the citizens of every State by the provisions of
the constitution last referred to. When, therefore, the States were, by
The Stillwater Tragedy By Thomas Bailey Aldrich I It is close upon daybreak. The great wall of pines and hemlocks that keep off the west wind from Stillwater stretches black and indeterminate against the sky. At intervals a dull, metallic sound, like the guttural twang of a violin string, rises form the frog-invested swamp skirting the highway. Suddenly the birds stir in their nests over there in the woodland, and break into that wild