Abraham Lincoln

This is not a conventional biography. It is a collection of sketches in which an attempt is made to portray the character of Abraham Lincoln as the highest type of the American from several interesting points of view. He has doubtless been the subject of more literary composition than any other man of modern times, although there was nothing eccentric or abnormal about him; there were no mysteries in his career to excite curiosity; no controversies concerning his conduct, morals, or motives; no doubt as to his purposes; and no difference of opinion as to his unselfish patriotism or the success of his administration of the government in the most trying period of its existence. Perhaps there is no other man of prominence in American history, or in the history of the human family, whose reputation is more firmly and clearly established. There is certainly none more beloved and revered, whose character is so well understood and so universally admired, and whose political, moral, and intellectual integrity is so fully admitted by his opponents as well as his supporters.

Of such a man, wrote a well-known writer, the last word can never be said. Each succeeding generation may profit by the contemplation of his strength and triumphs. His rise from obscurity to fame and power was almost as sudden and startling as that of Napoleon, for it may truthfully be said that when Mr. Lincoln was nominated for the Presidency he was an unknown man. He had occupied no important position; he had rendered no great public service; his reputation was that of a debater and politician, and did not become national until he delivered a remarkable speech at Cooper Union, New York. His election was not due to personal popularity, nor to the strength of the party he represented, nor to the justice of his cause; but to factional strife and jealousies among his opponents. When the American people were approaching the greatest crisis in their history, it was the hand of Providence that turned the eyes of the loyal people of the North to this plain man of the prairies, and his rugged figure rose before them as if he were created for their leader.

Napoleon became dizzy; yielded to the temptations of power, betrayed his people, grasped at empire, and fell; but the higher Lincoln rose the more modest became his manners, the more serene his temper, the more conspicuous his unselfishness, the purer and more patriotic his motives. With masterful tact and force he assumed responsibilities that made men shudder. The captain of a company of uncouth volunteers began to organize vast armies, undertook the direction of military campaigns and of a momentous civil war, and conducted the diplomatic relations of a nation with skill and statesmanship that astonished his ministers and his generals. He, an humble country lawyer and local politician, suddenly took his place with the world's greatest statesmen, planned and managed the legislation of Congress, proposed financial measures that involved the wealth of the nation, and alone, in the midst of the confusion of war and the clamor of greedy politicians and the dissensions of his advisers, solved problems that staggered the wisest minds of the nation. The popular story-teller of the cross-roads, the crack debater of the New Salem Literary Club, became an orator of immortal fame. The rail-splitter of the Sangamon became the most honored and respected man of his generation.

Such men are not accidents. The strength of a structure depends upon the material used and the treatment it has received. Poor material may be improved and good material is often spoiled in the making; but only when the pure metal has passed through the fire and the forge is it fit to sustain a severe strain. Thus Abraham Lincoln, unconscious of his destiny, by the struggles and privations of his early life was qualified for the task to which Infinite Wisdom had assigned him.

Abraham Lincoln's father was descended from Samuel Lincoln, who emigrated from the west of England a few years after the landing of the Pilgrims and settled at the village of Hingham, on the south shore of Massachusetts Bay, between Boston and Plymouth. Eight men bearing that name came over on the same ship and are supposed to have been related. An army of their descendants is scattered over the Union. One of them, Samuel Lincoln, left a large family which has produced several prominent figures besides a President of the United States. One of his grandsons in the third generation, Levi Lincoln, was recognized for a generation as the leader of the New England bar. He was Secretary of State and Attorney-General in the Cabinet of President Jefferson, a member of the Legislature of Massachusetts, and one of the ablest and most influential men of his day.

The fourth son of Samuel Lincoln, Mordecai, I, acquired wealth as a manufacturer. His eldest son, who inherited his name, moved to Berks County, Pennsylvania, and had a son named John, who took up a tract of land in Virginia about the year 1760, where, like the rest of his name, he raised a large family. John Lincoln, II, his second son, became prominent in public affairs, and was a member of the Convention that framed the first Constitution of the State of Pennsylvania.

On July 10, 1760, Abraham, I, the third of the five sons of John Lincoln, II, married Anna Boone, a cousin of Daniel Boone, the most famous of American pioneers, and his father gave him a farm in the Shenandoah Valley. By frequent intermarriages between the Boones and the Lincolns they were closely allied. By the will of Mordecai Lincoln, II, his "loving friend and neighbor George Boone" was made executor of his estate and Squire Boone, father of the celebrated Daniel, was appointed to make an inventory of the property. Hananiah Lincoln was a partner of Daniel Boone in the purchase of a tract of land on the Missouri River in 1798, and it was there that the great woodsman died.

The name Abraham was a favorite among the Lincoln family. It occurs frequently in their genealogy. A young man named Abraham Lincoln distinguished himself for courage and brutality on the Confederate side during the Civil War. He killed a Dunkard preacher whom he suspected of furnishing information to the Union army. The Union President received several letters of offensive tone from his kinsman in the South during the earlier part of his administration.

The farm of Abraham Lincoln, I, in the Shenandoah Valley, was on the great national highway along which the course of empire took its westward way, and, infected by continual contact with the emigrants and encouraged by the greatest of American pioneers, he sold the property his father had given him, packed his wife and five children into a Conestoga wagon, and followed the great migration until it led him to what is now Hughes Station, Jefferson County, Kentucky, where he entered a large tract of land and paid for it one hundred and sixty pounds "in current money." The original warrant, dated March 4, 1780, is still in existence. By the blunder of a clerk in the Land Office the name was misspelled Linkhorn, and Abraham, I, was too careless or busy to correct it, for it appears that way in all the subsequent records. Hananiah Lincoln, the partner of Daniel Boone, furnished the surveyor's certificate.

Four years later, in the spring of 1784, occurred the first tragedy in the annals of the Lincoln family. Abraham, I, with his three sons, were at work clearing ground upon his farm when they were attacked by a wandering squad of Indians. The first shot from the brush killed the father. Mordecai, III, the eldest son, started to the house for his rifle; Josiah ran to the neighbors for assistance, leaving Thomas, a child of six, alone with his father. After Mordecai had recovered his rifle he saw an Indian in war-paint appear upon the scene, examine the dead body of his father, and stoop to raise the lad from the ground. Taking deliberate aim at a white ornament that hung from the neck of the savage, he brought him down and his little brother escaped to the cabin. The Indians began to appear in the thicket, but Mordecai, shooting through the loopholes of the cabin, held them off until Josiah returned with reinforcements.

From circumstantial evidence we must infer that Anna Lincoln was a poor manager, or perhaps she suffered from some misfortune. All we know is that she abandoned the farm in Jefferson County and moved south into the neighboring county of Washington, where she disappears from human knowledge. Her eldest son, Mordecai, III, appears to have inherited his father's money, as the rules of primogeniture prevailed in those days. He was sheriff of Washington County, a member of the Kentucky Legislature, and tradition gives him the reputation of an honorable and influential citizen. Late in life he removed to Hancock County, Illinois, where he died and is buried. Josiah, the second son, crossed the Ohio River and took up a homestead in what is now called Harrison County, Indiana. Mary, the eldest daughter, married Ralph Crume, and Nancy, the fourth child, married William Brumfield. Their descendants are still found in Hardin, Washington, and other counties in that neighborhood.

Explanations are wanting for the circumstance that Thomas, the youngest son and brother of this prosperous family, whose father was slain before his eyes when he was only six years old, was turned adrift, without home or care, for at ten years of age we find him "a wandering, laboring boy" who was left uneducated and supported himself by farm work and other menial employment, and learned the trades of carpenter and cabinet-maker. But he must have had good stuff in him, for when he was twenty-five years old he had saved enough from his wages to buy a farm in Hardin County. Local tradition, which, however, cannot always be trusted, represents him to have been "an easy going man, and slow to anger, but when 'roused a formidable adversary." He was above the medium height, had a powerful frame, and, like his immortal son, had a wide local reputation as a wrestler.

While learning his trade in the carpenter shop of Joseph Hanks, Thomas Lincoln married Nancy Hanks, his own cousin, and the niece of his employer. He probably met her at the house of Richard Berry, with whom she lived, and must have seen a good deal of her at the home of her uncle. At all events, the cousins became engaged; their nuptial bond was signed according to the law on June 10, 1806, and two days later they were married by the Rev. Jesse Head, at the home of Richard Berry, near Beechland, Washington County, Kentucky.

Nancy Hanks was descended from William Hanks, who came to this country in 1699 and settled at Plymouth, Massachusetts. Four of his five sons moved to Amelia County, Virginia, where they had a large tract of land. One of their descendants, Joseph Hanks, married Nancy Shipley, and in 1789 moved to Kentucky with a large party of his relatives. In 1793 he died, leaving eight children, who were scattered among their relatives, and Nancy, the youngest, when nine years old, found a home with her aunt, Lucy Shipley, the wife of Richard Berry. She is represented to have been a sweet-tempered and handsome woman, of intellect, appearance, and character superior to her position; and could even read and write, which was a remarkable accomplishment among the women of that day. She taught her husband to write his name. But she had no means whatever, being entirely dependent upon her uncle, and it is probable that she was willing to marry even so humble a husband as Thomas Lincoln, for the sake of securing independence and a home.

Thomas Lincoln took his wife to a little log cabin in a hamlet called Elizabethtown, probably because he thought that it would be more congenial for her than his lonely farm in Hardin County, which was fourteen miles away; and perhaps he thought that he could earn a better living by carpenter work than by farming. Here their first child, Sarah, was born about a year after the marriage.

Thomas Lincoln either failed to earn sufficient money to meet his household expenses or grew tired of his carpenter work, for, two years later, he left Elizabethtown and moved his family to his farm near Hodgensville, on the Big South Fork of Nolen Creek. It was a miserable place, of thin, unproductive soil and only partly cleared. Its only attraction was a fine spring of water, shaded by a little grove, which caused it to be called "Rock Spring Farm." The cabin was of the rudest sort, with a single room, a single window, a big fireplace, and a huge outside chimney.

In this cabin Abraham Lincoln was born on February 12, 1809, and here he spent the first four years of his childhood. It was a far reach to the White House. Soon after his nomination for the Presidency he furnished a brief autobiography to Mr. Hicks, an artist who was painting his portrait, in which he said,—

"I was born February 12, 1809, in then Hardin County, Kentucky, at a point within the now County of Larue, a mile or a mile and a half from where Hodgen's mill now is. My parents being dead, and my own memory not serving, I know no means of identifying the precise locality. It was on Nolen Creek.

"A. Lincoln.

"June 14, 1860."

The precise spot has since been clearly identified, and the cabin was still standing after his death.

In 1813 the family removed to a more comfortable home on Knob Creek, six miles from Hodgensville, where Thomas Lincoln bought a better farm of two hundred and thirty-eight acres for one hundred and eighteen pounds and gave his note in payment. This was Abraham Lincoln's second home, and there he lived for four years.

We know little about his childhood, except that it was of continual privation in a cheerless home, for Thomas Lincoln evidently found it difficult to supply his family with food and clothing. Mr. Lincoln seldom talked freely of those days, even to his most intimate friends, although from remarks which he dropped from time to time they judged that the impressions of his first years were indelible upon his temperament and contributed to his melancholy. On one occasion, being asked if he remembered anything about the War of 1812, he said that when a child, returning from fishing one day, he met a soldier in the road and, having been admonished by his mother that everybody should be good to the soldiers, he gave him his fish.

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

THE BIRTHPLACE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Thomas and Nancy Lincoln had three children. Sarah, the eldest, at the age of fourteen married Aaron Griggsby and died in childbirth a year later. Thomas, the third child, died when only three days old.

When Abraham was about seven years old his father became restless and went across the river into Indiana to look for a new home. It has been represented by some of Lincoln's biographers that the motive of his removal was his dislike of slavery; that he wished to remove his son from its influence; but Lincoln attributed the determination to other reasons, particularly his father's difficulty in securing a valid title to his land. It is quite as probable that, like other men of his temperament, he thought he could do better in a new place; like other rolling stones, that he could gather more moss in a new soil. He found a purchaser for his farm who gave him in payment twenty dollars in money and ten barrels of whiskey, which Thomas Lincoln loaded upon a flat-boat, with his household furniture, floating it down Knob Creek to Rolling Fork, to Salt River, to the Ohio River, and down the Ohio to Thompson's Ferry in Perry County, Indiana. The boat upset on the way and part of the whiskey and some of his carpenter tools were lost. He plunged into the forest, found a location that suited him about sixteen miles from the river, called Pigeon Creek, where he left his property with a settler, and, as his boat could not float upstream, he sold it and walked back to Hodgensville to get his wife and two children. He secured a wagon and two horses, in which he carried his family and whatever of his household effects were then remaining.

Arriving at his location, which was a piece of timber land a mile and a half east of what is now Gentryville, Spencer County, he built a log cabin fourteen feet square, open to the weather on one side, and without windows or chimney. This was Abraham Lincoln's third home, and the family lived in that rude, primitive way for more than a year, managing to raise a patch of corn and a few vegetables during the following summer, which, with corn meal ground at a hand grist-mill seven miles away, were their chief food. Game, however, was abundant. The streams were full of fish and wild fruits could be gathered in the forest. The future President of the United States slept upon a heap of dry leaves in a narrow loft at one end of the cabin, to which he climbed by means of pegs driven into the wall. A year after his arrival Thomas Lincoln entered the quarter section of land he occupied and made his first payment under what was familiarly known as the "two-dollar-an-acre law," but it was eleven years before he could pay enough to obtain a patent for half of it. He then erected a permanent home of logs which was comparatively comfortable and was perhaps as good as those occupied by most of his neighbors.

In the fall of 1818 the little community of pioneers was almost exterminated by an epidemic known as "milk sickness," and among the victims was Nancy Hanks Lincoln, who was buried with her neighbors in a little clearing in the forest in a coffin made of green lumber, cut with a whip-saw by her husband. There were no ceremonies at her burial, but several months later Abraham, then ten years old, wrote to Parson David Elkin, the itinerant Free-will Baptist preacher at Hodgensville, of his mother's death, and begged him to come to Indiana and preach her funeral sermon. Nancy Lincoln must have been highly esteemed or this poor parson would not have come a hundred miles through the wilderness in answer to this summons from her child, for several months later he appeared according to appointment, and all the settlers for many miles around assembled to hear him. It was the most important event that had ever occurred in the community and was remembered longer than any other.

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

ROCK SPRING FARM, KENTUCKY, WHERE ABRAHAM LINCOLN WAS BORN

From a photograph taken in September, 1895. The cabin in which Lincoln was born is seen to the right, in the background

The death of Mrs. Lincoln left the child Sarah, then only eleven years old, to care for the household, and, with the assistance of her brother, she struggled through the next year until the autumn of 1819, when their father returned to Hodgensville and married Sally Bush Johnston, a widow with three children (John, Sarah, and Matilda), whom he had courted before he married Nancy Hanks. She seems to have been a woman of uncommon energy and nobility of character, and in after-life her step-son paid her a worthy tribute when he said that the strongest influence which stimulated and guided him in his ambition came from her and from his own mother. Under her management conditions improved. She brought a little property and some household goods into the family as well as three children, stimulated her husband to industry, and taught his children habits of order, cleanliness, and thrift. There was never any friction between her and her step-children, and her own brood, John, Sarah, and Matilda, were received cordially and treated with affection. Nor in their after-lives was any distinction made by either of the parents. The step-mother recognized in Abraham a boy of unusual talent, and encouraged and assisted him by every means within her power.

Abraham's life was spent at hard labor. He was a boy of unusual stature and, from the time he was ten years old, did a man's work. He learned all the tricks in the trades that a pioneer's son must know; hired out upon the neighboring farms when there was nothing for him to do at home, and his wages (twenty-five cents a day) were paid to his father. He cared little for amusement, and hunting, which was the chief recreation of young men of his age, had no attractions for him. In his brief autobiography, which was prepared for the newspapers the day after his nomination for the Presidency, he says,—

"A flock of wild turkeys approached the new log cabin, and Abraham, with a rifle gun, standing inside, shot through the cracks and killed one of them. He has never since pulled a trigger on any larger game." He joined in the rude amusements and sports of the community like other boys and enjoyed them. His quick intelligence, ready sympathy, wit, humor, and generous disposition made him a great favorite. He was the best talker and story-teller in the neighborhood. His tall stature and unusual strength made him a leader in athletic sports, and his studious habits and retentive memory gave him an advantage among his comrades, a few of whom had a little, but the most of them no education. His less gifted comrades recognized his ability and superiority; they learned to accept his opinions and to respect his judgment. He became an instructor as well as a leader, and the local traditions represent him as a sort of intellectual phenomenon, whose wit, anecdotes, doggerel verses, practical jokes, muscular strength, and skill made him the wonder of the community and are a part of the early history of that section.

When he was sixteen he operated a ferry-boat at the mouth of Anderson's Creek, transporting passengers across the Ohio River, and it was then that he earned the first money that he could claim as his own. One evening in the White House, while he was President, he told the story to several members of his Cabinet, and Mr. Secretary Seward gives the following account of it:

"I was contemplating my new flat-boat, and wondering whether I could make it stronger or improve it in any particular, when two men came down to the shore in carriages with trunks, and looking at the different boats singled out mine, and asked: 'Who owns this?' I answered, somewhat modestly, 'I do.' 'Will you,' said one of them, 'take us and our trunks out to the steamer?' 'Certainly,' said I. I was glad to have the chance of earning something. I supposed that each of them would give me two or three bits. The trunks were put on my flat-boat, and the passengers seated themselves on the trunks, and I sculled them out to the steamer.

"They got on board, and I lifted up their heavy trunks and put them on deck. The steamer was about to put on steam again, when I called out that they had forgotten to pay me. Each of them took from his pocket a silver half-dollar and threw it on the floor of my boat. I could scarcely believe my eyes as I picked up the money. Gentlemen, you may think it was a very little thing, and in these days it seems to me a trifle; but it was the most important incident in my life. I could scarcely credit that I, a poor boy, had earned a dollar in less than a day—that by honest work I had earned a dollar. The world seemed fairer and wider before me. I was a more hopeful and confident being from that time."

When he was nineteen Mr. Gentry, the most prominent man in the neighborhood, from whom the town of Gentryville was named, and who kept the "store," embarked in a new enterprise, and sent Abraham with his son Allen upon a flat-boat to New Orleans with a load of bacon, corn meal, and other provisions, paying him eight dollars a month and his passage home on a steamboat. Thus the future President obtained his first glimpse of the world outside the Indiana forest, and the impressions left upon his mind by this experience were never effaced. It was the beginning of a new life for him and the awakening of new ambitions.

"He was a hired man merely," wrote Lincoln of himself nearly thirty years afterwards, "and he and a son of the owner, without any other assistance, made the trip. The nature of part of the 'cargo load,' as it was called, made it necessary for them to linger and trade along the sugar-coast, and one night they were attacked by seven negroes with intent to kill and rob them. They were hurt some in the mêlée, but succeeded in driving the negroes from the boat, and then 'cut cable,' 'weighed anchor,' and left."

The prairies of Illinois were becoming a great temptation to pioneers in those days, and the restless disposition of Thomas Lincoln could not be restrained; so he and several of his relatives joined the migration, making a party of thirteen. Lincoln himself tells the story in these words:

"March 1st, 1830, Abraham having just completed his twenty-first year, his father and family, with the families of the two daughters and sons-in-law of his step-mother, left the old homestead in Indiana and came to Illinois. Their mode of conveyance was wagons drawn by ox-teams, and Abraham drove one of the teams. They reached the county of Macon, and stopped there some time within the same month of March. His father and family settled a new place on the north side of the Sangamon River, at the junction of the timber land and prairie, about ten miles westerly from Decatur. Here they built a log cabin, into which they removed, and made sufficient of rails to fence ten acres of ground, fenced and broke the ground, and raised a crop of sown corn upon it in the same year."

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

ROCK SPRING ON THE FARM WHERE LINCOLN WAS BORN

From a photograph taken in September, 1895

The sons-in-law of his step-mother referred to were Dennis Hanks and Levi Hall, who had married Sarah and Matilda, Lincoln's step-sisters. Hanks was a son of the Joseph Hanks with whom Thomas Lincoln learned the carpenter's trade in Kentucky. Another son, John Hanks, was a member of the family, and it was he who appeared at the State convention at Decatur, May 9, 1860, bearing two weather-worn fence-rails decorated with streamers and a banner inscribed to the effect that they were from the identical lot of three thousand rails which Lincoln had cut on the Sangamon River in 1830. This dramatic scene was devised by Richard J. Oglesby, afterwards Governor and United States Senator, and one of Lincoln's most ardent admirers and faithful supporters. Little did Lincoln dream when he was splitting rails in the walnut woods with John Hanks that he and his companion would appear in a drama of national interest with samples of their handiwork to electrify the country with enthusiasm and confer upon the long-legged farmer boy the sobriquet of "The Illinois Rail-Splitter."

Delegates had been elected to the second National Republican Convention to be held at Chicago a week later, when Mr. Oglesby arose and announced in a serious and mysterious manner that an old citizen of Macon County had something to present to the Convention. Then, with great dramatic effect, John Hanks entered, bearing the relics which were to become the symbols of the National Convention. The assembly was transformed into a tumult, and Lincoln was brought to the platform, where, when order could be restored, he said,—

"Gentlemen: I suppose you want to know something about those things. Well, the truth is, John Hanks and I did make rails in the Sangamon bottom. I don't know whether we made those rails or not; fact is, I don't think they are a credit to the maker [and his awkward frame shook with suppressed laughter]; but I know this, I made rails then and I think I could make better ones than these now."

The rails were taken to the National Convention at Chicago and had a prominent place at the Illinois head-quarters, where, trimmed with flowers and lighted by tapers by enthusiastic ladies, they were the subject of much private and newspaper attention. Later in the campaign they were sent from place to place in the country and other rails from the old farm were also used as campaign emblems. A Philadelphia speculator sent to Illinois and purchased a car-load of them.

Through the remainder of the year and the following winter (1830-31) young Lincoln was employed about his father's new home and at intervals assisted the neighbors in farm work in company with John Hanks. When he reached his twenty-first year he started out for himself according to the custom of the country. He was the most promising young man in that neighborhood. He had a better education than any of the community, his intellectual and conversational powers were beyond all rivalry, and his physical strength and endurance were remarkable even among the giants of those days. He stood six feet four inches in his stockings, and could outlift, outwork, outrun, and outwrestle every man of his acquaintance. And his pride in his physical accomplishments was greater than in his intellectual attainments. For a man of his natural modesty he was very vain of his stature and strength, and was accustomed to display and boast of them even after he became President. He retained his muscular strength to the end of his life, although he then took very little physical exercise. The muscles of his body were like iron. General Veile says that he could take a heavy axe and, grasping it with his thumb and forefinger at the extreme end of the handle, hold it out on a horizontal line from his body. "When I was eighteen years of age I could do this," he said with pride, "and I have never seen the day since when I could not do it." The attachés of the office of the Secretary of War relate curious stories of his frequent displays of muscular strength when he visited the War Department to read the despatches from his generals. He frequently astonished visitors at the Executive Mansion by asking them to measure height with him, and one day shocked Senator Sumner by suggesting that they stand back to back to see which was the taller. A delegation of clergymen appeared at the White House one morning bursting with righteous indignation because slavery was still tolerated in the rebellious States and bearing a series of fervid resolutions demanding immediate abolition. One of the number was a very tall man, and the President could scarcely wait until he had completed his carefully prepared oration presenting the memorial. As soon as he had uttered the last word, Mr. Lincoln asked eagerly,—

"Mr. Blank, how tall are you?"

The clergyman turned scarlet and looked around at his colleagues in amazement.

"I believe I am taller than you," continued the President. "What is your height?"

"Six feet three inches," responded the divine with evident irritation.

"Then I outmeasure you by an inch," said Mr. Lincoln with a satisfied air, and proceeded to explain the situation as to slavery.

A similar scene occurred on another occasion when, however, the visitor happened to be a trifle taller than the President. One of his friends who was present says that the latter showed more irritation than he had ever seen him exhibit before; nor did he forget it, but the next time his friend called he referred to the matter and remarked that he considered himself the tallest man in Washington, although he didn't pretend to be as handsome as General Scott.

When the notification committee came from the Chicago Convention to his home at Springfield, they were presented one after another to their candidate, and, as Governor E. D. Morgan, of New York, reached him, he asked his height and weight. Mr. Morgan gave the information with some amusement, whereupon Lincoln remarked,—

"You are the heavier, but I am the taller."

In 1859, when he went to Milwaukee to deliver an address at a State fair, a cannon-ball tosser in a sideshow interested him more than anything else on the grounds. Lincoln insisted upon testing the weights he handled, and was quite chagrined because he was not able to throw them about as easily as the professional. As they parted he remarked in his droll way,—

"You can outlift me, but I could lick salt off the top of your hat."

Thomas Lincoln did not remain long at his home on the bluffs overlooking the Sangamon River. He was always afflicted with the fever of unrest. Like so many of his class, he continued to advance westward, keeping on the skirmish line of the frontier. He removed three times after he came to Illinois in search of better luck, and never found it. He owned three farms, but never paid for any of them, and was always growing poorer and signing larger mortgages. Finally, when he had reached the end of his credit, Lincoln bought him a tract of forty acres near Farmington, Coles County, where he lived until January 17, 1851, long enough to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing his son one of the foremost men in the State. He was buried near the little hamlet. His wife survived both him and her famous step-son, and was tenderly cared for as long as the latter lived. Before starting for his inauguration he paid her a visit, in February, 1861, when they spent the day in affectionate companionship. She had a presentiment that she should never see him again and told him so, but neither dreamed that he would die first. She lived until April, 1869, a pious, gentle, intelligent, and well-loved woman, and was buried beside her husband. Robert T. Lincoln has erected a monument over their graves.

John Johnston, Lincoln's step-brother, was an honest, but uneasy and shiftless man, and gave him a great deal of trouble. He lived with his mother and step-father most of his life, but never contributed much to their support, and was always in debt, although Lincoln several times give him means to make a fresh start. Lincoln's letters to his step-brother, several of which have been preserved, throw considerable light upon his character.

In 1851, after Thomas Lincoln's death, Johnston proposed to leave his mother and go to Missouri, where he thought he could do better than in Illinois, and asked permission to sell the farm which Lincoln had bought to secure his step-mother a home for life.

"You propose to sell it for three hundred dollars," wrote Lincoln in his indignation, "take one hundred dollars away with you, and leave her two hundred dollars at eight per cent, making her the enormous sum of sixteen dollars a year. Now, if you are satisfied with seeing her in that way I am not."

Then Johnston proposed that Lincoln should lend him eighty dollars to pay his expenses to Missouri.

"You say you would give your place in heaven for seventy or eighty dollars," Lincoln wrote his step-brother. "Then you value your place in heaven very cheap, for I am sure you can, with the offer I make, get seventy or eighty dollars for four or five months' work. What I propose is that you shall go to work 'tooth and nail' for somebody who will give you money for it.... I now promise you, that for every dollar you will, between this and the first of May, get for your own labor, either in money or as your own indebtedness, I will then give you one other dollar.... In this I do not mean that you shall go off to St. Louis, or the lead mines in California, but I mean for you to go at it for the best wages you can get close at home in Coles County. Now, if you will do this, you will soon be out of debt, and, what is better, you will have a habit that will keep you from getting in debt again. But, if I should now clear you out of debt, next year you would be just as deep as ever."

A few months later Lincoln wrote Johnston again in regard to his contemplated move to Missouri:

"What can you do in Missouri better than here? Is the land any richer? Can you there, any more than here, raise corn and wheat and oats without work? Will anybody there, any more than here, do your work for you? If you intend to go to work, there is no better place than right where you are; if you do not intend to go to work, you cannot get along anywhere. Squirming and crawling about from place to place can do you no good. You have raised no crop this year; and what you really want is to sell the land, get the money, and spend it. Part with the land you have, and, my life upon it, you will never after own a spot big enough to bury you in. Half you will get for the land you will spend in moving to Missouri, and the other half you will eat, drink, and wear out, and no foot of land will be bought. Now, I feel it my duty to have no hand in such a piece of foolery."

Shortly after leaving his father's primitive home in the spring of 1831, Lincoln obtained employment with Denton Offutt, a trader and speculator, who, having heard that he had already made a voyage on a flat-boat from Indiana to New Orleans, engaged him for a similar expedition, in company with John D. Johnston, his step-brother, and John Hanks, his cousin, for twelve dollars a month each with their return expenses. It took some time to build the boat, and at the very beginning of the voyage it stuck midway across a dam at the village of New Salem. The bow was high in the air, the stern was low in the water, and shipwreck seemed absolutely certain when Lincoln's ingenuity rescued the craft. Having unloaded the cargo, he bored a hole in the bottom at the end extending over the dam; then he tilted up the boat and let the water run out. That being done, the boat was easily shoved over the dam and reloaded. This novel exhibition of marine engineering so impressed the inhabitants of the neighborhood that Abraham Lincoln's genius was discussed at every fireside for months thereafter, and he gained a reputation at New Salem that proved to be of great value. He was so much interested in what he had done that twenty years later he developed the idea and applied for a patent for a curious contrivance for lifting flat-boats over shoals.

The journey to New Orleans was a valuable experience. Lincoln's first actual contact with the system of slavery made him an abolitionist for life, and the impressions he received were retained throughout his entire career. He returned to St. Louis by steamer, walked across the country to New Salem, and became a clerk in the store of Denton Offutt, measuring calico, weighing out sugar and nails, tending a grist-mill, and making himself useful to his employer and popular with the people.

The following year he engaged in a mercantile adventure on his own account at New Salem which failed disastrously, and found himself loaded with obligations which, in humorous satire upon his own folly, he called "the national debt." His creditors accepted his notes in settlement, and during the next seventeen years he paid them in instalments unto the uttermost farthing, although the terrible responsibility darkened all the days of his life.

"That debt," he once said to a friend, "was the greatest obstacle I have ever met in my life; I had no way of speculating, and could not earn money except by labor, and to earn by labor eleven hundred dollars besides my living seemed the work of a lifetime. There was, however, but one way. I went to the creditors, and told them that if they would let me alone I would give them all I could earn over my living, as fast as I could earn it."

As late as 1849, when a member of Congress, so we are informed by Mr. Herndon, he sent home money saved from his salary to be applied on these obligations. Only a single creditor refused to accept his promises. A man named Van Bergen, who bought one of his notes on speculation, brought suit, obtained judgment against him, and levied upon the horse, saddle, and instruments used by him daily in surveying, and with which, to use his own words, he "kept body and soul together."

James Short, a well-to-do farmer living a few miles north of New Salem, heard of the trouble which had befallen his young friend, and, without advising Lincoln, attended the sale, bought in the horse and surveying instruments for one hundred and twenty dollars, and turned them over to their former owner. After Lincoln left New Salem James Short removed to the far West, and one day thirty years later he received a letter from Washington, containing the surprising but gratifying announcement that he had been commissioned as Indian agent.

It was this honorable discharge of the obligations in which he became involved through the rascality of another man that gave Lincoln the sobriquet of "Honest Old Abe," which one of his biographers has said "proved of greater service to himself and his country than if he had gained the wealth of Crœsus."

It was while he was struggling along, trying to do business with his partner Berry, that he was appointed postmaster at New Salem, which office he continued to hold until it was discontinued in May, 1836. His duties as postmaster, as well as his compensation, were very light, because there were only two or three hundred patrons of the office and their correspondence was limited. He carried their letters around in his hat and read all of their newspapers before he delivered them.

A widely circulated story that Lincoln was once a saloon-keeper was based upon the fact that the firm of Berry & Lincoln obtained a license to sell liquors, which was the practice of all country storekeepers in those days; but, as a matter of fact, the firm never had money or credit sufficient to obtain a stock of that class of goods, and committed the offence only by intention.

In the great debate in 1858, Douglas, in a patronizing manner and a spirit of badinage, spoke of having known Lincoln when he was a "flourishing grocery-keeper" at New Salem. Lincoln retorted that he had never been a "flourishing" grocery-keeper; but added that, if he had been, it was certain that his friend, Judge Douglas, would have been his best customer.

His employment as surveyor began in 1834 and continued for several years while he was serving in the Legislature. John Calhoun, the County Surveyor, from whom he received an appointment as deputy, was a man of education and talent, and an ambitious Democratic politician who afterwards played a prominent part in the Kansas conspiracy.

Judge Stephen T. Logan saw Lincoln for the first time in 1832. He thus speaks of his future partner: "He was a very tall, gawky, and rough-looking fellow then; his pantaloons didn't meet his shoes by six inches. But after he began speaking I became very much interested in him. He made a very sensible speech. His manner was very much the same as in after-life; that is, the same peculiar characteristics were apparent then, though of course in after-years he evinced more knowledge and experience. But he had then the same novelty and the same peculiarity in presenting his ideas. He had the same individuality that he kept through all his life."

Like other famous men of strong character and intellectual force, Lincoln was very sentimental, and had several love-affairs which caused him quite as much anxiety and anguish as happiness. The scene of his first romance was laid in Indiana when he was a barefooted boy, and was afterwards related by him in these words:

"When I was a little codger, one day a wagon with a lady and two girls and a man broke down near us, and while they were fixing up, they cooked in our kitchen. The woman had books and read us stories, and they were the first I had ever heard. I took a great fancy to one of the girls; and when they were gone I thought of her a great deal, and one day, when I was sitting out in the sun by the house, I wrote out a story in my mind. I thought I took my father's horse and followed the wagon, and finally I found it, and they were surprised to see me. I talked with the girl and persuaded her to elope with me; and that night I put her on my horse, and we started off across the prairie. After several hours we came to a camp; and when we rode up we found it was the one we had left a few hours before, and we went in. The next night we tried again, and the same thing happened—the horse came back to the same place; and then we concluded that we ought not to elope. I stayed until I had persuaded her father to give her to me. I always meant to write that story out and publish it, and I began once, but I concluded that it was not much of a story. But I think that was the beginning of love with me."

David R. Locke, of Toledo (Petroleum V. Nasby), said, "I was in Washington once more in 1864, when the great struggle was nearer its close. My business was to secure a pardon for a young man from Ohio who had deserted under rather peculiar circumstances. When he enlisted he was under engagement to a young girl, and went to the front very certain of her faithfulness. It is needless to say that the young girl, being exceptionally pretty, had another lover. Taking advantage of the absence of the favored lover, the discarded one renewed his suit with great vehemence, and rumors reached the young man at the front that his love had gone over to his enemy, and that he was in danger of losing her entirely. He immediately applied for a furlough, which was refused him, and, half mad and reckless of consequences, deserted. He married the girl, but was immediately arrested as a deserter, tried, found guilty, and sentenced to be shot. I stated the circumstances, giving the young fellow a good character, and the President at once signed a pardon, saying,—

"'I want to punish the young man; probably in less than a year he will wish I had withheld the pardon. We can't tell, though. I suppose when I was a young man I should have done the same fool thing.'"

Among his acquaintances at New Salem while he was clerk, postmaster, and surveyor was a blue-eyed girl named Anne Rutledge, who, according to the local traditions, was very beautiful and attractive. Her father, James Rutledge, was one of the founders of the village and kept the tavern at which Lincoln was a regular boarder. He came of a distinguished family and was especially proud of the fact that his grandfather was one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. Before Lincoln met his daughter she had become engaged to John McNeill, alias McNamara, one of the wealthiest and most prosperous of the young men in that part of Illinois. After the announcement of their engagement, McNeill went East to arrange certain business affairs before settling down permanently in Illinois. At first he wrote frequently to his sweetheart, but the intervals between letters grew longer and longer, and finally they ceased altogether.

About this time young Lincoln appeared upon the scene, and, of course, as there were no secrets among neighbors in those days, he was informed of the story. The poor girl's sorrow awakened a sympathy which soon ripened into love. He saw her constantly at her father's tavern, sat by her side at breakfast, dinner, and supper, and usually spent his evenings with her upon the tavern steps or wandering in the lanes of the neighborhood. It was a long time before the girl would listen to his suit; but, convinced that her former lover was either dead or had deserted her, she finally yielded and promised to become Lincoln's wife. As she desired to complete her education, she went to Jacksonville to spend the winter in an academy while he went to Springfield to attend the session of the Legislature and continue his law studies, it being agreed that in the spring, when he had been admitted to the bar, they should be married; but in the mean time the girl fell ill and died. The neighbors said that her disease was a broken heart, but the doctors called it brain fever. Lincoln's sorrow was so intense that his friends feared suicide. It was at this time that the profound melancholy which he is believed to have inherited from his mother was first developed. He never fully recovered from his grief, and, even after he had been elected President, told a friend, "I really loved that girl and often think of her now, and I have loved the name of Rutledge to this day."

He finally recovered his spirits and continued his law studies, politics, and surveying. He removed to Springfield two years later, became a partner of one of the leading attorneys of the State, and took quite an active part in the social affairs of the State capital. Although careless of forms and indifferent to the conventionalities of the day, he was recognized as a rising man, and his humor and conversational powers made him a great favorite. His name appears frequently in the reports of social events at that time; he was an habitual speaker at public banquets and one of the managers of a cotillion party given at the American House, December 16, 1839.

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

AN INVITATION TO A SPRINGFIELD COTILLION PARTY

By special permission, from the collection of
C. F. Gunther, Esq., Chicago

About a year after the death of Anne Rutledge he became involved in a rather ludicrous complication with Miss Mary Owens. It was an undignified and mortifying predicament, but the way he carried himself showed his high sense of honor and obedience to his convictions of duty. It began with a jest. The young lady had visited Springfield, where she had received considerable attention, and Mrs. Able, her sister, before starting for a visit to Kentucky, told Lincoln that she would bring her sister back with her if he would agree to marry her. The bantering offer was accepted, and a few months later he learned with consternation that the young lady expected him to fulfil the agreement. Lincoln was greatly distressed, but his sense of honor would not permit him to deny his obligations. To Mrs. O. H. Browning, whose husband was afterwards a United States Senator and a member of the Cabinet, he explained his predicament, as follows: "I had told her sister that I would take her for better or for worse, and I make a point of honor and conscience in all things to stick to my word, especially if others had been induced to act on it, which in this case I have no doubt they had, for I was now fairly convinced that no other man on earth would have her, and hence the conclusion they were bent on holding me to my bargain. At once I determined to consider her my wife, and this done, all my powers of discovery were put to work in search of perfections in her which might be fairly set off against her defects."

She was several years his senior and not personally attractive, but he assumed that she was an honorable woman with an affectionate regard for him, and wrote her with the utmost candor, explaining his poverty and the sacrifices that she would have to make in marrying him. "I am afraid you would not be satisfied," he wrote; "you would have to be poor without the means of hiding your poverty. Do you believe you could bear that patiently? Whatever woman may cast her lot with mine, should any ever do so, it is my intention to do all in my power to make her happy and contented; and there is nothing I could imagine that would make me more unhappy than to fail in the effort. I know I should be much happier with you than the way I am, provided I saw no signs of discontent in you. What you have said to me may have been in the way of a jest, or I may have misunderstood it. If so, then let it be forgotten; if otherwise, I much wish you would think seriously before you decide. What I have said I will most positively abide by, provided you wish it. My opinion is that you had better not do it. You have not been accustomed to hardship, and it may be more severe than you now imagine. I know you are capable of thinking correctly on any subject, and if you deliberate maturely upon this before you decide, then I am willing to abide your decision."

Miss Owens was evidently not pleased with the situation, and replied with equal candor, telling Lincoln, among other unpleasant things, that she never had any intention or desire to marry him, for he was "deficient in those little links which go to make up a woman's happiness." He rejoiced at his release, but her words stung, and he wrote Mrs. Browning, "I was mortified in a hundred different ways. My vanity was deeply wounded by the reflection that I had so long been too stupid to discover her intentions, and at the same time never doubting that I understood them perfectly; and also that she, whom I had taught myself to believe nobody else would have, had actually rejected me with all my fancied greatness. And, to cap the whole, I then for the first time began to suspect that I was a little in love with her. But let it go; I will try and outlive it. Others have been made fools of by girls, but this can never with truth be said of me. I most emphatically, in this instance, made a fool of myself. I have now come to the conclusion never again to think of marrying, and for this reason, I never can be satisfied with any one who would be blockhead enough to have me."

But it was not long before he was again involved in the chains of Cupid. Miss Mary Todd, also of Kentucky, came to Springfield to visit her sister, the wife of Ninian W. Edwards, one of Lincoln's colleagues in the Legislature. She received much attention from the most prominent young men in Springfield, including Stephen A. Douglas, James Shields, and other of Lincoln's political associates and rivals; but it was soon apparent that she preferred him, and against the protests of Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, who were familiar with his hopeless pecuniary circumstances, they became engaged.

The course of their love did not run smooth. Their tastes were different. Miss Todd was absorbed in social pleasures and demanded admiration and devotion. Lincoln was absorbed in his studies and political affairs and was not so ardent a lover as she desired. Misunderstandings and reproaches were frequent, and at last Lincoln became so thoroughly convinced that they were unsuited to each other that he asked to be released from the engagement. The young woman consented with tears of anger and grief, and Lincoln, having discovered, when it was too late, the depth of her love for him, accused himself of a breach of honor so bitterly that it preyed upon his mind. He wrote Joshua F. Speed, of Kentucky, who was the most intimate friend he had, and whose brother was afterwards a member of his Cabinet, "I must regain my confidence in my own ability to keep my resolves when they are made. In that ability I once prided myself as the only or the chief gem of my character. That gem I have lost. How and where you know too well. I have not yet regained it, and until I do I cannot trust myself in any matter of much importance."

Everybody in Springfield knew of the broken engagement and that it was the cause of Mr. Lincoln's intense remorse and melancholy. He did not deny or attempt to disguise it. He wrote Mr. Stuart, his law partner, three weeks after the fatal first of January, "I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on earth. Whether I shall ever be better, I cannot tell; I awfully forebode that I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or get better." To other of his intimates he spoke with equal freedom of the sense of dishonor and despair that possessed him, and they persuaded him to visit his friend Speed, who carried him off to Kentucky and kept him for several months. The visit did much to brighten his spirits, and his own distress was forgotten in his efforts to comfort Speed, who in the meantime had become engaged, was afraid that he did not love his sweetheart well enough to marry her, and confided his doubts to Lincoln.

In the mean time Miss Todd appears to have regained her self-possession and calmly awaited the will of the fates who were to restore relations with her sensitive and remorseful lover. The incident which finally brought them together was a comedy of national interest.

Among the most conspicuous Democratic politicians in Illinois at that time was James Shields, an impulsive Irishman of diminutive stature who was afterwards a general in two wars and a member of the United States Senate from two States. His ardent admiration for the ladies and his personal eccentricities exposed him to ridicule, about which he was very sensitive, and when he found himself the subject of a satirical letter and doggerel poem in a Springfield newspaper he became enraged, called upon the editor, and demanded the name of the author. The satires happened to have been the joint composition of Miss Todd and Julia Jayne, one of her girl friends, who afterwards became the wife of Lyman Trumbull. In his dilemma the editor asked the advice of Mr. Lincoln, who replied,—

"Tell Shields that I wrote them."

Whereupon he received a challenge which was promptly accepted. According to the code, Lincoln, being the party challenged, was entitled to the choice of weapons, and, as he did not believe in duelling, he tried to compel Shields to withdraw his challenge by proposing the most absurd conditions, which, however, Shields accepted without appearing to perceive the purpose of his antagonist. Lincoln was a very tall man with unusually long arms. Shields was very short,—so short that his head did not reach to Lincoln's shoulder,—yet the conditions were that they should go down to an island in the Mississippi River and fight with broadswords across a plank set up on edge, and whichever of the contestants retreated three feet back of the plank lost the battle.

The parties actually went across the country,—a journey of three days on horseback,—the plank was set on edge, and the battle was about to begin when mutual friends intervened and put an end to the nonsense. One of the spectators described the scene in most graphic language; how the two antagonists were seated on logs while their seconds arranged the plank. "Lincoln's face was grave and serious," he said, "although he must have been shaking with suppressed amusement. Presently he reached over and picked up one of the swords, which he drew from its scabbard. Then he felt along the edge of the weapon with his thumb like a barber feels of the edge of his razor, raised himself to his full height, stretched out his long arm, and clipped off a twig above his head with the sword. There wasn't another man of us who could have reached anywhere near that twig, and the absurdity of that long-reaching fellow fighting with cavalry sabres with Shields, who could walk under his arm, came pretty near making me howl with laughter. After Lincoln had cut off the twig, he returned the sword solemnly to the scabbard and sat down again on the log."

Upon the return of the duelling party to Springfield, several conflicting explanations were made by friends, the supporters of Lincoln making the affair as ridiculous as possible, while the defenders of Shields endeavored to turn it to his credit. It was Lincoln's last personal quarrel. Happily, more ink than blood was shed, but the gossips of Springfield were furnished the most exciting topic of the generation, and Miss Todd and Mr. Lincoln, who had been estranged for nearly a year, were brought together with mutual gratification. On November 4, 1842, they were married at the residence of Mr. Edwards, the brother-in-law of the bride, and Mr. Lincoln's melancholy disappeared or was dissipated by the sunshine of a happy home. He took his bride to board at the Globe Tavern, where, he wrote his friend Speed, the charges were four dollars a week for both, and returned to the practical routine of his daily life with the patience, industry, and intelligence which were his greatest characteristics. His partnership with Stuart lasted four years until the latter was elected to Congress, when a new one was formed with Judge Stephen T. Logan, who had studied Lincoln's character and learned his ability while presiding upon the circuit bench.

MARY TODD LINCOLN, WIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

From a photograph by Brady in the War Department Collection

Mr. Lincoln's talent was acknowledged by every one who knew him. He was rapidly assuming leadership in politics and at the bar. Compared with most of his neighbors and associates he was a man of learning, and his wisdom and sense of justice made him an umpire and arbitrator in all forms of contest from wrestling matches to dissensions among husbands and wives. His gentle sympathy, sincerity, candor, and fearless honesty were recognized and appreciated by the entire community. No man in Springfield or in that part of the State where he was best known ever questioned his word or his integrity of character. With the encouragement of Judge Logan, he undertook a deeper and more serious study of the law, and the eminence of his partner brought to the firm much lucrative business which Lincoln was able to manage. His income increased in a corresponding manner, and he was able to indulge his wife and family in greater comforts and luxuries; but at the same time he was very poor. His step-mother and step-brother were burdens upon him; he was still struggling to pay what he called "the national debt" as rapidly as possible, and laid aside every cent he could spare from his household expenses for that purpose.

But he was never a money-maker. That talent was sadly lacking in him as in other great men. While he was in New York to make his Cooper Institute speech in the spring of 1860, he met an old acquaintance from Illinois, whom he addressed with an inquiry as to how he had fared since leaving the West. "I have made a hundred thousand dollars and lost all," was his reply. Then, turning questioner, he said, "How is it with you, Mr. Lincoln?" "Oh, very well," he said; "I have a cottage at Springfield and about eight thousand dollars in money. If they make me Vice-President with Seward, as some say they will, I hope I shall be able to increase it to twenty thousand; and that is as much as any man ought to want."

With the fee received from one of his earliest important cases he purchased a modest frame house in an unfashionable part of Springfield, which was afterwards enlarged, and was his only home. It was also the only piece of property he ever owned, with the exception of two tracts of wild land in Iowa which he received from Congress for his services in the Black Hawk War. In that house he received the committee that came to notify him of his nomination for the Presidency, and its members were impressed with the simplicity of his life and surroundings. It was more comfortable than commodious, and not unlike the residences of well-to-do members of his profession throughout the country. He lived well, he was hospitable to his friends, and Mrs. Lincoln took an active part in the social affairs of the community.

One who often visited him, referring to "the old-fashioned hospitality of Springfield," writes, "Among others I recall with a sad pleasure the dinners and evening parties given by Mrs. Lincoln. In her modest and simple home, where everything was so orderly and refined, there was always on the part of both host and hostess a cordial and hearty Western welcome which put every guest perfectly at ease. Their table was famed for the excellence of many rare Kentucky dishes, and for venison, wild turkeys, and other game, then so abundant. Yet it was her genial manner and ever-kind welcome, and Mr. Lincoln's wit and humor, anecdote and unrivalled conversation, which formed the chief attraction."

They had four children: Edward Baker, born March 10, 1846, who died in infancy; William Wallace, born December 21, 1850, died in the White House February 20, 1862; Thomas, born April 4, 1853, died in Chicago July 15, 1871; and Robert Todd, the only survivor, born August 1, 1843, a graduate of Harvard University and a lawyer by profession. He filled with distinction the office of Secretary of War during the administrations of Presidents Garfield and Arthur, was minister to England under President Harrison, and now resides in Chicago as President of the Pullman Sleeping Car Company.

Mr. Lincoln was very fond of his children, and many anecdotes are related of his adventures with them. He frequently took his boys about with him, finding more satisfaction in their companionship than among his old associates. He seldom went to his office in the morning without carrying his youngest child down the street on his shoulder, while the older ones clung to his hands or coat-tails. Every child in Springfield knew and loved him, for his sympathy seemed to comprehend them all. It has been said that there was no institution in Springfield in which he did not take an active interest. He made a daily visit to a drug store on the public square which was the rendezvous of politicians and lawyers, and on Sunday morning was always to be found in his pew in the First Presbyterian Church. He was one of the most modest yet the most honored member of the community, and his affection for his neighbors could have been no better expressed than in his few words of farewell when he left Springfield for his inauguration at Washington:

"My friends: no one not in my position can realize the sadness I feel at this parting. To this people I owe all that I am. Here I have lived more than a quarter of a century. Here my children were born and here one of them lies buried. I know not how soon I shall see you again. I go to assume a task more difficult than that which has devolved upon any other man since the days of Washington. He never would have succeeded except for the aid of Divine Providence, upon which he at all times relied. I feel that I cannot succeed without the same Divine blessing which sustained him; and on the same Almighty Being I place my reliance for support. And I hope you, my friends, will all pray that I may receive that Divine assistance, without which I cannot succeed, but with which success is certain. Again I bid you an affectionate farewell."

Mrs. Lincoln died at the residence of her sister, Mrs. Ninian W. Edwards, in Springfield, July 16, 1882. Dr. Thomas W. Dresser, her physician during her last illness, says of her, "In the late years of her life mental peculiarities were developed which finally culminated in a slight apoplexy, producing paralysis of which she died. Among the peculiarities alluded to, one of the most singular was the habit she had during the last year or so of her life of immuring herself in a perfectly dark room and, for light, using a small candle-light, even when the sun was shining bright out of doors. No urging would induce her to go out into the fresh air. Another peculiarity was the accumulation of large quantities of silks and dress goods in trunks and by the cart-load, which she never used and which accumulated until it was really feared that the floor of the storeroom would give way. She was bright and sparkling in conversation, and her memory remained singularly good up to the very close of her life. Her face was animated and pleasing, and to me she was always an interesting woman; and while the whole world was finding fault with her temper and disposition, it was clear to me that the trouble was really a cerebral disease."

In appearance Lincoln was a very plain man. Folks called him ugly, but his ugliness was impressive. He was gaunt and awkward, his limbs and arms were very long, his hands and feet were large, and his knuckles were prominent. His neck was long, the skin was coarse and wrinkled and the sinews showed under it. There was so little flesh upon his face that his features were more pronounced than they otherwise would have been. His nose and chin were especially prominent. In all his movements he was as awkward as he was uncouth in appearance, but it was an awkwardness that was often eloquent.

General Fry left this pen portrait: "Lincoln was tall and thin; his long bones were united by large joints, and he had a long neck and an angular face and head. Many likenesses represent his face well enough, but none that I have ever seen do justice to the awkwardness and ungainliness of his figure. His feet, hanging loosely to his ankles, were prominent objects; but his hands were more conspicuous even than his feet,—due, perhaps, to the fact that ceremony at times compelled him to clothe them in white kid gloves, which always fitted loosely. Both in the height of conversation and in the depth of reflection his hand now and then ran over or supported his head, giving his hair habitually a disordered aspect."

Mr. Lincoln's indifference about dress did not improve his appearance. His old-fashioned "stovepipe hat" was as familiar an object around Washington as it was in Springfield, and his family and associates were unable to induce him to purchase a new one. He usually wore a suit of broadcloth with a long frock coat, the customary garments of the legal profession in the West and South in those days, and, instead of an overcoat, a gray shawl which was more than half the time hanging carelessly over one shoulder.

He enjoyed jokes at the expense of his personal appearance, and used to appropriate to himself this ancient incident which has been told of so many other ugly men. "In the days when I used to be on the circuit," he often said, "I was once accosted in the cars by a stranger, who said, 'Excuse me, sir, but I have an article in my possession which belongs to you.' 'How is that?' I asked, considerably astonished. The stranger took a jack-knife from his pocket. 'This knife,' said he, 'was placed in my hands some years ago with the injunction that I was to keep it until I found a man uglier than myself. I have carried it from that time until this. Allow me now to say, sir, that I think you are fairly entitled to the property.'"

Another of his stories about himself concerned a certain honest old farmer who, visiting the capital for the first time, was taken by the member from his "deestrick" to some large gathering at which he was told he could see the President. Unfortunately, Mr. Lincoln did not appear; and the Congressman, being a bit of a wag and not liking to have his constituent disappointed, pointed out a gentleman of a particularly round and rubicund countenance. The worthy farmer, greatly astonished, exclaimed, "Is that Old Abe? Well, I do declare! He's a better-looking man than I expected to see; but it does seem as if his troubles had driven him to drink."

One night Lincoln had a dream which he used to relate with great gusto to his friends and family. He said that he was in some great assembly and the crowd opened to let him pass. One of the multitude remarked, "He is a common-looking fellow," whereupon Lincoln turned and rebuked him, saying, "Friend, the Lord prefers common-looking people; that is why he made so many of them."

As is well known, Mr. Lincoln's nature sought relief in trying situations by recalling incidents or anecdotes of a humorous character. It was his safety-valve, and when his memory awakened the story he sought, there would be a sudden and radical transformation of his features. His face would glow, his eyes would twinkle, and his lips would curl and quiver. His face was often an impenetrable mask, and people who watched him when a perplexing question was proposed, or when he was in doubt as to his duty, could never interpret what was going on in his mind. He never declined to face any person, however annoying or dangerous, and this faith in his own strength sufficed to guide him through some of the severest trials that have ever fallen to the lot of a public man.

At times Mr. Lincoln stood almost transfigured, and those who were with him declare that his face would light up with a beauty as if it were inspired. When in repose it wore an expression of infinite sadness, which was due to his natural melancholy temperament as well as to the continual strain of anxiety and his familiarity with the horrors inseparable from war. There was no heart so tender for the sufferings and sorrows of the soldiers and their families in all the country, and he seemed to share the anguish of the broken-hearted mothers whose sons had fallen in battle or were starving in prison beyond his rescue. When death entered his own household his sorrow could scarcely be measured; his sympathetic soul yielded so often to importunities that his generals declared that he was destroying the discipline of the army. His own career had been an incessant struggle, a ceaseless endeavor, and his tenderness is traceable to impressions thus formed. No man ever occupied a similar position whose experience had been so closely parallel with that of the plain people he represented. Nowhere in all literature can be found a more appropriate or touching expression of sympathy than his letter to Mrs. Bixby, of Boston, who, it was then supposed, had given five sons to her country:

"Dear Madam:—I have been shown, in the files of the War Department, a statement of the Adjutant-General of Massachusetts, that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic that they have died to save. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.

"Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

"Abraham Lincoln."

Mr. D. R. Locke (Petroleum V. Nasby), of whose writings he was so fond, said, "Those who accuse Lincoln of frivolity never knew him. I never saw a more thoughtful face, I never saw a more dignified face, I never saw so sad a face. He had humor of which he was totally unconscious, but it was not frivolity. He said wonderfully witty things, but never from a desire to be witty. His wit was entirely illustrative. He used it because, and only because, at times he could say more in this way and better illustrate the idea with which he was pregnant. He never cared how he made a point so that he made it, and he never told a story for the mere sake of telling a story. When he did it, it was for the purpose of illustrating and making clear a point. He was essentially epigrammatic and parabolic. He was a master of satire, which at times was as blunt as a meat-axe and at others as keen as a razor; but it was always kindly except when some horrible injustice was its inspiration, and then it was terrible. Weakness he was never ferocious with, but intentional wickedness he never spared."

One day the Hon. Thaddeus Stevens called at the White House with an elderly lady in great trouble, whose son had been in the army, but for some offence had been court-martialled and sentenced either to death or imprisonment at hard labor for a long term. There were extenuating circumstances, and after a full hearing the President said, "Mr. Stevens, do you think this is a case which will warrant my interference?" "With my knowledge of the facts and parties," was the reply, "I should have no hesitation in granting a pardon." "Then," returned Mr. Lincoln, "I will pardon him," and he proceeded forthwith to execute the paper. The gratitude of the mother was too deep for expression, save by tears, and not a word was said until half-way down the stairs, when she suddenly broke forth, in an excited manner,—

"I knew it was a Copperhead lie!"

"What do you mean, madam?" asked Mr. Stevens.

"Why, they told me he was an ugly looking man," she replied with vehemence. "He is the handsomest man I ever saw in all my life."

The doorkeepers at the White House had standing orders that, no matter how great might be the throng, the President would see every person who came to him with a petition for the saving of life. A woman carrying a baby came three days in succession. Her husband had deserted from the army, and had been caught and sentenced to be shot. While going through the anteroom, Mr. Lincoln heard the child cry, rang a bell, and, when the doorkeeper came, asked,—

"Daniel, is there a woman with a baby in the anteroom? Send her to me at once."

She went in, told her story, and the President pardoned her husband. As she came out from his presence her lips were moving in prayer and the tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"Madam, it was the baby that did it!" said the messenger.

Mr. A. B. Chandler, who had charge of the telegraph office at the War Department, says that on several occasions Lincoln came to the office near midnight with a message written by his own hand in order that there should be no mistake or delay in sending respite to a condemned soldier. "I think," said Mr. Chandler, "he never failed to interpose his power to prevent the execution of a soldier for sleeping at his post, or any other than a wilful and malicious act; and even in such cases, when brought to his attention, he made the most careful review of the facts, and always seemed more anxious to find the offender innocent than guilty; and when guilty he was disposed to take into consideration, as far as possible, any extenuating circumstances in favor of the wrong-doer.

"On New Year's morning, 1864," continued Mr. Chandler, "Mr. Lincoln was about opening the door of the military telegraph office. A woman stood in the hall, crying. Mr. Lincoln had observed this, and as soon as he was seated he said to Major Eckert, 'What is the woman crying about just outside your door? I wish you would go and see,' said Mr. Lincoln. So the major went out and learned that the woman had come to Washington expecting to be able to go to the army and see her soldier husband, which was not altogether unusual for ladies to do while the army was in the winter-quarters; but very strict orders had recently been issued prohibiting women from visiting the army, and she found herself with her child, in Washington, incurring more expense than she supposed would be necessary, with very little money, and in great grief. This being explained to the President, he said, in his frank, off-hand way, 'Come, now, let's send her down: what do you say?'

"The major explained the strict orders that the Department had issued lately, the propriety of which Mr. Lincoln recognized, but he was still unwilling to yield his purpose. Finally the major suggested that a leave of absence to come to Washington might be given the woman's husband. The President quickly adopted the suggestion, and directed that Colonel Hardie, an assistant adjutant-general on duty in an adjoining room, should make an official order permitting the man to come to Washington."

But when provoked, or when his sense of justice was violated, Lincoln showed a terrible temper. It is related that on one occasion when the California delegation in Congress called upon him to present a nominee for an office, they disputed the right of Senator Baker, of Oregon, to be consulted respecting the patronage of the Pacific coast. One of them unwisely attacked the private character and motives of the Oregon Senator, forgetting that he had been one of Lincoln's oldest and closest friends in Illinois. The President's indignation was aroused instantly, and he defended Baker and denounced his accusers with a vehemence that is described as terrible. The California delegation never questioned the integrity of his friends again.

"Of all public men," said John B. Alley, "none seemed to have so little pride of opinion. He was always learning, and did not adhere to views which he found to be erroneous, simply because he had once formed and held them. I remember that he once expressed an opinion to me, on an important matter, quite different from what he had expressed a short time before, and I said, 'Mr. President, you have changed your mind entirely within a short time.' He replied, 'Yes, I have; and I don't think much of a man who is not wiser to-day than he was yesterday.' A remark full of wisdom and sound philosophy. Mr. Lincoln was so sensible, so broad-minded, so philosophical, so noble in his nature, that he saw only increasing wisdom in enlarged experience and observation."

Senator Conners, of California, said, "One morning I called on the President to talk with him on some public business, and as soon as we met he began by asking if I knew Captain Maltby, now living in California, saying, 'He is visiting here and his wife is with him.' I replied that I knew of him, and had heard he was in Washington. He said that when he first came to Springfield, where he was unknown, and a carpet-bag contained all he owned in the world, and he was needing friends, Captain Maltby and his wife took him into their modest dwelling; that he lived with them while he 'put out his shingle' and sought business.

"He had known Maltby during the period of the Black Hawk War. No one was ever treated more kindly than he was by them. He had risen in the world and they were poor, and Captain Maltby wanted some place which would give him a living. 'In fact,' said he, 'Maltby wants to be Superintendent of the Mint at San Francisco, but he is hardly equal to that. I want to find some place for him, and into which he will fit, and I know nothing about these things.' I said, 'There is a place—Superintendent of Indian Affairs in California—where the incumbent should be superseded for cause, and the place is simply a great farm, where the government supplies the means of carrying it on; there is an abundance of Indian labor, and making it produce and accounting for the products are the duties principally.' He replied, 'Maltby is the man for this place,' and he was made entirely happy by being able to serve an old and good man."

Abraham Lincoln inherited his love of learning from his mother, who was superior in intelligence and refinement to the women of her class and time. His ambition to become a lawyer was inspired by a copy of the Revised Statutes of Indiana which accidentally fell into his hands when he was a mere boy in the swampy forests of the southern section of that State. In the brief autobiography already referred to, which he prepared for the newspapers to gratify public curiosity when he was nominated as a candidate for President, he says that he "went to school by littles; in all, it did not amount to more than a year," and he afterwards told a friend that he "read through every book he ever heard of in that country for a circuit of fifty miles." These included Weems's "Life of Washington," Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," Æsop's "Fables," "Robinson Crusoe," a History of the United States whose author is not named, the Bible, and the Statutes of Indiana.

This is the catalogue he gave of the books he knew in his youth. His biographer included Plutarch's "Lives," and when the advanced sheets of the campaign sketch reached Lincoln he gave a curious exhibition of his habitual accuracy by calling attention to the fact that this was not exact when it was written, "for, up to that moment in my life, I had never seen that early contribution to human history; but I want your book, even if it is nothing more than a mere campaign sketch, to be faithful to the facts, and, in order that the statement might be literally true, I secured the book (Plutarch's 'Lives') a few weeks ago and have sent for you to tell you that I have just read it through."

It is quite remarkable that a country lad, almost illiterate, should have found a volume of statutes interesting reading, but Lincoln read and reread it until he had almost committed its contents to memory, and in after-years, when any one cited an Indiana law, he could usually repeat the exact text and often give the numbers of the page, chapter, and paragraph. The book belonged to David Turnham, who seems to have been a constable or magistrate in that part of Indiana, and this volume constituted his professional library. The actual copy is now preserved in the library of the New York Law Institute. The binding is worn and the title-page and a few leaves at the end are missing. Besides the statutes as enacted up to 1824, it contains the Declaration of Independence, the Constitutions of the United States and the State of Indiana, and the Act of Virginia, passed in 1783, by which "The territory North Westward of the river Ohio" was conveyed to the United States, and the ordinance of 1787 for governing that territory, of which Article VI. reads:

"There shall neither be slavery nor involuntary servitude in the said territory, otherwise than in the punishment of crime, whereof the party shall be duly convicted; provided always, that any person escaping into the same, from whom labor or service is lawfully claimed, in any one of the original States, such fugitive may be lawfully reclaimed, and conveyed to the person claiming his or her labor or service as aforesaid."

It is an interesting coincidence that Abraham Lincoln should not only have received the impressions which guided him in the choice of his career from this volume, but also his first knowledge of the legal side of slavery. Before he finished that book he knew the principles upon which the government of the United States was founded and how they were applied in the States. Its contents were fastened upon his memory by copying long extracts with a quill of a turkey-buzzard and ink home-made from the juice of the brier root. When he had no paper he wrote upon a shingle, and, after he had committed to memory the paragraphs so preserved, he would shave off the shingle with his knife and write others. When he was in the field ploughing or cultivating he took a book with him, and when he stopped to rest would pull it from his pocket and read until it was time to resume work again. In after-life, even when he came to the White House, he used to speak of the impressions made upon his mind by the "Life of Washington," and always contended that it was better for the young men of the country to regard Washington in the light of a demigod, as Parson Weems describes him, than to shake their faith in the greatest hero of American history by narrating his mistakes and follies as if he were a common man.

He never lost his love for "Pilgrim's Progress" or "Robinson Crusoe." The characters in both were real to him, and to the end of his days he could repeat Æsop's "Fables" verbatim.

In those days schools were very scarce and poor; the teachers were usually incompetent itinerant adventurers or men too lazy or feeble to do the manual labor required of frontiersmen. They were paid a trifling fee for each scholar and "boarded 'round." Nothing was expected of them in the way of education beyond a knowledge of the three R's, and Lincoln, of all famous self-made men, owed the least of his intellectual strength and knowledge to teachers and books and the most to observation and human contact. When he was upon his eventful "speaking trip," as he called it, in New England, in the spring of 1860, a clergyman of Hartford was so impressed by the language and logic of his address that he inquired where he was educated. Mr. Lincoln replied,—

"Well, as to education, the newspapers are correct. I never went to school more than six months in my life. I can say this: that among my earliest recollections I remember how, when a mere child, I used to get irritated when anybody talked to me in a way that I could not understand. I can remember going to my little bedroom, after hearing the neighbors talk of an evening with my father, and spending no small part of the night trying to make out what was the exact meaning of some of their, to me, dark sayings.

"I could not sleep, although I tried to, when I got on such a hunt for an idea until I had caught it; and when I thought I had got it I was not satisfied until I had repeated it over and over again, until I had put it in language plain enough, as I thought, for any boy I knew to comprehend. This was a kind of passion with me, and it has stuck by me; for I am never easy now, when I am handling a thought, until I have bounded it north and bounded it south and bounded it east and bounded it west."

Among the papers of the late Charles Lanman there is a sketch of Mr. Lincoln, written in his own hand. Mr. Lanman was editor of the Congressional Directory at the time that Mr. Lincoln was elected to Congress, and, according to the ordinary custom, forwarded to him, as well as to all the other members-elect, a blank to be filled out with facts and dates which might be made the basis for a biographical sketch in the Directory. Lincoln's blank was returned promptly filled up in his own handwriting, with the following information:

"Born February 12, 1809, in Hardin County, Kentucky.

"Education defective.

"Profession, lawyer.

"Military service, captain of volunteers in the Black Hawk War.

"Offices held: postmaster at a very small office; four times a member of the Illinois Legislature, and elected to the Lower House of the next Congress."

Mr. Leonard Swett, who was closely identified with Mr. Lincoln for many years, says,—

"In the fall of 1853, as I was riding with Mr. Lincoln, I said, 'I have heard a great many curious incidents of your early life, and I would be obliged if you would begin at your earliest recollection and tell me the story of it continuously.'

"'I can remember,' he said, 'our life in Kentucky: the cabin, the stinted living, the sale of our possessions, and the journey with my father and mother to Southern Indiana.' I think he said he was then about six years old. Shortly after his arrival in Indiana his mother died. 'It was pretty pinching times at first in Indiana, getting the cabin built, and the clearing for the crops, but presently we got reasonably comfortable, and my father married again.'

"He had very faint recollections of his own mother, he was so young when she died; but he spoke most kindly of her and of his step-mother, and her cares for him in providing for his wants.

"'My father,' he said, 'had suffered greatly for the want of an education, and he determined at an early day that I should be well educated. And what do you think his ideas of a good education were? We had a dog-eared arithmetic in our house, and father determined that somehow, or somehow else, I should cipher clear through that book.'

"With this standard of an education, he started to a school in a log-house in the neighborhood, and began his educational career. He had attended this school but about six weeks, however, when a calamity befell his father. He had endorsed a man's note in the neighborhood for a considerable amount, and the prospect was he would have it to pay, and that would sweep away all their little possessions. His father, therefore, explained to him that he wanted to hire him out and receive the fruits of his labor and his aid in averting this calamity. Accordingly, at the expiration of six weeks, he left school and never returned to it again."

Copyright, 1900 by McClure, Phillips & Co.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN EARLY IN 1861, WHEN HE FIRST BEGAN TO WEAR A BEARD

From a photograph in the collection of H. W. Fay, Esq., De Kalb, Illinois. By special permission

He first attended school when he was about seven years old and still living in Kentucky. It was held in a little log-hut near their cabin, and was taught by Zachariah Riney, an Irish Catholic of whom he retained a pleasant memory, for it was there that he learned to read. The next year Caleb Hazel opened a school about four miles distant, which Lincoln attended for three months with his sister Sarah, and both of them learned to write. He had no more teaching while he lived in Kentucky, except from his mother. There is no record of his schooling in Indiana, but the neighbors testify that in his tenth year he attended school for a few months in a small cabin of round logs about a mile and a half from the rude home of his father; there he went again for a few months when he was fourteen years old, and again in 1826, when he was seventeen, to a man named Swaney, who taught at a distance of four miles and a half from the Lincoln cabin. He had little encouragement from his father, for the latter considered the daily walk of nine miles and the six hours spent in the school-room a waste of time for a boy six feet tall. His step-mother, however, endeavored to encourage and protect him in his efforts to learn, and they studied together. He read her the books he borrowed, and they used to discuss the unintelligible passages. He was not remarkably quick at learning. On the contrary, his perceptions were rather dull; but that is often an advantage to a studious mind, as everything increases in value with the effort required to attain it. His memory was good, his power of reasoning was early developed, and a habit of reflection was acquired at an early age. He once remarked to a friend that his mind did not take impressions easily, but they were never effaced. "I am slow to learn, and slow to forget that which I have learned," he said. "My mind is like a piece of steel—very hard to scratch anything on it, and almost impossible after you get it there to rub it out." The fact that he never abandoned an idea until it was thoroughly understood was the foundation of a healthy mental growth.

At this time, when he was seventeen years old, he had a general knowledge of the rudiments of learning. He was a good arithmetician, he had some knowledge of geography and history, he could "spell down" the whole county at spelling-school, and wrote a clear and neat hand. His general reading embraced poetry and a few novels. He even attempted to make rhymes, although he was not very successful. He wrote several prose compositions, and it is related that "one of the most popular amusements in the neighborhood was to hear Abe Lincoln make a comic speech."

Lincoln received no more teaching, but continued his reading and study until his family removed to Illinois. When he went to New Salem, after he had made his second voyage to New Orleans, and was waiting for Denton Offutt to open his store, a local election was held. One of the clerks of election being unable to attend, Menton Graham, the other clerk, who was also the village school-master, asked Lincoln if he could write.

"I can make a few rabbit tracks," was the reply, and upon that admission he was sworn into his first office.

Thus began one of the most useful friendships he ever enjoyed, for Graham was an intelligent and sympathetic friend who inspired the future President with ambition, nourished his appetite for knowledge, loaned him books, assisted him in his studies, heard him recite, corrected his compositions, and was his constant companion while he was clerking in Offutt's store. One day Graham told him that he ought to study grammar, and the next morning Lincoln walked six miles to a neighboring town to obtain a copy of Kirkham's "Grammar." This volume was found in his library after his death. It was Graham, too, who in six weeks taught him the science of surveying after Lincoln was appointed deputy to John Calhoun. From none of his many friends did he receive more valuable counsel and assistance.

After he was admitted to the bar and became a member of the Legislature, he continued a regular course of study, including mathematics, logic, rhetoric, astronomy, literature, and other branches, devoting a certain number of hours to it every day. He followed this rule even after his marriage, and several years after his return from Congress he joined a German class which met in his office two evenings a week.

His early friends have always contended that his devotion to study hastened the failure of the mercantile enterprise which caused him so much anxiety and left the burden of debt upon his shoulders which he carried so many years; for when he should have been attending to the store and watching the dissolute habits of his partner, he was absorbed in his books.

His ambition to be a lawyer was stimulated by a curious incident that occurred soon after he went into partnership with Berry. He related it himself in these words:

"One day a man who was migrating to the West drove up in front of my store with a wagon which contained his family and household plunder. He asked me if I would buy an old barrel for which he had no room in his wagon, and which he said contained nothing of special value. I did not want it, but to oblige him I bought it, and paid him, I think, half a dollar for it. Without further examination I put it away in the store and forgot all about it. Some time after, in overhauling things, I came upon the barrel, and emptying it upon the floor to see what it contained, I found at the bottom of the rubbish a complete edition of Blackstone's 'Commentaries.' I began to read those famous works, and I had plenty of time; for during the long summer days, when the farmers were busy with their crops, my customers were few and far between. The more I read"—this he said with unusual emphasis—"the more intensely interested I became. Never in my whole life was my mind so thoroughly absorbed. I read until I devoured them."

It was while he was still a deputy surveyor that Lincoln was elected to the Legislature, and in his autobiographical notes he says, "During the canvass, in a private conversation, Major John T. Stuart (one of his fellow-candidates) encouraged Abraham to study law. After the election he borrowed books of Stuart, took them home with him and went at it in good earnest. He never studied with anybody. As he tramped back and forth from Springfield, twenty miles away, to get his law books, he read sometimes forty pages or more on the way. The subject seemed to be never out of his mind. It was the great absorbing interest of his life." The rule he gave twenty years later to a young man who wanted to know how to become a lawyer, was the one he practised: "Get books and read and study them carefully. Begin with Blackstone's 'Commentaries,' say twice, take Chitty's 'Pleadings,' Greenleaf's 'Evidence,' and Story's 'Equity,' in succession. Work, work, work is the main thing."

Immediately after his election he went to Springfield and was admitted to the bar on September 9, 1836. His name first appears upon the list of the attorneys and counsellors-at-law published at the opening of the next term, March 1, 1837. As there was no lawyer in the neighborhood of New Salem, and none nearer than Springfield, Lincoln had obtained a little practice in petty cases before the village magistrate, and it is stated that, poor as he was, he never accepted a fee for such services because he felt that he was fully paid by the experience.

For a long time he was in doubt as to the expediency of abandoning his work as surveyor, which brought him from twelve to fifteen dollars a month, for the uncertain income of a lawyer, for he was still burdened by debt, and was constantly called upon for money by his step-mother and step-brother; but John T. Stuart, with whom he had been associated in politics and in the Black Hawk War, and who had proved to be a true friend, offered him a partnership, and Stuart was one of the leading lawyers of the State. Therefore, Lincoln decided to take the chances, and, on April 15, 1837, rode into Springfield, says his friend Joshua Speed, "on a borrowed horse, with no earthly property save a pair of saddle-bags containing a few clothes."

His first case was that of Hawthorne vs. Woolridge, his first fee was three dollars, and he made his first appearance in court in October, 1836. We do not know the details. He created a sensation the following summer, and for the first time revealed some of the characteristics which afterwards made him famous by his merciless pursuit of a rascal named Adams who had swindled the widow of one Joseph Anderson out of some land. His treatment of this case advertised him far and wide in the country around Springfield as a shrewd practitioner and a man of tireless energy, and it doubtless brought him considerable business. The account-book of Stuart & Lincoln is still preserved, and shows that their fees were very small,—not exceeding sixteen hundred dollars for the year and seldom more than ten dollars in a case; while many of them were traded out at the town groceries, and, in the case of farmers, were paid in vegetables, poultry, butter, and other produce. But that was the custom of the time, and at that date a fee of one hundred dollars was as rare as one of ten thousand dollars now.

In those days, because of the scattering population and the absence of transportation facilities, it was customary for courts to travel in circuits, each circuit being presided over by a judge who went from one county-seat to another twice a year to hear whatever cases had accumulated upon the docket. Springfield was situated in the Eighth Judicial Circuit, which at that time was one hundred and fifty miles square, including fifteen counties comprising the central part of Illinois. As there were no railroads, the judge travelled on horseback or in a carriage, followed by a number of lawyers. The best-known lawyers had central offices at Springfield and branch offices at the different county-seats, where they were represented permanently by junior partners, who prepared their cases and attended to litigation of minor importance.

When the county-seat was reached the judge was given the best room at the hotel and presided at the dining-room table, surrounded by lawyers, jurors, witnesses, litigants, prisoners out on bail, and even the men who drove their teams. The hotels were primitive and limited, and, as the sitting of a court usually attracted all the idle men in the vicinity, the landlords were taxed to accommodate their guests, and packed them in as closely as possible; usually two in a bed and often as many as could find room on the floor. The townspeople made the semi-annual meeting of the court an occasion for social festivities, the judge being the guest of honor at dinners, receptions, quiltings, huskings, weddings, and other entertainments, while the lawyers ranked according to their social standing and accomplishments.

In some of the towns there was no court-house, and trials were held in a church or a school-house, and sometimes, when the weather was favorable, in the open air.

When there was no entertainment of an evening, the members of the bar and their clients who were not preparing for a trial on the morrow amused themselves by playing cards, telling stories, and discussing public affairs, so that all who "followed the circuit" became thoroughly acquainted and each was estimated according to his true value. Trials of general interest were attended by the entire cavalcade, but dull arguments and routine business attracted the attention of those only who were personally concerned. In the mean time the rest of the party would sit around the tavern or court-house yard, entertaining themselves and one another in the most agreeable manner, and naturally Mr. Lincoln's talents as a story-teller made him popular and his personal character made him beloved by every one with whom he came in contact. The meeting of the Supreme Court once a year at Springfield was the great event, next to the assembling of the Legislature, and served as a reunion of the ablest men in the State. These usually had causes to try or motions to submit, or if they had none would make some excuse for attending the gathering. The Supreme Court Library was their rendezvous, and Lincoln was the centre of attraction, even when he was a young man; when he became older his presence was regarded as necessary to a successful evening. His stories were as much a part of these annual gatherings as the decisions of the court, and after this custom became obsolete the older lawyers retained with an affectionate interest the memories of their association with him.

David Davis, afterwards Justice of the United States Supreme Court and a member of the United States Senate from Illinois, presided over the Eighth Circuit for many years while Lincoln was in practice, and was one of his most ardent admirers and devoted friends. It is said that he would not sit down at the table for dinner or supper until Lincoln was present. One day, during the trial of a cause, when Lincoln was the centre of a group in a distant corner of the court-room, exchanging whispered stories, Judge Davis rapped on the bench and, calling him by name, exclaimed,—

"Mr. Lincoln, this must stop! There is no use in trying to carry on two courts; one of them will have to adjourn, and I think yours will have to be the one;" and as soon as the group scattered, Judge Davis called one of the group to the bench and asked him to repeat the stories Lincoln had been telling.

Books of reminiscences written by the men who lived in Illinois in those days are filled with anecdotes of him, and, even now, it is common in arguments before the courts in that part of the State to quote what Lincoln said or did under similar circumstances, and his opinions have the force of judicial decisions.

In his autobiography, Joseph Jefferson tells an interesting story of the experience of his father's theatrical company when it was travelling through Illinois in 1839. He was then a child of ten years. After playing at Chicago, Quincy, Peoria, and Pekin, the company went to Springfield, where the presence of the Legislature tempted the elder Jefferson and his company to remain throughout the season. There was no theatre, so they built one; it was scarcely completed before a religious revival turned the influence of the church people against their performances so effectually that a law was passed by the municipality imposing a license which was practically prohibitory. In the midst of their troubles, says Jefferson, a young lawyer called on the managers and offered, if they would place the matter in his hands, to have the license revoked, declaring that he only desired to see fair play, and would accept no fee whether he failed or succeeded. The young lawyer handled the case with tact, skill, and humor, in his argument tracing the history of the drama from the time when Thespis acted in a cart to the stage of to-day. He illustrated his speech with pointed anecdotes which kept the City Council in a roar of laughter. "This good-humor prevailed," relates the famous actor, "and the exhibition tax was taken off." The young lawyer was Lincoln.

Many of the reminiscences relate to Lincoln's skill at cross-examination, in which, it is asserted, he had no equal at the Illinois bar. Judge Davis declared that he had the rare gift of compelling a witness, either friendly or unfriendly, to tell the whole truth, and seldom resorted to the browbeating tactics so often used by attorneys. He never irritated a witness, but treated him so kindly and courteously as to disarm him of any hostile intention.

He never used a word which the dullest juryman could not understand. A lawyer quoting a legal maxim one day in court, turned to Lincoln and said, "That is so, is it not, Mr. Lincoln?"

"If that's Latin," Lincoln replied, "you had better call another witness."

Mr. T. W. S. Kidd says that he once heard a lawyer opposed to Lincoln trying to convince a jury that precedent was superior to law, and that custom made things legal in all cases. When Lincoln rose to answer, he told the jury he would argue his case in the same way. Said he, "Old Squire Bagly, from Menard, came into my office and said, 'Lincoln, I want your advice as a lawyer. Has a man what's been elected justice of the peace a right to issue a marriage license?' I told him he had not; when the old squire threw himself back in his chair very indignantly, and said, 'Lincoln, I thought you was a lawyer. Now, Bob Thomas and me had a bet on this thing, and we agreed to let you decide; but if this is your opinion I don't want it, for I know a thunderin' sight better, for I have been squire now eight years and have done it all the time.'"

Lincoln always felt and frequently expressed a deep sense of gratitude to Judge Stephen T. Logan, his second partner, with whom he became associated in 1841. Judge Logan was the recognized head of his profession in the central part of the State, a man of high ideals, noble character, and excellent professional habits. Such example and instruction were of the greatest service in forming Lincoln's professional habits, because he was naturally careless in his methods, and at that period of his life was inclined to depend upon his wits rather than his knowledge and to indulge in emotional bursts of oratory rather than simple, convincing logic. He attributed his superior faculty in presenting a case to Judge Logan's instructions. Nor was he the only man who owed much of his success in life to this great preceptor. Four of Judge Logan's law students found their way to the United States Senate and three were Governors of States.

When Lincoln's experience in Congress had extended his reputation, broadened his ideas, and given him a better knowledge of men and things, his practical value as a partner was recognized by the members of one of the most prominent law firms in Chicago, who invited him to join them; but he declined on the ground that his family ties as well as his professional connections were in Springfield, and he feared that his health would not endure the close confinement of a city office.

Among Lincoln's manuscripts after his death were found a few pages of notes evidently intended or, perhaps, used at some time for a lecture to law students, and which express in a very clear manner his opinions as to the ethics of practice. His words should be printed upon card-board and hung in every law office in the land.

"... Extemporaneous speaking should be practised and cultivated. It is the lawyer's avenue to the public. However able and faithful he may be in other respects, people are slow to bring him business if he cannot make a speech. And yet, there is not a more fatal error to young lawyers than relying too much on speech-making. If any one, upon his rare powers of speaking, shall claim an exemption from the drudgery of the law, his case is a failure in advance. Discourage litigation. Persuade your neighbors to compromise whenever you can. Point out to them how the nominal winner is often a real loser—in fees, expenses, and waste of time. As a peacemaker, the lawyer has a superior opportunity of being a good man. There will still be business enough. Never stir up litigation. A worse man can scarcely be found than one who does this. Who can be more nearly a fiend than he who habitually overhauls the register of deeds in search of defects in titles, whereon to stir up strife and put money in his pocket? A moral tone ought to be infused into the profession which should drive such men out of it.... There is a vague popular belief that lawyers are necessarily dishonest. I say vague because, when we consider to what extent confidence and honors are reposed in and conferred upon lawyers by the people, it appears improbable that their impression of dishonesty is very distinct and vivid. Yet the impression is common,—almost universal. Let no young man choosing the law for a calling for a moment yield to the popular belief. Resolve to be honest at all events; and if, in your own judgment, you cannot be an honest lawyer, resolve to be honest without being a lawyer. Choose some other occupation rather than one in the choosing of which you do, in advance, consent to be a knave."

Lincoln and McClellan first met three or four years before the war, when the latter was Vice-President and Chief Engineer of the Illinois Central Railroad and the former was attorney for that company. General McClellan, in his autobiography, gives an account of his relations with Lincoln at that time, but they were never intimate.

In 1859, when Lincoln appeared for the Illinois Central Railroad in a case which it did not wish to try at that term, he remarked to the court,—

"We are not ready for trial."

"Why is not the company ready to go to trial?" remarked Judge Davis.

"We are embarrassed by the absence of Captain McClellan," was Lincoln's reply.

"Who is Captain McClellan and why is he not here?" asked Judge Davis.

"All I know," said Mr. Lincoln, "is that he is the engineer of the railroad, and why he is not here deponent saith not."

It has been frequently said that General McClellan refused to pay Lincoln a fee charged for trying a case for the Illinois Central Railroad, but it is not true. At the time referred to (1855) Captain McClellan was in the regular army and a military attaché in Europe during the Crimean War. It was, however, the only time that Lincoln sued for a fee, and the circumstances were as follows. By its charter the Illinois Central Railroad was exempt from taxation on condition that it pay into the State treasury seven per cent. of its gross earnings. The officials of McLean County contended that the Legislature of the State had no authority to exempt or remit county taxes, and brought a suit against the road to compel payment. Lincoln defended the company, won the case, and presented a bill for two thousand dollars. An official of the railroad, whose name has been forgotten, declined payment on the ground that it was as much as a first-class lawyer would charge. Lincoln was so indignant that he withdrew the original bill of charges, consulted professional friends, and later submitted another for five thousand dollars with a memorandum attached, signed by six of the most prominent lawyers in the State, giving as their opinion that the fee was not unreasonable. As the company still refused to pay, Lincoln sued and recovered the full amount.

Lincoln's theory regarding fees for professional services is expressed in the notes of the law lecture previously referred to, and was as follows:

"The matter of fees is important, far beyond the mere question of bread and butter involved. Properly attended to, fuller justice is done to both lawyer and client. An exorbitant fee should never be claimed. As a general rule, never take your whole fee in advance, nor any more than a small retainer. When fully paid beforehand, you are more than a common mortal if you can feel the same interest in the case as if something was still in prospect for you as well as for your client. And when you lack interest in the case the job will very likely lack skill and diligence in the performance. Settle the amount of fee and take a note in advance. Then you will feel that you are working for something, and you are sure to do your work faithfully and well. Never sell a fee note,—at least not before the consideration service is performed. It leads to negligence and dishonesty,—negligence by losing interest in the case, and dishonesty in refusing to refund when you have allowed the consideration to fail."

If a client was poor he charged him accordingly, and if he was unable to pay asked nothing for his services. It was one of his theories that a lawyer, like a minister of the Gospel or a physician, was in duty bound to render service whenever called upon, regardless of the prospects of compensation, and in several cases he offered his services without compensation to people who had suffered injustice and were unable to pay. As a rule, his fees were less than those of other lawyers of his circuit. Justice Davis once remonstrated with him, and insisted that he was doing a grave injustice to his associates at the bar by charging so little for his services. From 1850 to 1860 his income varied from two to three thousand dollars, and even when he was recognized as one of the ablest lawyers of the State his fee-book frequently shows charges of three dollars, five dollars, and one dollar for advice, although he never went into court for less than ten dollars. During that period he was at the height of his power and popularity, and lawyers of less standing and talent charged several times those amounts. But avarice was the least of his faults.

While he was President a certain Senator was charged with an attempt to swindle the government out of some millions. Discussing the scandal one day with some friends, he remarked that he could not understand why men should be so eager after wealth. "Wealth," said he, "is simply a superfluity of what we don't need."

An examination of the dockets of the Illinois Supreme Court shows that during a period of twenty years, beginning with 1840 and ending with his election to the Presidency, he had nearly one hundred cases before that court, which is an unusual record and has been surpassed by few lawyers in the history of the State and by none of his contemporaries. It was declared, in an oration delivered by one of his associates, that "In his career as a lawyer he traversed a wide range of territory, attended many courts and had a variety of cases, and in all his conflicts at the bar he was successful in every case where he ought to have been."

When he went to Washington to become President his debts were entirely paid and he was worth about ten thousand dollars in real estate and other property.

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN THE SUMMER OF 1860

From a negative taken for M. C. Tuttle, of St. Paul, Minnesota, for local use in the presidential campaign

A singular story is told of a case in which a good many prominent men were involved besides Lincoln. Abraham Brokaw, of Bloomington, loaned five hundred dollars to one of his neighbors and took a note, which remained unpaid. Action was brought, the sheriff levied on the property of the debtor and collected the entire amount, but neglected to turn the proceeds over. Brokaw employed Stephen A. Douglas, who collected the amount from the bondsman of the sheriff, but returned to his seat in the Senate at Washington without making a settlement. Like some other great men, Douglas was very careless about money matters, and, after appealing to him again and again, Brokaw employed David Davis to bring suit against the Senator. Being an intimate friend and fellow-Democrat, Davis disliked to appear in the case, and by his advice Brokaw engaged the services of Lincoln. The latter wrote to Douglas at Washington that he had a claim against him for collection and must insist upon prompt payment. Douglas became very indignant and reproached Brokaw for placing such a political weapon in the hands of an abolitionist. Brokaw sent Douglas's letter to Lincoln, and the latter employed "Long John" Wentworth, then a Democratic member of Congress from Chicago, as an associate in the case. Wentworth saw Douglas, persuaded him to pay the money, and forwarded five hundred dollars to Lincoln, who, in turn, paid it to Brokaw and sent him a bill of three dollars and fifty cents for professional services.

Lincoln's greatest legal triumph was the acquittal of an old neighbor named Duff Armstrong, who was charged with murder, and several witnesses testified that they saw the accused commit the deed one night about eleven o'clock. Lincoln attempted no cross-examination, except to persuade them to reiterate their statements and to explain that they were able to see the act distinctly because of the bright moonlight. By several of the prosecuting witnesses he proved the exact position and size of the moon at the time of the murder. The prosecution there rested, and Lincoln, addressing the court and the jury, announced that he had no defence to submit except an almanac, which would show that there was no moon on that night. The State's attorney was paralyzed, but the court admitted the almanac as competent testimony, and every witness was completely impeached and convicted of perjury. The verdict was not guilty.

One of the most important cases in which Lincoln was ever engaged involved the ownership of a patent for the reaping machines manufactured by Cyrus H. McCormick, of Chicago, who sued John Manny, of Rockford, for infringement. McCormick was represented by E. N. Dickerson and Reverdy Johnson. Manny was represented by Edwin M. Stanton, who was afterwards Lincoln's Secretary of War; Peter H. Watson, who was afterwards Assistant Secretary of War; and George Harding, of Philadelphia. The case was tried in Cincinnati, and, to his intense disappointment and chagrin, Lincoln was not allowed to make an argument he had prepared because the court would not permit four arguments on one side and only two on the other. Lincoln was extremely anxious to meet in debate Reverdy Johnson, of Baltimore, who was then regarded by many as the leader of the American bar; but he accepted the situation gracefully though regretfully, watched the case closely as it proceeded, took careful notes which he furnished Mr. Harding, and gave the latter the benefit of his written argument, but requested him not to show it to Mr. Stanton. There is no doubt that he felt that Mr. Stanton had been guilty of professional discourtesy in refusing to insist that the court hear Lincoln as well as himself, believing that this concession would have been granted if the demand had been pressed, or if Mr. Stanton had proposed that the time allowed for argument be divided. Mr. Stanton was not unaware of Lincoln's wishes, for they were fully explained to him by Mr. Harding, who urged him to give Lincoln an opportunity to speak, but, being the senior counsel in the case, he assigned Mr. Harding, who was a patent expert, to submit the technical side of the case, and assumed the entire responsibility of making the legal argument himself.

This incident is particularly interesting in connection with the future relations between the two men, and it is certain that Lincoln was profoundly impressed with Mr. Stanton's ability in the presentation of his case. The matter was never alluded to by either during their long and intimate association at Washington. A young lawyer from Rockford who had studied with Lincoln was in Cincinnati at the time and attended the trial. When the court adjourned after Stanton's argument they walked together to their hotel. Mr. Emerson says that Lincoln seemed dejected, and, turning to him suddenly, exclaimed in an impulsive manner,—

"Emerson, I am going home to study law."

"'Why,' I exclaimed, 'Mr. Lincoln, you stand at the head of the bar in Illinois now! What are you talking about?'

"'Ah, yes,' he said, 'I do occupy a good position there, and I think I can get along with the way things are done there now. But these college-trained men, who have devoted their whole lives to study, are coming West, don't you see? And they study their cases as we never do. They have got as far as Cincinnati now. They will soon be in Illinois.' Another long pause; then stopping and turning towards me, his countenance suddenly assuming that look of strong determination which those who knew him best sometimes saw upon his face, he exclaimed, 'I am going home to study law! I am as good as any of them, and when they get out to Illinois I will be ready for them.'"

While Mr. Lincoln was not a sensitive man in the ordinary sense of that term, he felt keenly his own deficiencies in education; nor did he lose this feeling when his ability as a statesman was recognized by the entire universe and he held the destiny of a nation in his grasp. Once, when a famous lawyer called at the White House and referred courteously to his eminent position at the bar, he replied, "Oh, I am only a mast-fed lawyer," referring to his limited education. "Mast" is a kind of food composed of acorns, grass, and similar natural substances which was commonly given to cattle and hogs in Indiana and other frontier States when he was a boy.

Conscious of his deficiencies, he never ceased to be a student. Until the very day of his death he was eager to acquire knowledge, and no new subject was ever presented to him without exciting his inquisitiveness and determination to learn all there was to know about it. Of this characteristic he once remarked to a friend,—

"In the course of my law reading I constantly came upon the word demonstrate—I thought at first that I understood its meaning, but soon became satisfied that I did not. I consulted Webster's Dictionary. That told of certain proof, 'proof beyond the probability of doubt;' but I could form no sort of idea what sort of proof that was.

"I consulted all the dictionaries and books of reference I could find, but with no better results. You might as well have defined blue to a blind man. At last I said, 'Lincoln, you can never make a lawyer if you do not understand what demonstrate means;' and I left my situation in Springfield, went home to my father's house, and stayed there until I could give any proposition in the six books of Euclid at sight. I then found out what demonstrate meant, and went back to my law studies."

He met every new question with the same disposition, and nobody ever knew better how to dig for the root of a subject than he. When his children began to go to school, he used to study with them, and frequently referred to the many interesting points of information and the valuable knowledge he acquired in that way. The lawyers who were associated with him upon the circuit relate how often he was accustomed to pull a book from his pocket whenever he had an idle moment, and it was quite as frequently a treatise on astronomy or engineering or a medical lecture as a collection of poems or speeches.

But, with all his modesty and diffidence, he never hesitated to meet with confidence the most formidable opponent at the bar or on the stump, and frequently, when reading accounts of litigation in which famous lawyers were engaged, he would express a wish that he might some time "tackle" them in a court-room. He once said that in all his practice at the bar he had never been surprised by the strength of the testimony or the arguments of his adversary, and usually found them weaker than he feared. This was due to a habit he acquired early in his practice of studying the opposite side of every disputed question in every law case and every political issue quite as carefully as his own side. When he had an important case on hand he was accustomed to withdraw himself into a room where he would not be disturbed, or, what he liked better, to get out into the fields or the woods around Springfield where there was nothing to distract his thoughts, in order to "argue it out in my own mind," as he put it; and when he returned to his house or his office he would usually have a clear conception of his case and have formed his plan of action.

He argued great causes in which principles were involved with all the zeal and earnestness that a righteous soul could feel. Trifling causes he dismissed with the ridicule in which he was unsurpassed, and his associates relate many incidents when a verdict was rendered in a gale of laughter because of the droll tactics used by Lincoln. He never depended upon technicalities or the tricks of the profession. He never attempted to throw obstacles in the way of justice, or to gain an unfair advantage of his adversaries, but was capable of executing legal manœuvres with as much skill as any of his rivals. He adapted himself to circumstances with remarkable ease, and his thorough knowledge of human nature enabled him to excite the interest and sympathy of a jury by getting very close to their hearts. He argued much from analogy; he used old-fashioned words and homely phrases which were familiar to the jurymen he desired to impress, and illustrated his points by stories, maxims, and figures often droll and sometimes vulgar, because he knew that he could make it plainer to them in that way and that they would better understand the force and bearing of his arguments. He relied more upon this method of convincing a jury than upon exhibitions of learning or flights of eloquence, and his acquaintance with human nature was even more intimate than his knowledge of the law.

Few of his speeches at the bar have been preserved, but his contemporaries have left us many interesting reminiscences of his originality and power. His ungainly form and awkward gesticulations enhanced the force of his arguments and attracted the attention and sympathy of a country jury more than the most graceful manners and elegant rhetoric could have done. It was always his rule, in presenting a case, to cut out all of the "dead wood" and get down to "hard pan," as he called it, as soon as possible. In making such concessions he would establish a position of fairness and honesty, and often disarmed his opponent by leaving the impression that he had accidentally "given away his case." Then he would rely upon his remarkable habit of order and command of logic to bring his evidence forward in a clear and strong light, keeping unnecessary details away from the attention of the jury and pressing only the essential points with which he expected to convince them. Sometimes, when his opponent seemed to have captured a verdict, he would abandon his serious argument and begin to tell stories one after another with more or less application, until by such diversion he had effaced from the minds of the jury every impression that the other side had made.

Justice Lawrence Weldon, of the United States Court of Claims, in his reminiscences says, "One of the most interesting incidents in my early acquaintance with Mr. Lincoln was a lawsuit in which Mr. Lincoln was counsel for the plaintiff and I was counsel for the defendant. Even then, in a trial that was the sensation of an obscure village on the prairies, Mr. Lincoln showed that supreme sense of justice to God and his fellow-men.

"It was a family quarrel between two brothers-in-law, Jack Dungee and Joe Spencer. Dungee was a Portuguese, extremely dark-complexioned, but not a bad-looking fellow; and after a time he married Spencer's sister, with the approval of Spencer's family. I don't remember the origin of the quarrel, but it became bitter; and the last straw was laid on when Spencer called Dungee a 'nigger' and followed it up, they say, by adding 'a nigger married to a white woman.' The statute of Illinois made it a crime for a negro to marry a white woman, and, because of that, the words were slanderous. Dungee, through Mr. Lincoln, brought the suit for slander. Judge David Davis was on the bench, and the suit was brought in the De Witt Circuit Court. When the case came up, Mr. Moore and myself appeared for the defence and demurred to the declaration, which, to the annoyance of Mr. Lincoln, the court sustained. Whatever interest Mr. Lincoln took in the case before that time, his professional pride was aroused by the fact that the court had decided that his papers were deficient. Looking across the trial table at Moore and myself and shaking his long, bony finger, he said, 'Now, by jing, I will beat you boys!'

"At the next term of the court Mr. Lincoln appeared with his papers amended, and fully determined to make good his promise to 'beat the boys!' and we thought his chances pretty good to do it, too. We knew our man was a fool not to have settled it, but still we were bound to defend and clear him if we could.

"In the argument of the case on the testimony Mr. Lincoln made a most powerful and remarkable speech, abounding in wit, logic, and eloquence of the highest order. His thoughts were clothed in the simplest garb of expression and in words understood by every juror in the box. After the instructions were given by the court the jury retired, and in a few moments returned with a judgment for the plaintiff, in a sum which was a large amount for those days.

"Mr. Lincoln's advice to his client was that Dungee agree to remit the whole judgment, by Spencer paying the costs of the suit and Mr. Lincoln's fee. Mr. Lincoln then proposed to leave the amount of his fee to Moore and myself. We protested against this, and insisted that Mr. Lincoln should fix the amount of his own fee. After a few moments' thought he said, 'Well, gentlemen, don't you think I have honestly earned twenty-five dollars?' We were astonished, and had he said one hundred dollars it would have been what we expected. The judgment was a large one for those days; he had attended the case at two terms of court, had been engaged for two days in a hotly contested suit, and his client's adversary was going to pay the bill. The simplicity of Mr. Lincoln's character in money matters is well illustrated by the fact that for all this he charged twenty-five dollars."

Justice David Davis, of the Supreme Court of the United States, said, "In all the elements that constitute the great lawyer he had few equals. He was great both at nisi prius and before an appellate tribunal. He seized the strong points of a cause and presented them with clearness and great compactness. His mind was logical and direct, and he did not indulge in extraneous discussion. Generalities and platitudes had no charms for him. An unfailing vein of humor never deserted him; and he was able to claim the attention of court and jury, when the cause was the most uninteresting, by the appropriateness of his anecdotes. His power of comparison was large, and he rarely failed in a legal discussion to use that mode of reasoning. The framework of his mental and moral being was honesty, and a wrong cause was poorly defended by him. He hated wrong and oppression everywhere, and many a man whose fraudulent conduct was undergoing review in a court of justice has writhed under his terrific indignation and rebukes. The people where he practised law were not rich, and his charges were always small. When he was elected President, I question whether there was a lawyer in the circuit, who had been at the bar so long a time, whose means were not larger. It did not seem to be one of the purposes of his life to accumulate a fortune. In fact, outside of his profession, he had no knowledge of the way to make money, and he never even attempted it."

Lincoln was associated at the Springfield bar with many famous men, and there was a keen rivalry among them. Stephen A. Douglas, David Davis, James Shields, Edward D. Baker, John M. Palmer, Lyman Trumbull, Oliver H. Browning, Shelby M. Cullom, and others afterwards sat in the United States Senate and some of them held positions in the Cabinets of Presidents. Others were afterwards Governors of States and members of the House of Representatives; others led armies during the war with Mexico and the war between the States. One of the strongest groups of men that ever gathered at the capital of a State was to be found in Springfield in those days, and Lincoln was their equal in ability and learning and the superior of many of them in the qualities that make a statesman. They recognized him as their superior on many occasions, and whether or not he was the ablest lawyer on the circuit, there was never any doubt that he was the most popular. He was always a great favorite with the younger members of the bar because of his sympathy and good-nature. He never used the arts of a demagogue; he was never a toady; he was always ready to do an act of kindness; he was generous with his mind and with his purse; although he never asked for help, was always ready to give it; and while he received everybody's confidence, he rarely gave his own in return. Whatever his cares and anxieties may have been, he never inflicted them upon others; he never wounded by his wit; his humor was never harsh or rude; he endeavored to lighten the labors and the cares of others, and beneath his awkward manner was a gentle refinement and an amiable disposition.

For twenty-five years he practised at the Springfield bar. He was not a great lawyer according to the standard of his profession, but the testimony of his associates is that he was a good one, enjoying the confidence of the judiciary, the bar, and the public to a remarkable degree. He was conspicuous for several honorable traits, and, above all, for that sense of moral responsibility that can always distinguish between duty to a client and duty to society and the truth. On the wrong side of a case he was always weak, and, realizing this, he often persuaded his clients to give up litigation rather than compel him to argue against truth and justice.

Leonard Swett, of Chicago, for years an intimate associate, and himself one of the most famous of American lawyers, says that, "sometimes, after Lincoln entered upon a criminal case, the conviction that his client was guilty would affect him with a sort of panic. On one occasion he turned suddenly to his associate and said, 'Swett, the man is guilty; you defend him, I can't,' and so gave up his share of a large fee.

"At another time, when he was engaged with Judge S. C. Parks in defending a man accused of larceny, he said, 'If you can say anything for the man, do it, I can't; if I attempt it, the jury will see I think he is guilty, and convict him.'

"Once he was prosecuting a civil suit, in the course of which evidence was introduced showing that his client was attempting a fraud. Lincoln rose and went to his hotel in deep disgust. The judge sent for him; he refused to come. 'Tell the judge,' he said, 'my hands are dirty; I came over to wash them.' We are aware that these stories detract something from the character of the lawyer; but this inflexible, inconvenient, and fastidious morality was to be of vast service afterwards to his country and to the world. The fact is that, with all his stories and jests, his frank companionable humor, his gift of easy accessibility and welcome, he was a man of grave and serious temper and of unusual innate dignity and reserve. He had few or no special intimates, and there was a line beyond which no one ever thought of passing."

Mr. Chauncey M. Depew said, "He told me once that, in his judgment, one of the two best things he ever originated was this. He was trying a cause in Illinois where he appeared for a prisoner charged with aggravated assault and battery. The complainant had told a horrible story of the attack, which his appearance fully justified, when the district attorney handed the witness over to Mr. Lincoln for cross-examination. Mr. Lincoln said he had no testimony, and unless he could break down the complainant's story he saw no way out. He had come to the conclusion that the witness was a bumptious man, who rather prided himself upon his smartness in repartee, and so, after looking at him for some minutes, he inquired, 'Well, my friend, what ground did you and my client here fight over?' The fellow answered, 'About six acres.' 'Well,' said Mr. Lincoln,'don't you think this is an almighty small crop of fight to gather from such a big piece of ground?' The jury laughed, the court and district attorney and complainant all joined in, and the case was laughed out of court."

The fame of Abraham Lincoln as an orator was made secure by his debate with Douglas in 1858, his political speech at Cooper Institute in February, 1860, his oration at the dedication of the Soldiers' Cemetery at Gettysburg in 1863, and his second inaugural address in March, 1865. Neither of these four distinct examples of argument and eloquence has ever been surpassed in their separate fields. That was the judgment of his contemporaries, and it is confirmed by the succeeding generation, not only of his own countrymen, but of competent critics throughout the English-speaking world. His style commanded the highest praise from the French Academy. It was commended as a model for the imitation of princes.

His debate with Douglas was a gladiatorial combat between oratorical Titans. It had no precedent and has not been repeated. His speech at Cooper Institute, as an example of political reasoning, made him pre-eminent upon what the Americans call the "stump." His historical analysis, concise statement, faultless logic, and irresistible conclusions made it a model which has been studied and imitated by campaign speakers ever since its delivery. The brief oration at Gettysburg, covering only thirty lines of print, ranks with the noblest utterances of human lips. No orator of ancient or modern times produced purer rhetoric, more beautiful sentiment, or elegant diction.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Many passages in his letters, messages, and speeches ... are destined to wide fame. What pregnant definitions, what unerring common sense, what foresight, and on great occasions what lofty and, more than national, what human tones. His brief speech at Gettysburg will not easily be surpassed by words on any recorded occasion."

The occasion was the dedication of the battle-field as a soldiers' cemetery, November 19, 1863. Edward Everett delivered a masterly oration, and President Lincoln, being present, was introduced for a few remarks. With profound earnestness and solemnity he spoke five minutes to a breathless audience. His remarks were so brief that it is possible and appropriate to include them here. They could not be considered out of place in any volume of literature on any subject. They cannot be printed or read too often:

"Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

"Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

"But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

The next day Mr. Everett, who was considered one of the most accomplished of American orators, sent Lincoln a note in which he said,—

"Permit me to express my great admiration of the thoughts expressed by you with such eloquence, simplicity, and appropriateness at the consecration of the cemetery. I should be glad if I could flatter myself that I came as near to the central idea of the occasion in two hours as you did in two minutes."

It has always been a popular impression that Lincoln's speech was written upon the cars, en route to Gettysburg from Washington on the morning of the ceremonies, but General Fry, of the army, who was detailed from the War Department as his escort on that occasion and was with him every moment, says that he has no recollection of seeing him writing or even reading a manuscript, nor was there any opportunity during the journey for him to do so. Colonel Hay, his private secretary, says that he wrote out a brief speech at the White House before leaving Washington, and, as usual on such occasions, committed it to memory; but the inspiration of the scene led him to make material changes, and the version given here, copied from Nicolay and Hay's Biography, was written out by the President himself after his return. While it may not be exact, it is nearly accurate.

The London Times pronounced Lincoln's second inaugural address to be the most sublime state paper of the century. Equally competent critics have called it a masterpiece of political literature. The following extract will show its style and sentiment:

"Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; and each invokes his aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces; but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered—that of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has his own purposes. 'Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh.' If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offences which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both North and South this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offence came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to him? Fondly do we hope—fervently do we pray—that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, 'The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.'

"With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in: to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan—to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves, and with all nations."

General Sherman described it accurately when he said, "I have seen and heard many of the famous orators of the century, but Lincoln's speeches surpassed them all. They have never been equalled. It was not his scholarship; it was not rhetoric; it was not elocution; it was the unaffected and spontaneous eloquence of the heart. There was nothing of the mountain-torrent in his manner; it was rather the calm flow of the river."

Lincoln's own comments upon his inaugural address, like everything he ever said about himself, are unique. In reply to a complimentary letter from Thurlow Weed, he wrote, "I expect the latter to wear as well as, perhaps better than, anything I have produced; but I believe it is not immediately popular. Men are not flattered by being shown that there has been a difference of purpose between the Almighty and them. To deny it, however, in this case, is to deny that there is a God governing the world. It is a truth which I thought needed to be told, and, as whatever of humiliation there is in it falls most directly on myself, I thought others might afford for me to tell it."

Messrs. Hay and Nicolay, who were nearer to him and knew him better than any other men, say, "Nothing would more have amazed Mr. Lincoln than to hear himself called a man of letters; but this age had produced few greater writers. Emerson ranks him with Æsop; Montalembert commends his style as a model for princes. It is true that in his writing the range of subjects is not great. He was chiefly concerned with the political problems of the time and the moral considerations involved in them. But the range of treatment is remarkably wide, running from the wit, the gay humor, the florid eloquence of his stump speeches to the marvellous sententiousness and brevity of the address at Gettysburg and the sustained and lofty grandeur of his second inaugural; while many of his phrases have already passed into the daily use of mankind."

But he made other speeches, equally admirable, and some of them unsurpassed by the greatest political or platform orators. Wendell Phillips, Henry Ward Beecher, Robert G. Ingersoll, James G. Blaine, Benjamin Harrison, and others who have gained fame for oratory have each given testimony for the simple yet sublime eloquence of the great master. Many critics consider Lincoln's Peoria speech of 1854 the ablest political argument ever delivered, and assert that no master of logic in the world could have answered it. One of its epigrams has been quoted thousands of times. "When the white man governs himself," he said, "that, I acknowledge, is self-government; but when the white man governs himself and another man besides, that I call despotism."

If Lincoln had been born in old England or in New England, if he had been educated at a university, if he had spent his childhood and youth in luxury and under refining influences, he might have been a greater orator, statesman, and politician than he was, but a nature and a mind like his required the discipline and conditions which he passed through to attain their full development. It is an interesting subject of speculation, concerning other self-taught men as well as Lincoln; but, as a rule, the most powerful minds and the most influential characters have been without the training of the schools, and by contact with gentler and refining influences Lincoln might have acquired polish at the cost of his rugged greatness, his quaint habits of thought and odd but effective phrases, the homely illustrations, and the shrewd faculty of appealing to the simple every-day experience of the people to convince them of the force of his facts and the soundness of his reasoning. His logic was always as clear as his candor. He never failed to state the argument of his adversary as fairly and as forcefully as his own. His power of analysis was extraordinary. He used the simplest words in the language, but they strengthened every case he stated, and no fact, or anecdote, or argument ever lost force or effect from his style of presentation. It has frequently been asserted—and his speeches, state papers, and private correspondence are sufficient proof—that he could state a proposition more clearly and forcibly than any man of his time; yet his language was that of "the plain people," as he used to call them. This faculty was doubtless due to his early experience among the illiterate classes on the frontier, and certain errors of grammar and construction which are familiar to all who have lived among that portion of the population frequently occurred in his compositions. At one time during his early days as a speaker he adopted the flamboyant redundancy of style that is still popular in the South and certain parts of the West, and often used many of the familiar tricks of emotional orators; but his own common sense and the advice of Judge Logan, his law partner, soon corrected this fault, and he studied a simpler style which was much more effective. If he had been less gifted in language he would have been quite as clear in statement, quite as persuasive in his presentation of an argument, because he aimed not to excite admiration, but to be understood. His earnestness was not intended to excite the emotions, but to appeal to the reasoning powers of the persons addressed, and his knowledge of human nature taught him how the mind of the average man worked. At the same time he could reach the most accomplished scholar and the most thoughtful philosopher. For example, his letters in explanation of his delay in proclaiming freedom to the slaves, especially that addressed to Mr. Greeley in 1863, are masterpieces of clear and forcible writing.

One reason for Lincoln's power over his audiences was his intense sincerity. He carried his conscience into every discussion, he took no position that he did not believe was right, and he made no statements that he did not believe to be fair and true. Another was the sympathy he excited; when he related a story he laughed all over, and his own enjoyment was so contagious that the effect was greatly increased.

He once said to Mr. Depew, in reference to some criticisms which had been made upon his story-telling, "They say I tell a great many stories; I reckon I do, but I have found in the course of a long experience that common people"—repeating it—"common people, take them as they run, are more easily influenced and informed through the medium of a broad illustration than in any other way, and as to what the hypercritical few may think I don't care."

His pathos was quite as effective as his humor. His natural tenderness, his affectionate disposition, his poetic temperament, his sympathy for the weak and the sorrowful, and his comprehensive love of all that was good inspired him with a power to touch the hearts of the people as no other man in this country has ever been able to do. James H. McVicker, the famous actor, once told the author that the most marvellous exhibition of elocution he ever witnessed was Lincoln's recitation of the Lord's Prayer, and said that Lincoln told him at the time that it was the sublimest composition in the English language.

Lincoln had the advantage of a photographic memory which could retain almost any passage in literature, and he was able to repeat long passages from Shakespeare and other plays and poems which pleased him. It was only necessary for him to read them over once or twice and they remained in his memory forever. He developed this faculty early in life, and it was the greatest enjoyment allowed the humble people among whom he lived to hear him recite passages from the books he had read and declaim selections from "The Kentucky Preceptor," which was a standard text-book in those days. He could repeat with effect all the poems and speeches in other school-readers, and his talent at mimicry furnished amusement for the neighborhood. The traditions of Gentryville tell us that the neighbors seldom gathered for a "raising," or a "quilting," or a "paring," or a "husking-bee" without hearing Abe Lincoln "take off" the itinerant preachers and politicians whose peculiarities had attracted his attention and appealed to his sense of humor. He attended all the trials in the neighborhood, and frequently walked fifteen miles to the town of Boonevile when court was in session there. His faculty was so well known in that part of the State that the lawyers and others who gathered on such occasions would invariably induce him to make a stump speech or imitate some backwoods orator. His essays and rhymes were much admired, and an itinerant Baptist preacher was so impressed with one of his speeches on temperance that he sent it to friends in Ohio, where it was published in a newspaper; the first of his writings to appear in print. Another essay on "National Politics," written when he was nineteen, gave him great local reputation for literary talent. One of the lawyers who practised in that circuit and was considered a very high authority declared that "the world couldn't beat it."

It is also related that he frequently interrupted harvesting, threshing, and other business events which drew the neighbors together by delivering political speeches, burlesquing local orators and preachers, and repeating doggerels of his own composition that referred to local affairs. His humor often exceeded his discretion, and we are told of coarse satires and rhymes which excited the amusement and admiration of a community, but did him no credit. Sometimes these ebullitions of wit involved him in trouble, particularly on two occasions when he wrote some verses about the deformed nose of his employer, of which the owner was very sensitive.

Lincoln never attempted serious oratory until he went to New Salem, where he discovered Shakespeare and Burns, whose writings had a powerful influence upon his literary style and taste. These eminent authorities were introduced to him by a worthless loafer and fisherman named Jack Kelso, who was too lazy to work, but had a love of learning and literature and an unusually good education for his time and surroundings. Mutual tastes brought the two together, and Lincoln would sit evening after evening on the porch of Offutt's store or lie all day Sunday on the ground under the shade of a tree listening to Kelso discourse upon his favorite authors and repeat over and over the poems of Burns and fine passages from Shakespeare which he had committed to memory long before. There is no doubt that Burns, Shakespeare, and Kelso seriously interfered with the grocery business and contributed to the financial disaster which terminated Lincoln's first and only commercial enterprise. It was a long time before he obtained copies of his favorite poets, but no books were prized more highly by any man.

Lincoln's first experience in debate was gained while he was a clerk in Offutt's store and attended the meetings of a debating club, which were held at different places in the neighborhood and sometimes so far away that he was compelled to walk seven or eight miles for the privilege. He used to call it "practising polemics." Occasionally the club met in a vacant store at New Salem, and Lincoln's first serious speech was delivered on one of those occasions.

His first political speech was delivered at Pappsville, where a crowd had been attracted by an auction sale. He was then beginning his first campaign for the Legislature, and although his remarks are not remembered, an incident of the occasion remains one of the most precious heritages of that neighborhood. While he was speaking, one of his friends became involved in a fight on the edge of the audience, and when the orator saw that he was getting the worst of it, Lincoln suspended his remarks, jumped from the dry-goods box which served as his platform, seized the assailant of his friend by the collar and the seat of his trousers, threw him ten or twelve feet, resumed his place, and finished his argument.

In the reminiscences of Joshua Speed, who was perhaps the most intimate friend Lincoln ever knew, is an account of a great mass-meeting at Springfield at which Lincoln made a speech that produced a lasting impression and "used up" George Forquer, a prominent lawyer and politician, so completely that he was practically driven out of the campaign. Forquer had been a Whig, but changed his politics, and was rewarded by the Democrats with an appointment as Register of the United States Land Office. He owned and occupied one of the finest houses in Springfield and attached to its chimney the only lightning-rod in that part of the State. Forquer had made a long address at the meeting and Lincoln had been assigned to the duty of answering him. Forquer alluded to this arrangement in a contemptuous manner, and spoke slightingly of Lincoln's youth and inexperience. When Lincoln came to reply he admitted his youth and inexperience, which, he added, were faults that would be corrected by time, and then said,—

"I am not so young in years as I am in the tricks and trade of the politician; but whether I live long or die young, I would rather die now than change my politics for an office worth three thousand dollars a year, and have to erect a lightning-rod over my house to protect my conscience from an offended God."

The people of Springfield appreciated this hit so keenly and quoted it so freely that Forquer was compelled to retire from the canvass to escape ridicule.

From this time on Lincoln was always on the stump whenever there was a political contest in Central Illinois, and was recognized as one of the ablest, as he was one of the most popular and effective, campaigners. His speeches began to show maturer intellect, a more careful study and expanding power, and his hold upon his friends and his influence in his party and with the public at large were increasing with every political campaign. As early as 1837, when he was a candidate for Speaker of the Lower House of the Legislature, he had acquired considerable reputation. In the fall of that year, with a few other young men of Springfield, he organized a lyceum for mutual improvement, and his ability was recognized when he was the first of its members to be invited to make a public address, which was carefully prepared and delivered in January, 1838. The subject was "The Perpetuation of our Political Institutions," and it created such an impression that it was published in full in the Sangamon Journal, February 3, 1838. Few men of twenty-nine years, with the advantage of a university education and a complete library for reference, could produce so profound and statesmanlike a paper, and his philosophical analysis of the principles of the Declaration of Independence and his conception of the political duty of the citizen were remarkable for their truth and force.

Lincoln had acquired such great fame as a speaker that in 1840 he was named upon the Harrison electoral ticket, with the stipulation that he should canvass the State. He was then only thirty-one years old, but was regarded as the ablest of the Whig stumpers in Illinois. In the Clay campaign of 1844, in the Taylor campaign of 1848, and in the Scott campaign of 1852 he devoted almost his entire time to political work, for which he received no compensation. Ambitious politicians and loyal party men were expected to contribute their services free and pay their own expenses in those days, and while Lincoln's pocket suffered, his fame and popularity spread, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that in all the State no man possessed the confidence of the public so completely as he and none was listened to with more attention or greater respect. In 1856, during the Frémont campaign, he was recognized as the foremost leader on the Republican side, and had a narrow escape from being nominated for Vice-President.

While in Congress he made three set speeches in the Hall of Representatives, all carefully prepared and written out. The first was an elaborate defence of Whig doctrines and an historical discussion of the Mexican War, the next was on the general subject of internal improvement, and the third was a humorous and satirical criticism of General Cass, the Democratic candidate for President. All of these speeches were printed in pamphlet form for home circulation and were not intended to influence the action of the House. His first participation in debate was, however, a great success. Soon after the Presidential campaign of 1848 opened, Representative Iverson, of Georgia, accused the Whigs of "having taken shelter under the military coat-tails of General Taylor," their Presidential candidate. This seemed to touch Lincoln's sense of humor, and he made a brief reply, taking "Military Coat-Tails" as his text. Ben Perley Poore, the famous newspaper correspondent, who was then in his prime, describes the scene as follows:

"He had written the heads of what he intended to say on a few pages of foolscap paper, which he placed on a friend's desk, bordering on an alley-way, which he had obtained permission to speak from. At first he followed his notes; but, as he warmed up, he left his desk and his notes, to stride down the alley towards the Speaker's chair, holding his left hand behind him so that he could now and then shake the tails of his own rusty, black broadcloth dress-coat, while he earnestly gesticulated with his long right arm, shaking the bony index-finger at the Democrats on the other side of the chamber. Occasionally, as he would complete a sentence amid shouts of laughter, he would return up the alley to his desk, consult his notes, take a sip of water, and start off again."

The Baltimore American called it "the crack speech of the day," and said of Lincoln: "He is a very able, acute, uncouth, honest, upright man and a tremendous wag withal.... Mr. Lincoln's manner was so good-natured, and his style so peculiar, that he kept the House in a continuous roar of merriment for the last half-hour of his speech. He would commence a point in his speech far up one of the aisles, and keep on talking, gesticulating, and walking until he would find himself, at the end of a paragraph, down in the centre of the area in front of the clerk's desk. He would then go back and take another head, and work down again. And so on, through his capital speech."

Referring to another brief speech made in defence of his Committee on Post Roads, Lincoln wrote a friend at home, "As to speech-making, by way of getting the hand of the House, I made a little speech two or three days ago on a post-office question of no general interest. I find speaking here and elsewhere about the same thing. I was about as badly scared, and no worse, as I am when I speak in court. I expect to make one within a week or two in which I hope to succeed well enough to wish you to see it."

The speech he was then preparing was delivered four days later. It was his first formal appearance in Congress, and, according to custom, he finished the occasion by a series of resolutions referring to President Polk's declaration that the war of 1848 had been begun by Mexico's "invading our territory and shedding the blood of our citizens on our own soil," and calling upon him to give the House specific information as to the invasion and bloodshed. These resolutions were frequently referred to afterwards in his political contests, and were relied upon to sustain a charge of lack of patriotism during the Mexican War made by Mr. Douglas against their author.

Like all young members of the House of Representatives, Lincoln was compelled to remain in the background most of the time; but he learned a great deal in his brief experience, and created such an impression by his speeches that upon the adjournment he was invited to enter the Presidential campaign of 1848 in New England, making his first speech at Worcester, where the meeting was presided over by ex-Governor Levi Lincoln, who was also a descendant of Samuel Lincoln, of Hingham. The New England newspapers and people gave him many compliments and in subsequent campaigns repeated their invitations.

Copyright, 1895 by S. S. McClure Co.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN 1858

From a photograph owned by Hon. William J. Franklin, Macomb, Illinois, taken in 1866 from an ambrotype made in 1858 at Macomb. By special permission

The first collision between Lincoln and Douglas occurred during the Harrison Presidential campaign of 1840, and from that time they were regarded as active rivals. These two remarkable men became acquainted in 1834 during Lincoln's first session in the Legislature at Vandalia, then the capital of Illinois. Mr. Douglas was four years younger and equally poor. In his youth he had been apprenticed to a cabinet-maker in Vermont, had studied law under very much the same difficulties as Lincoln, was admitted to the bar as soon as he was twenty-one, and came to Springfield, with no acquaintances and only thirty-seven cents in his pocket, to contest for the office of State attorney with John J. Hardin, one of the most prominent and successful lawyers of the State. By the use of tactics peculiar to his life-long habits as a politician, he secured the appointment, made a successful prosecutor, and in 1836 was elected to the Legislature, and occupied a position on the Democratic side of that body similar to that occupied by Lincoln on the Whig side. In 1837 he secured from President Van Buren the appointment of Register of the Public Land Office, and made Springfield his home. In the fall of the same year he was nominated to Congress against John T. Stuart, Lincoln's law partner and friend, and the campaign which followed was one of the most remarkable in the history of the State, with Lincoln, as usual, the conspicuous figure upon the Whig stump. When the vote was counted, Stuart received a majority of only fourteen out of a total of thirty-six thousand.

Douglas charged fraud, and his reckless attack upon the integrity of Stuart aroused in Lincoln's breast a resentment which never died. From that time he regarded Douglas with strong dislike and disapproval, and, although his natural generosity as well as his sense of propriety silenced his tongue in public, he never concealed from his friends his conviction that Douglas was without political morals. At the same time he recognized the ability and power of "the Little Giant" as Douglas was already called, and no one estimated more highly his ability as an orator and his skill as a debater. Personally, Douglas was a very attractive man. He had all the graces that Lincoln lacked,—short and slight of stature, with a fine head, a winning manner, graceful carriage, a sunny disposition, and an enthusiastic spirit. His personal magnetism was almost irresistible to the old as well as the young, and his voice was remarkable for its compass and the richness of its tones. On the other hand, Lincoln was ungainly and awkward; his voice was not musical, although it was very expressive; and, as I have before said, he often acknowledged that there was no homelier man in all the States.

Douglas recognized an antagonist who was easier to avoid than to meet, and attempted to keep Lincoln out of his path by treating him as an inferior. On one occasion, when both happened to be in the same town, there was a strong desire among the people to hear them discuss public questions. The proposition irritated Judge Douglas, who, with his usual arrogance, inquired,—

"What does Lincoln represent in this campaign? Is he an abolitionist or a Whig?"

The committee replied that Lincoln was a Whig, whereupon Douglas dismissed the subject in his pompous way, saying,—

"Oh, yes, I am now in the region of the Old Line Whig. When I am in Northern Illinois I am assailed by an abolitionist, when I get to the centre I am attacked by an Old Line Whig, when I go to Southern Illinois I am beset by an Anti-Nebraska Democrat. It looks to me like dodging a man all over the State. If Mr. Lincoln wants to make a speech he had better get a crowd of his own, for I most respectfully decline to hold a discussion with him."

Lincoln calmly ignored this assumption of superiority at the time, but never failed to punish Mr. Douglas for it when they met upon the stump, and, according to the testimony of their contemporaries, he was equal to his able and adroit opponent from the beginning of their rivalry either in the court-room, or in a rough-and-tumble debate, or in the serious political discussion of great political questions. Only one of Lincoln's speeches of this period of his life is preserved. That is an address delivered at a sort of oratorical tournament at Springfield. There was such a demand for it that a few days after its delivery he wrote out as much as he could remember and the Whig managers printed it in pamphlet form as a campaign document; but it was the last time he indulged in the old-fashioned flights of eloquence. From that hour the topics he discussed demanded his serious attention and his closest argument, and he spoke to convince, not to excite admiration or merely to stir the emotions of his audiences.

In 1854 the moral sense of the nation was shocked by the repeal of what is called "The Missouri Compromise." That was a law passed in 1820 for the admission of the Territory of Missouri to the Union as a slave State, upon a condition that slavery should not go north of its northern boundary, latitude 36° 30'. Lincoln shared the national indignation. Douglas, then in the United States Senate, was one of the advocates of the repeal, and his powerful influence in Congress made it possible. As soon as the action of Congress was announced, the entire country was plunged into a discussion of the question on the platform, in the pulpit, in the press, in the debating societies, by the firesides, at the corner groceries, at the post-office, and wherever people met together. Lincoln took no public part in the controversy for several months, but during the interval studied the question in its moral, historical, and constitutional bearings, and while the Democrats accused him of "mousing around" the libraries of the State-House, he was preparing himself for a controversy which he knew was sure to come.

That fall (1854) Richard Yates was up for Congress and Lincoln took the stump in his behalf. In the mean time Mr. Douglas was speaking in other sections of the State, but came to Springfield to attend the State Agricultural Fair, and, being a United States Senator and a political idol, was of course a great attraction. He made a speech justifying the action of Congress, and, by common impulse, the opponents of the repeal called upon Lincoln to answer him. There is no doubt of the zeal and ardor with which he accepted the invitation, and he spoke for four hours, as one of his friends testifies, "in a most happy and pleasant style, and was received with abundant applause." At times he made statements which brought Senator Douglas to his feet, and their passages at arms created much excitement and enthusiasm. It was evident that the force of Lincoln's argument surprised and disconcerted Mr. Douglas, for he insisted upon making a two-hours' rejoinder, which of itself was a confession of his defeat.

Lincoln's triumph on this occasion placed him at the head of the political debaters of the State, and, in order that Mr. Douglas might have another chance to retrieve himself, they met again twelve days later at Peoria. Lincoln yielded to Douglas the advantage of the opening and closing speeches, explaining that he did so from selfish motives, because he wanted to hold the Democratic portion of the audience through his own speech. At the request of the Whig leaders and politicians in other parts of the State who had not been able to hear the discussion, Mr. Lincoln wrote out his speech from memory and we have it in full. It was by far the ablest and most profound composition he had produced up to that time, and even now, after the lapse of half a century, it is recognized as a model of political argument. He here rose from the rank of the politician to that of the statesman, and never fell below it in his future addresses. Lincoln and Douglas were understood by themselves as well as by the public to be contesting for a seat in the United States Senate, and the latter was so alarmed by Lincoln's unexpected manifestation of power that he sought an interview on the pretence of friendship and persuaded him into an agreement that neither should make any more speeches before the actual campaign began,—an agreement violated by Douglas during the next week.

Horace White, now editor of the New York Evening Post, says of the speech just mentioned, "I was then in the employ of the Chicago Evening Journal. I had been sent to Springfield to report the political doings of State Fair week for that newspaper. Thus it came about that I occupied a front seat in the Representatives' Hall, in the old State-House, when Mr. Lincoln delivered the speech already described in this volume. The impression made upon me by the orator was quite overpowering. I had not heard much political speaking up to that time. I have heard a great deal since. I have never heard anything since, either by Mr. Lincoln, or by anybody, that I would put on a higher plane of oratory. All the strings that play upon the human heart and understanding were touched with masterly skill and force, while beyond and above all skill was the overwhelming conviction pressed upon the audience that the speaker himself was charged with an irresistible and inspiring duty to his fellow-men. Having, since then, heard all the great public speakers of this country subsequent to the period of Clay and Webster, I award the palm to Mr. Lincoln as the one who, although not first in all respects, would bring more men of doubtful or hostile leanings around to his way of thinking by talking to them on a platform than any other."

The next occasion upon which Lincoln displayed unusual power as an orator was the Bloomington Convention for the organization of the Republican party early in 1856. Never was an audience more completely electrified by human speech. The Convention, which was composed of former members of all political parties had adopted the name Republican, had taken extreme grounds against slavery, and had launched a new political organization; but it contained many discordant, envious, and hostile elements. Those who had watched the proceedings were anxious and apprehensive of dissension and jealousy, and Lincoln, with his acute political perceptions, realized the danger, perhaps, more keenly than any other man in the assembly. He saw before him a group of earnest, zealous, sincere men, willing to make tremendous sacrifices and undertake Titanic tasks, but at the same time most of them clung to their own theories and advocated their individual methods with a tenacity that promised to defeat their common purpose. Therefore, when he arose in response to the unanimous demand for a speech from the great orator of Springfield, his soul was flooded with a desire and a purpose to harmonize and amalgamate the patriotic emotions of his associates. He realized that it was a crisis in the history of his country, and rose to the full height of the occasion.

Those who were present say that at first he spoke slowly, cautiously, and in a monotone, but gradually his words grew in force and intensity until he swept the discordant souls of the assembly together and his hearers "arose from their chairs with pale faces and quivering lips and pressed unconsciously towards him." His influence was irresistible. Even the trained reporters, accustomed to witness the most touching and impressive scenes with the indifference of their profession, dropped their pencils, and what was perhaps the greatest speech of Lincoln's entire career was unreported. Joseph Medill, afterwards editor of the Chicago Tribune, who was then a reporter for that paper, says,—

"I did make a few paragraphs of what Lincoln said in the first eight or ten minutes, but I became so absorbed in his magnetic oratory that I forgot myself and ceased to take notes. I well remember that after Lincoln sat down, and calm had succeeded the tempest, I waked out of a sort of hypnotic trance, and then thought of my report to the Tribune. It was some sort of satisfaction to find that I had not been 'scooped,' as all the newspaper men present had been equally carried away by the excitement caused by the wonderful oration and had made no report or sketch of the speech."

But every reporter and editor went home bursting with enthusiasm, and while none of them could remember it entire, fragments of "Lincoln's Lost Speech," as it was called, floated through the entire press of the United States. No one was more deeply moved than Lincoln himself, and, although continually appealed to by his political associates and the newspapers, he admitted his inability to reproduce his words or even his thoughts after the inspiration under which he had spoken expired. But his purpose was accomplished. Those who assumed the name "Republicans" were thereafter animated by a single purpose and resolution.

As in former campaigns, Lincoln was placed upon the electoral ticket and made fifty or more speeches in Illinois and the adjoining States for Frémont in his contest against Buchanan for the Presidency in 1856.

Soon after the inauguration of President Buchanan, the Supreme Court of the United States delivered an opinion in that famous trial known as the Dred Scott case which created intense excitement. A slave of that name sued for his freedom on the ground that his master had taken him from Missouri to reside in the State of Illinois and the Territory of Wisconsin, where slavery was prohibited by law. Judge Taney and a majority of the Supreme bench, after hearing the case argued twice by eminent counsel, decided that a negro was not entitled to bring suit in a court. In addition, it indirectly announced its opinion that under the Constitution of the United States neither Congress nor a territorial Legislature had any power to prohibit slavery within Federal territory. The people of the North cried out in protest, the people of the South defended the decision as just and righteous altogether, and then began a series of discussion which ended only with the emancipation of the bondsmen.

Senator Douglas was left in a curious situation, for he had justified the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, which prohibited the extension of slavery, on the ground of popular sovereignty, holding that under the Constitution each Territory was authorized to decide the question for itself, and in defence of that position he had made many speeches. It became necessary, therefore, for him to reconcile it with the decision of the Supreme Court, which he attempted to do by an able argument at Springfield shortly after. It was the first presentation of his ingenious and celebrated "Freeport Doctrine," which, briefly, was that while the Supreme Court was correct in its interpretation of the Constitution, a Territory cannot be divested of its right to adopt and enforce appropriate police regulations. As such regulations could only be made by Legislatures elected by a popular vote, he argued, the great principle of popular sovereignty and self-government was not only sustained, but was even more firmly established by the Dred Scott decision.

This argument naturally excited the interest of Lincoln, who answered it in an elaborate speech two weeks later, and thus forced the issue into the campaign for the election of a Legislature which was to choose the successor of Mr. Douglas in the United States Senate. Douglas was in an unpleasant predicament. He was compelled to choose between the favor and support of the Buchanan administration and that of the people of Illinois. As the latter alternative was necessary to his public career, he adopted it, and when Congress met he attacked the administration with his usual force and ability. His course was approved by a large majority of the Democratic party in Illinois, but stimulated the hope of the Republicans of that State that they might defeat him and elect Abraham Lincoln, who was entitled to the honor because he had yielded his priority of claim to Lyman Trumbull in 1854 and was now recognized as the foremost champion of the new Republican party in Illinois. Therefore, when the Republican State Convention met in June, 1858, it adopted by acclamation a resolution declaring that he was the first and only choice of the Republican party for the United States Senate.

Mr. Herndon, Lincoln's law partner, says,—

"He had been led all along to expect his nomination to the Senate, and with that in view had been earnestly and quietly at work preparing a speech in acknowledgment of the honor about to be conferred upon him. This speech he wrote on stray envelopes and scraps of paper, as ideas suggested themselves, putting them into that miscellaneous and convenient receptacle, his hat. As the Convention drew near he copied the whole on connected sheets, carefully revising every line and sentence, and fastened them together for reference during the delivery of the speech and for publication. A few weeks before the Convention, when he was at work on the speech, I remember that Jesse K. Dubois, who was Auditor of the State, came into the office and, seeing Lincoln busily writing, inquired what he was doing or what he was writing. Lincoln answered gruffly, 'It's something you may see or hear some time, but I'll not let you see it now.' After the Convention Lincoln met him on the street and said, 'Dubois, I can tell you what I was doing the other day when you came into my office. I was writing that speech, and I knew if I read the passage about 'the house divided against itself' to you, you would ask me to change or modify it, and that I was determined not to do. I had willed it so, and was willing, if necessary, to perish with it.'

"Before delivering his speech he invited a dozen or so of his friends to the library of the State-House, where he read and submitted it to them. After the reading he asked each man for his opinion. Some condemned and no one endorsed it. Having patiently listened to these various criticisms from his friends, all of which, with a single exception, were adverse, he rose from his chair, and after alluding to the careful study and intense thought he had given the question, he answered all their objections substantially as follows: 'Friends, this thing has been retarded long enough. The time has come when those sentiments should be uttered; and if it is decreed that I should go down because of this speech, then let me go down linked to the truth—let me die in the advocacy of what is just and right.'"

After completing its routine work, the Convention adjourned to meet in the Hall of Representatives at Springfield that evening to hear Lincoln's speech, and it was anticipated with intense interest and anxiety because the gentlemen whom Lincoln had taken into his confidence had let it be known that he was to take a very radical position. It was the most carefully prepared speech he ever made, although he delivered it from memory, and after a few opening sentences he uttered this bold and significant declaration which evoked an enthusiastic response from all of the free States of the Union:

"'A house divided against itself cannot stand.' I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved—I do not expect the house to fall—but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other. Either the opponents of slavery will arrest the further spread of it, and place it where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in course of ultimate extinction; or its advocates will push it forward until it shall become alike lawful in all the States, old as well as new, North as well as South."

Shortly after this event, Senator Douglas returned from Washington and took the stump, attracting immense crowds and exciting great enthusiasm. His speeches, however, were evasive and contained much special pleading as well as misstatement. Lincoln watched him closely, and, recognizing that Douglas was fighting unfairly, decided to bring him to terms. Hence he addressed him a challenge to joint debate. Judge Weldon, who was living in Illinois at the time, tells the story as follows:

"We wrote Mr. Lincoln he had better come and hear Douglas speak at Clinton, which he did. There was an immense crowd for a country town, and on the way to the grove where the speaking took place, Mr. Lincoln said to me,—

"'Weldon, I have challenged Judge Douglas for a discussion. What do you think of it?'

"I replied, 'I approve your judgment in whatever you do.'

"We went over a little to one side of the crowd and sat down on one of the boards laid on logs for seats. Douglas spoke over three hours to an immense audience, and made one of the most forcible speeches I ever heard. As he went on he referred to Lincoln's Springfield speech, and became very personal, and I said to Mr. Lincoln,—

"'Do you suppose Douglas knows you are here?'

"'Well,' he replied, 'I don't know whether he does or not; he has not looked in this direction. But I reckon some of the boys have told him I am here.'

"When Douglas finished there was a tremendous shout for 'Lincoln,' which kept on with no let up. Mr. Lincoln said,—

"'What shall I do? I can't speak here.'

"'You will have to say something,' I replied. 'Suppose you get up and say that you will speak this evening at the court-house yard.'

"Mr. Lincoln mounted the board seat, and as the crowd got sight of his tall form the shouts and cheers were wild. As soon as he could make himself heard he said,—

"'This is Judge Douglas's meeting. I have no right, therefore, no disposition to interfere. But if you ladies and gentlemen desire to hear what I have to say on these questions, and will meet me this evening at the court-house yard, east side, I will try to answer this gentleman.'

"Lincoln made a speech that evening which in volume did not equal the speech of Douglas, but for sound and cogent argument was the superior. Douglas had charged Mr. Lincoln with being in favor of negro equality, which was then the bugbear of politics. In his speech that evening Mr. Lincoln said,—

"'Judge Douglas charges me with being in favor of negro equality, and to the extent that he charges I am not guilty. I am guilty of hating servitude and loving freedom; and while I would not carry the equality of the races to the extent charged by my adversary, I am happy to confess before you that in some things the black man is the equal of the white man. In the right to eat the bread his own hands have earned he is the equal of Judge Douglas or any other living man.'

"When Lincoln spoke the last sentence he had lifted himself to his full height, and as he reached his hands towards the stars of that still night, then and there fell from his lips one of the most sublime expressions of American statesmanship. The effect was grand, the cheers tremendous."

Senator Douglas accepted the challenge, and the famous debate was arranged which for public interest and forensic ability has never been surpassed or equalled in any country. Seven dates and towns were selected, and the debaters were placed on an equal footing by an arrangement that alternately one should speak an hour in opening and the other an hour and a half in reply, the first to have half an hour in closing.

In addition to his seven meetings with Douglas, Lincoln made thirty-one other set speeches arranged by the State Central Committee during the campaign, besides many brief addresses not previously advertised. Sometimes he spoke several times a day, and was exposed to a great deal of discomfort and fatigue which none but a man of his physical strength could have endured. He paid his own expenses, travelled by ordinary cars and freight trains, and often was obliged to drive in wagons or to ride horseback to keep his engagements. Mr. Douglas enjoyed a great advantage. He had been in the Senate several years and had influential friends holding government offices all over the State, who had time and money to arrange receptions and entertainments and lost no opportunity to lionize him. Every Federal official, for weeks before the joint meetings, gave his attention to the arrangements and was held responsible by Mr. Douglas for securing a large and enthusiastic Democratic audience. He was accompanied by his wife, a beautiful and brilliant woman, and by a committee of the most distinguished Democratic politicians in the State. He travelled in a special train furnished by the Illinois Central Railroad, and in charge of Captain George B. McClellan, who was then its general manager. Every employee of that road was a partisan of Douglas, voluntary or involuntary, and several times Lincoln was compelled to suffer unnecessary delay and inconvenience because of their partisanship. Many a time when he was trying to get a little sleep in a wayside station, while waiting for a connection, or lay in a bunk in the caboose of a freight train, the special car of his opponent, decorated with flags and lithographs, would go sweeping by.

A gentleman who accompanied him during the canvass relates this: "Lincoln and I were at the Centralia Agricultural Fair the day after the debate at Jonesboro. Night came on and we were tired, having been on the fair grounds all day. We were to go north on the Illinois Central Railroad. The train was due at midnight, and the depot was full of people. I managed to get a chair for Lincoln in the office of the superintendent of the railroad, but small politicians would intrude so that he could scarcely get a moment's sleep. The train came and was filled instantly. I got a seat near the door for Lincoln and myself. He was worn out, and had to meet Douglas the next day at Charleston. An empty car, called a saloon car, was hitched on to the rear of the train and locked up. I asked the conductor, who knew Lincoln and myself well,—we were both attorneys of the road,—if Lincoln could not ride in that car; that he was exhausted and needed rest; but the conductor refused. I afterwards got him in by stratagem."

The meetings were attended by enormous crowds. People came twenty and thirty miles in carriages and wagons, devoting two or three days to the excursion, and the local excitement was intense. The two parties endeavored to excel each other in processions, music, fireworks, and novel features. At each town salutes would be fired and an address of welcome delivered by some prominent citizen. Sometimes committees of ladies would present the speakers bouquets of flowers, and on one occasion they wound garlands around the lank and awkward form of the future President, much to his embarrassment and dismay. After a debate at Ottawa, the enthusiasm was so great that a party of his admirers carried him on their shoulders from the meeting to the house where he was being entertained.

Lincoln did not underrate the ability or the advantages of his opponent. He realized fully the serious character and importance of the contest in which he was engaged. He was aware that the entire country was watching him with anxious eyes, and that he was addressing not only the multitudes that gathered around the platforms, but the entire population of the United States. He knew also that whatever he might say would have a permanent effect upon the fortunes of the Republican party, then only two years old, not to speak of his own personal destiny.

He knew Douglas as well and perhaps better than Douglas knew himself. They had been acquainted from boyhood, and their lives had run in parallels in a most remarkable manner. They had met at the threshold of their political careers. They had served together in the Legislature twenty-three years before. They were admitted to practice at the bar of the Supreme Court together. They had been rivals for the hand of the same lady, as related in a previous chapter. They served together in Congress. They had met repeatedly, and had measured strength in the Legislature, in the courts, and on the platform. They had always been upon outwardly friendly terms, but each knew that the other disliked him intensely. It is probable that his inquisitive nature and analytical habits gave Lincoln a better knowledge of the strong and weak points of his antagonist. He was very thorough in whatever he undertook, while Douglas was more confident and careless in his preparation. Lincoln knew that in the whole field of American politics there was no man so adroit or aggressive or gifted in the tricks and strategy of debate, and in this contest Douglas showed his fullest power. Lincoln's talents and habits were entirely different. He indulged in no tricks and made no effort to dazzle audiences. His fairness of statement and generosity were well known and understood by Mr. Douglas, who took advantage of them. His high standard of political morals and his devotion to constitutional principles were equally well understood, and Douglas took advantage of those also.

Douglas electrified the crowds with his eloquence and charmed them by his grace and dexterity. He was forcible in statement, aggressive in assertion, and treated Lincoln in a patronizing and contemptuous manner; but Lincoln's simplicity of statement, his homely illustrations, quaint originality, and convincing logic were often more forcible than the lofty flights of eloquence in which his opponent indulged. He was more careful and accurate in his statement of facts, and his knowledge of the details of history and the legislation of Congress was a great advantage, for he convicted Douglas of misrepresentation again and again, although it seemed to have had no effect whatever upon the confidence of the latter's supporters. As usual, Mr. Lincoln kept close to the subject and spoke to convince and not to amuse or entertain. When one of his friends suggested that his reputation for story-telling was being destroyed by the seriousness of his speeches, Lincoln replied that this was no time for jokes.

One of the gentlemen who accompanied Mr. Lincoln has given us the following description of his appearance and manner of speaking: "When standing erect he was six feet four inches high. He was lean in flesh and ungainly in figure: thin through the chest, and hence slightly stoop-shouldered. When he arose to address courts, juries, or crowds of people his body inclined forward to a slight degree. At first he was very awkward, and it seemed a real labor to adjust himself to the surroundings. He struggled for a time under a feeling of apparent diffidence and sensitiveness, and these only added to his awkwardness. When he began speaking, his voice was shrill, piping, and unpleasant. His manner, his attitude, his dark, yellow face wrinkled and dry, his oddity of pose, his diffident movements,—everything seemed to be against him, but only for a short time. After having arisen, he generally placed his hands behind him, the back of his left hand in the palm of his right, the thumb and fingers of his right hand clasped around the left arm at the wrist. For a few moments he played the combination of awkwardness, sensitiveness, and diffidence. As he proceeded he became somewhat animated, and to keep in harmony with his growing warmth his hands relaxed their grasp and fell to his side. Presently he clasped them in front of him, interlocking his fingers, one thumb meanwhile chasing the other. His speech now requiring more emphatic utterance, his fingers unlocked and his hands fell apart. His left arm was thrown behind, the back of his hand resting against his body, his right hand seeking his side. By this time he had gained sufficient composure, and his real speech began. He did not gesticulate as much with his hands as he did with his head. He used the latter frequently, throwing it with vim this way and that. This movement was a significant one when he sought to enforce his statement. It sometimes came with a quick jerk, as if throwing off electric sparks into combustible material. He never sawed the air nor rent space into tatters and rags, as some orators do. He never acted for stage effect. He was cool, considerate, reflective—in time self-possessed and self-reliant. His style was clear, terse, and compact. In argument he was logical, demonstrative, and fair. He was careless of his dress, and his clothes, instead of fitting, as did the garments of Douglas on the latter's well-rounded form, hung loosely on his giant frame.

"As he moved along in his speech he became freer and less uneasy in his movements; to that extent he was graceful. He had a perfect naturalness, a strong individuality; and to that extent he was dignified. There was a world of meaning and emphasis in the long, bony finger of his right hand as he dotted the ideas on the minds of his hearers. Sometimes, to express joy or pleasure, he would raise both hands at an angle of about fifty degrees, the palms upward. If the sentiment was one of detestation,—denunciation of slavery, for example,—both arms, thrown upward and the fists clinched, swept through the air, and he expressed an execration that was truly sublime. This was one of his most effective gestures, and signified most vividly a fixed determination to drag down the object of his hatred and trample it in the dust. He always stood squarely on his feet, toe even with toe; that is, he never put one foot before the other. He neither touched nor leaned on anything for support. He made but few changes in his positions and attitudes. He never ranted, never walked backward and forward on the platform. To ease his arms he frequently caught hold, with his left hand, of the lapel of his coat, keeping his thumb upright and leaving his right hand free to gesticulate. The designer of the monument erected in Chicago has happily caught him in just this attitude. As he proceeded with his speech the exercise of his vocal organs altered somewhat the tone of his voice. It lost in a measure its former acute and shrilling pitch, and mellowed into a more harmonious and pleasant sound. His form expanded, and, notwithstanding the sunken breast, he rose up a splendid and imposing figure. His little gray eyes flashed in a face aglow with the fire of his profound thoughts, and his uneasy movements and diffident manner sunk themselves beneath the wave of righteous indignation that came sweeping over him. Such was Lincoln the orator."

Mr. Lincoln's own impressions were expressed to a friend as follows: "Senator Douglas is of world-wide renown," he said. "All of the anxious politicians of his party, or who have been of his party for years past, have been looking upon him as certainly at no distant day to be President of the United States. They have seen in his round, jolly, fruitful face post-offices, land-offices, marshalships, and Cabinet appointments, chargé-ships and foreign missions, bursting and sprouting out in wonderful exuberance ready to be laid hold of by their greedy hands. And as they have been gazing upon this attractive picture so long, they cannot, in the little distraction that has taken place in the party, bring themselves to give up the charming hope; but with greedier anxiety they rush about him, sustain him, and give him marches, triumphal entries, and receptions beyond what even in the days of highest prosperity they could have brought about in his favor. On the contrary, nobody has ever expected me to be President. In my poor, lean, lank face nobody has ever seen that any cabbages were sprouting out. These are disadvantages, all taken together, that the Republicans labor under. We have to fight this battle upon principle, and principle alone."

As a rule, when both occupied the same platform their manners and language were very courteous; but occasionally, when speaking elsewhere, Mr. Douglas lost his temper and indulged in personal attacks upon his opponent. Mr. Horace White, who reported the debate for one of the Chicago papers, describes one of these occasions as follows;

"We arrived at Havana while Douglas was still speaking. I strolled up to the Douglas meeting just before its conclusion, and there met a friend who had heard the whole. He was in a state of high indignation. He said that Douglas must certainly have been drinking before he came on the platform, because he had called Lincoln 'a liar, a coward, a wretch, and a sneak.'" When Mr. Lincoln replied, on the following day, he took notice of Douglas's hard words in this way:

"I am informed that my distinguished friend yesterday became a little excited, nervous(?) perhaps, and that he said something about fighting, as though looking to a personal encounter between himself and me. Did anybody in this audience hear him use such language? ['Yes, yes.'] I am informed, further, that somebody in his audience, rather more excited or nervous than himself, took off his coat and offered to take the job off Judge Douglas's hands and fight Lincoln himself. Did anybody here witness that warlike proceeding? [Laughter and cries of 'Yes.'] Well, I merely desire to say that I shall fight neither Judge Douglas nor his second. I shall not do this for two reasons, which I will explain. In the first place, a fight would prove nothing which is in issue in this election. It might establish that Judge Douglas is a more muscular man than myself, or it might show that I am a more muscular man than Judge Douglas; but that subject is not referred to in the Cincinnati platform, nor in either of the Springfield platforms. Neither result would prove him right nor me wrong. And so of the gentleman who offered to do his fighting for him. If my fighting Judge Douglas would not prove anything, it would certainly prove nothing for me to fight his bottle-holder. My second reason for not having a personal encounter with Judge Douglas is that I don't believe he wants it himself. He and I are about the best friends in the world, and when we get together he would no more think of fighting me than of fighting his wife. Therefore when the Judge talked about fighting he was not giving vent to any ill-feeling of his own, but was merely trying to excite—well, let us say enthusiasm against me on the part of his audience. And, as I find he was tolerably successful in this, we will call it quits."

The crisis of the debate came at Freeport on August 27, 1858, when Lincoln proposed a series of questions for Douglas to answer. At the previous meeting at Ottawa, Douglas propounded a series of questions for Lincoln which were designed to commit him to strong abolition doctrines. He asked whether Lincoln was pledged to the repeal of the fugitive-slave law, to resist the admission of any more slave States, to the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, to the prohibition of the slave-trade between the States, to the prohibition of slavery in the Territories, and to oppose the acquisition of any new Territory unless slavery was prohibited therein. Lincoln replied with great candor that he was pledged to no proposition except the prohibition of slavery in all the Territories of the United States. It was then that he turned upon Douglas with four questions, the second of which was laden with the most tremendous consequences not only to the debaters personally, but to the entire nation and the cause of human freedom:

"Can the people of a United States Territory in any lawful way, against the wish of any citizen of the United States, exclude slavery from its limits prior to the formation of a State Constitution?"

In proposing this question Lincoln rejected the advice and disregarded the entreaties of his wisest friends and most devoted adherents, for they predicted that it would give Douglas an opportunity to square himself with the people of Illinois and to secure his re-election to the United States Senate. Lincoln replied,—

"I am killing larger game; if Douglas answers he can never be President, and the battle of 1860 is worth a hundred of this."

This prediction, which was afterwards fulfilled, shows Lincoln's remarkable political foresight perhaps better than any single incident in his career. A private letter, written more than a month before, shows that Lincoln had long and carefully studied the probable consequences of the answer that Douglas must make to such an interrogatory, and its fatal effect upon his political fortunes; for, even then, he foresaw that Douglas was to be the Democratic candidate for the Presidency of the United States, and that his reply would deprive him of the support of more than half of the members of that party. With extraordinary sagacity, he pointed out that Douglas would eagerly seize upon such an opportunity as this interrogatory afforded to place himself right before his constituents in Illinois, and thus would recover his popularity and insure his re-election to the Senate. And he was confident that Douglas was so shortsighted as to do this and then trust to his cunning to set himself right afterwards with the people of the slave States, which Lincoln believed would be impossible. But even he did not realize the tremendous and far-reaching results of his inquiry, for the answer which Douglas gave split the Democratic party into irreconcilable factions, and enabled the Republican minority to select the President of the United States at the most critical period of the nation's history, and thus to save the Union.

"You will have hard work to get him [Douglas] directly to the point whether a territorial Legislature has or has not the power to exclude slavery," said Lincoln to a friend; "but if you succeed in bringing him to it, though he will be compelled to say it possesses no such power, he will instantly take the ground that slavery cannot exist in the Territories unless the people desire it, and so give it protection by territorial legislation. If this offends the South, he will let it offend them, as, at all events, he means to hold on to his chances in Illinois." And that was exactly what Douglas did do. He repeated the sophism he had advanced in his speech at Springfield on the Dred Scott decision the previous year, and said,—

"It matters not what way the Supreme Court may hereafter decide as to the abstract question whether slavery may or may not go into a Territory under the Constitution; the people have the lawful means to introduce it or exclude it as they please, for the reason that slavery cannot exist a day or an hour anywhere unless it is supported by local police regulations. Those police regulations can only be established by the local Legislature, and if the people are opposed to slavery, they will elect representatives to that body who will, by unfriendly legislation, effectually prevent the introduction of it into their midst. If, on the contrary, they are for it, their legislation will favor its extension."

The supporters of Douglas shouted with satisfaction at the clever way in which he had escaped the trap Lincoln had set for him. His re-election to the Senate was practically secured, and Lincoln had been defeated at his own game. Lincoln's friends were correspondingly depressed, and in their despondency admitted that their favorite had no longer any prospect of election; that he had thrown his own chances away.

Mr. Douglas was re-elected; but when Congress met in December, and he was removed by the Democratic caucus from the chairmanship of the Senate Committee on Territories, which he had held for eleven years, because he had betrayed the slave-holders in his answer to Lincoln, at Freeport, the Republicans of Illinois began to realize the political sagacity of their leader. Then when, for the same reason, the Democratic National Convention at Charleston was broken up by the Southern delegates rather than accept Douglas as the Democratic candidate for the Presidency, Lincoln's reputation as a political prophet was established.

In 1861 Lincoln asked Joseph Medill, of the Chicago Tribune, if he recalled his opposition to putting that fatal question to Douglas.

"Yes," replied Medill, "I recollect it very well. It lost Douglas the Presidency, but it lost you the Senatorship."

"Yes," said Mr. Lincoln. "And I have won the place he was playing for."

Douglas was the regular Democratic candidate for President against Lincoln in 1860, but was opposed by the Southern faction. At Lincoln's inauguration he appeared with his usual dignity, and stood beside his rival upon the platform. As a member of the Senate he criticised Lincoln's policy until hostilities actually broke out, when his patriotism overcame his partisanship and he became an earnest supporter of the government. On the evening of April 14, the day of the fall of Sumter, he called at the White House by appointment and spent two hours alone with the President. Neither ever revealed what occurred at the interview, but it was not necessary. From that hour until his death on June 3 following he stood by Lincoln's side in defence of the Union. His last public utterance was a patriotic speech before the Legislature on April 25, urging the people of Illinois to stand by the flag. His last interview with Lincoln occurred a few days previous.

"Douglas came rushing in," said the President afterwards, "and said he had just got a telegraph message from some friends in Illinois urging him to come out and help set things right in Egypt, and that he would go or stay in Washington, just where I thought he could do the most good. I told him to do as he chose, but that he would probably do best in Illinois. Upon that he shook hands with me and hurried away to catch the next train. I never saw him again."

The country at large had watched the debate between Lincoln and Douglas with profound interest, and thinking men of both parties realized that a new leader as well as a great orator and statesman had appeared upon the horizon. Lincoln was overwhelmed with congratulations and invitations came from every direction to make speeches and deliver lectures, but most of them were declined. He spoke twice in Ohio, at Columbus and at Cincinnati, where he excited great enthusiasm and left so deep an impression that the State Committee published his speeches and the debate with Douglas as a campaign document. In December he went to Kansas and delivered five lectures, and in the spring of 1860 he received an invitation from a young men's association in Brooklyn to deliver a lecture in Plymouth Church, of which Henry Ward Beecher was then pastor. They offered a fee of two hundred dollars which was very acceptable because his practice had been sadly neglected and he was feeling very poor. At the same time his natural diffidence made him reluctant to appear before an Eastern audience, and when he arrived in New York and discovered that he was to speak in Cooper Institute instead of in Brooklyn, he was fearful that he had made a mistake. Henry C. Bowen invited him to be his guest in Brooklyn, but he declined, saying that he was afraid his lecture would not be a success and he must give his whole time to revising it. He was afraid his audience would be disappointed and the young men who had kindly invited him would suffer financially.

Copyright, 1896, by S. S. McClure Co.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN 1861

Copied from the original in the possession of Frank A. Brown, Esq., Minneapolis, Minnesota

This was perhaps the first time Lincoln ever misjudged his situation. His intuitions as well as his reasoning powers were usually very accurate, but in this case they were far out of the way, for when he arrived at Cooper Institute he was amazed to find the immense hall crowded with the representatives of the culture, commerce, finance, and industry of the metropolis. It was a notable audience in many respects. He was escorted to the platform by Horace Greeley and David Dudley Field, and introduced by William Cullen Bryant. Every man of importance in New York City was present, many of them, no doubt, attracted by curiosity to see and hear the homely lawyer from the prairies of whom they had read in the newspapers. But he captivated his audience from the start. Every hearer was impressed not only with his convincing arguments, but with his dignity and eloquence.

Lincoln began his address in a low monotone, and was evidently embarrassed, but the respectful attention with which he was heard gave him confidence, his tones rose in strength and gained in clearness, and his awkward manner disappeared, as it always did when his consciousness was lost in the earnest presentation of his thoughts. His style was so simple, his language so unstudied and terse, his illustration so quaint and apt, his reasoning so concise and compact that his critics asked themselves and one another, as Henry M. Field says, "What manner of man is this lawyer from the West who has set forth these truths as we have never heard them before?" Lincoln made no effort at display. He estimated the intelligence of his hearers accurately, and introduced neither anecdote nor witticism, nor is there a figure of speech or a poetic fancy in the first half of his oration. There was no more sentiment than he would have introduced in a legal argument before the Supreme Court, but he nevertheless arrested and held the attention of his hearers, and they gave abundant testimony that they recognized him as a master. No man ever made a more profound impression upon an American audience. His speech was published in full in four of the morning papers and extracts were copied widely throughout the country.

The Honorable Joseph H. Choate, ambassador to Great Britain, himself one of the most eminent of American orators, in an address at Edinburgh in 1900, has given us the following graphic description of Lincoln's Cooper Institute speech:

"It is now forty years since I first saw and heard Abraham Lincoln, but the impression which he left on my mind is ineffaceable. After his great successes in the West he came to New York to make a political address. He appeared in every sense of the word like one of the plain people among whom he loved to be counted. At first sight there was nothing impressive or imposing about him, except that his great stature singled him out from the crowd; his clothes hung awkwardly on his giant frame, his face was of a dark pallor, without the slightest tinge of color; his seamed and rugged features bore the furrows of hardship and struggle; his deep-set eyes looked sad and anxious; his countenance in repose gave little evidence of that brainpower which had raised him from the lowest to the highest station among his countrymen. As he talked to me before the meeting he seemed ill at ease, with that sort of apprehension which a young man might feel before presenting himself to a new and strange audience whose critical disposition he dreaded.

"It was a great audience, including all the noted men—all the learned and cultured—of his party in New York: editors, clergymen, statesmen, lawyers, merchants, critics. They were all very curious to hear him. His fame as a powerful speaker had preceded him, and exaggerated rumor of his wit had reached the East. When Mr. Bryant presented him on the high platform of the Cooper Institute a vast sea of eager, upturned faces greeted him, full of intense curiosity to see what this rude child of the people was like. He was equal to the occasion. When he spoke he was transformed; his eye kindled, his voice rang, his face shone and seemed to light up the whole assembly. For an hour and a half he held his audience in the hollow of his hand. His style of speech and manner of delivery were severely simple. What Lowell called 'the grand simplicities of the Bible,' with which he was so familiar, were reflected in his discourse. With no attempt at ornament or rhetoric, without parade or pretence, he spoke straight to the point. If any came expecting the turgid eloquence or the ribaldry of the frontier, they must have been startled at the earnest and sincere purity of his utterances. It was marvellous to see how this untutored man, by mere self-discipline and the chastening of his own spirit, had outgrown all meretricious arts, and found his way to the grandeur and strength of absolute simplicity.

"He spoke upon the theme which he had mastered so thoroughly. He demonstrated by copious historical proofs and masterly logic that the fathers who created the Constitution in order to form a more perfect union, to establish justice, and to secure the blessings of liberty to themselves and their posterity, intended to empower the Federal government to exclude slavery from the Territories. In the kindliest spirit, he protested against the avowed threat of the Southern States to destroy the Union if, in order to secure freedom in those vast regions, out of which future States were to be carved, a Republican President were elected. He closed with an appeal to his audience, spoken with all the fire of his aroused and kindling conscience, with a full outpouring of his love of justice and liberty, to maintain their political purpose on that lofty and unassailable issue of right and wrong which alone could justify it, and not to be intimidated from their high resolve and sacred duty by any threats of destruction to the government or of ruin to themselves. He concluded with this telling sentence, which drove the whole argument home to all our hearts:

"'Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us to the end dare to do our duty as we understand it.'

"That night the great hall, and the next day the whole city, rang with delighted applause and congratulations, and he who had come as a stranger departed with the laurels of a great triumph."

While in New York he visited the Five Points House of Industry, and the following account of what occurred is given by a teacher there: "Our Sunday-School in the Five Points was assembled, one Sabbath morning, when I noticed a tall, remarkable man enter the room and take a seat among us. He listened with fixed attention to our exercises, and his countenance expressed such genuine interest that I approached him and suggested that he might be willing to say something to the children. He accepted the invitation with evident pleasure, and, coming forward, began a simple address which at once fascinated every little hearer and hushed the room into silence. His language was strikingly beautiful and his tones musical with the intensest feeling. The little faces around him would droop into sad conviction as he uttered the sentences of warning, and would brighten into sunshine as he spoke cheerful words of promise. Once or twice he attempted to close his remarks, but the imperative shouts of 'Go on!' 'Oh, do go on!' would compel him to resume. As I looked upon the gaunt and sinewy frame of the stranger and marked his powerful head and determined features, now touched into softness by the impressions of the moment, I felt an irresistible curiosity to learn something more about him, and when he was quietly leaving the room I begged to know his name. He courteously replied,—

"'Abraham Lincoln, from Illinois.'"

Lincoln received many invitations to speak in New England and delivered addresses in all of the prominent cities, where he created the same favorable impression and awakened the same popular enthusiasm.

After his inauguration as President, Lincoln made no formal speeches except his two inaugural addresses, but scarcely a week passed that he did not deliver some pleasant little speech from the balcony of the White House or at one of the military camps, and during his journey to Washington he was especially happy in his treatment of the serious questions which were troubling the public mind.

When Abraham Lincoln was twenty-two years old and a clerk in Denton Offutt's store he offered himself to the voters of New Salem and vicinity as a candidate for the Illinois Legislature. It was the year that the Whigs held their first National Convention and nominated Henry Clay as their candidate for President; and from that time, as has been seen, Lincoln made politics as well as law a profession, and participated actively in every campaign until he was elected President.

In those days nominations for office were made by announcement and not by conventions, and, according to custom, with thirteen other citizens fired with similar ambition, Lincoln issued a circular or "handbill," as it was familiarly called, setting forth in quaint and characteristic candor his "sentiments with regard to local affairs." It was his platform, and no utterance of his entire life is more interesting than the few personal remarks which he addressed to his neighbors:

"Every man is said to have his peculiar ambition. Whether it be true or not, I can say, for one, that I have no other so great as that of being truly esteemed of my fellow-men by rendering myself worthy of their esteem. How far I shall succeed in gratifying this ambition is yet to be developed. I am young, and unknown to many of you. I was born, and have ever remained, in the most humble walks of life. I have no wealthy or popular relations or friends to recommend me. My case is thrown exclusively upon the independent voters of the county, and if elected they will have conferred a favor upon me for which I shall be unremitting in my labors to compensate. But if the good people in their wisdom shall see fit to keep me in the background, I have been too familiar with disappointments to be very much chagrined."

It was an audacious act for a young man who had been in the county only about nine months to aspire to the honor and responsibility of a law-maker, but, compared with his neighbors, Lincoln's qualifications were conspicuous. He could read and write, had a fair knowledge of literature, had read two or three law-books, was a practical surveyor, and by reason of his two journeys to New Orleans had seen a good deal more of the world than any one in that neighborhood. But these qualifications did not count for much in comparison with his ability as a public speaker and his faculty of doing things which had already made him a reputation throughout the county. Although his advantages had been limited, they were superior to those enjoyed by three-fourths of the young men in Sangamon County, and for education, experience, and other qualifications he surpassed a majority of the members of the Legislature. There were only a few men of culture and education in that body. It was chiefly made up of illiterate pioneers who mixed politics with farming and carried on their campaigns at camp-meetings, horseraces, country stores, and taverns, and resorted to every subterfuge that their shrewd minds could invent to secure votes. At the same time they were generally honest, patriotic, and earnest for the welfare of their constituents and their personal characters commanded the esteem and confidence of the public. Among such men Lincoln's talent for talking and writing, his knowledge of poetry and literature, and, more than all, his genius as a story-teller excited admiration and respect, and he was regarded as the most promising young man in the neighborhood. His announcement "handbill" discussed the several topics which at that time were being agitated, such as the improvement of the Sangamon River. He related his experience with flat-boats, and declared that by straightening the channel and clearing away the drift-wood the stream could be made navigable. "The improvement of the Sangamon River," he sagely remarked, "is an object much better suited to our infant resources" than the construction of a railway, and, indeed, it was fifteen years later that the first whistle of a locomotive was heard in Illinois. He took broad grounds in favor of internal improvements, advocated a law prohibiting money-loaners from charging exorbitant rates of interest, and favored liberal appropriations for education.

"For my part," he said, "I desire to see the time when education, and by its means morality, sobriety, enterprise, and industry, shall become much more general than at present, and should be gratified to have it in my power to contribute something to the advancement of any measure which might have a tendency to accelerate that happy period."

Perhaps, if he could have made a thorough campaign and extended his acquaintance and popularity throughout the county, he might have been elected, but just a month after his announcement was published he went off to the Black Hawk War (as is told in Chapter VI.) and did not return until a few days before the election, so that his canvass was limited. It was long enough, however, for him to make a record as a man of moral courage and ability. Although the great majority of the population were Democrats, he boldly declared himself a Whig, which must have cost him many votes. National issues were not usually brought into local politics, but the contest between Clay and Jackson was animated and bitter; the Democrats were despotic and intolerant towards the opposition, and were so much in the majority that a Whig had very little consideration. Lincoln has left us a brief account of the campaign, in which he says that he ran as "an avowed Clay man," and in his speeches advocated the principles and policy of Henry Clay's platform. "I am in favor of a national bank; I am in favor of an internal improvement system and a high protective tariff," he announced boldly, and it must have cost him a severe struggle with his ambition to have placed himself upon the unpopular side and to have joined a hopeless minority at the beginning of his political career; but he obeyed his convictions, and nothing better illustrates the stuff of which the man was made.

The returns show that out of 2168 votes Lincoln received only 657, less than one-third of the whole. In New Salem, where he lived, he received all but three of the votes cast, although a few months later Andrew Jackson carried the same precinct with 185 votes against 70 for Henry Clay.

This was the only time that Abraham Lincoln was defeated on a direct vote of the people. He was greatly gratified by the evidence of his popularity, and was confident that if he could extend his acquaintance through the county he would be successful at the next election; but how was he to get a living in the mean time? Offutt's store had failed and he was out of employment. He describes the situation himself as follows: "He was now without means and out of business, but was anxious to remain with his friends, who had treated him with so much generosity, especially as he had nothing elsewhere to go to. He studied what he should do; thought of learning the blacksmith trade, thought of trying to study law, rather thought he could not succeed at that without a better education."

It was a crisis in his life, but he was conscious of his own ability and his faith in himself was strong. If his judgment had been equally accurate, he would have been saved great anxiety and trouble, for it was at this time that he was induced to go into the mercantile speculation which turned out so badly. He managed to make a living, however, and pull through, and when the campaign of 1834 came it was a matter of course that he should again be a candidate for the Legislature. He spent almost the entire summer electioneering, most of the time in those parts of the county where he was least acquainted, appealing for votes in his own peculiar way. It was a rough-and-tumble canvass, often in company with other candidates. "Wherever he saw a crowd of men, he joined them, and he never failed to adapt himself to their point of view in asking for votes," says one of his friends. "If the degree of physical strength was their test for a candidate, he was ready to lift a weight or wrestle with any countryside champion. If the amount of grain a man could cut would recommend him, he seized the cradle and showed the swath he could cut." One of the farmers of the neighborhood tells this story:

"He [Lincoln] came to my house, near Island Grove, during harvest. There were some thirty men in the field. He got his dinner and went out in the field where the men were at work. I gave him an introduction, and the boys said that they could not vote for a man unless he could make a hand. 'Well, boys,' said he, 'if that is all, I am sure of your votes.' He took hold of the cradle, and led the way all the round with perfect ease. The boys were satisfied, and I don't think he lost a vote in the crowd."

Thirteen candidates were contesting for the four seats in the Legislature and all were engaged in the campaign, besides candidates for Governor, for Congress, and for the State Senate. When the votes were counted, Lincoln's name headed the list. He received 1376, considerably more than a majority, and more than double the total he had received at the election two years before.

At this point Lincoln's political career actually begins, and although during his first session in the Legislature he showed no particular talent and took a modest position in the background, he secured the respect of his colleagues both for his abilities and his character, and among them were several men who afterwards became almost as prominent as himself. They included future governors, generals, senators, judges, and cabinet ministers. In this and future sessions of the Legislature he sat beside Stephen A. Douglas, afterwards United States Senator and Democratic candidate for the Presidency against Lincoln; Edward D. Baker, Senator from both Illinois and Oregon, who was killed at the battle of Ball's Bluff; Orville H. Browning, afterwards United States Senator and Secretary of the Interior; John A. McClernand, for several years a member of the House of Representatives and a major-general in the Civil War; John Logan, father of the late General John A. Logan; Robert M. Cullom, father of Senator Shelby M. Cullom, and others of comparative distinction. These were new associates for the poor young man, and more to his taste as well as his advantage. From this time he cultivated men from whom he could learn, but never lost his affection for those who had shared his humble hardships. He was re-elected to the Legislature four successive terms, in 1836, 1838, and 1840, and spent eight years in the service of his State, making many mistakes and enjoying several triumphs, growing in the esteem and confidence of the people, extending his usefulness and influence, and gradually advancing to a high place among the leaders of the Whig party, which was rapidly gaining in strength.

Among the interesting features of Lincoln's legislative career is a declaration in favor of a limited woman suffrage which appeared in his "handbill" in the campaign of 1836, when he was twenty-seven years old and unmarried.

"I go for all sharing the privileges of the government who assist in bearing its burdens," he said; "consequently I go for admitting all whites to the right of suffrage who pay taxes or bear arms, by no means excluding females."

The Legislature of 1836 and 1837 was responsible for many "wild-cat" schemes which brought disaster upon the people of the young State, and Lincoln was guilty of the same folly and lack of judgment which characterized his associates. It should be said, however, that he was enthusiastically supported by his constituents and public opinion generally, and believed that he was doing the best that could be done for the community.

His greatest triumph was won as the leader of the movement to remove the State capital from Vandalia to Springfield. Being given the management of the bill, he applied all his energy and ability to the task, here showing the same strategic genius which was afterwards demonstrated in the management of the war. His plan of campaign was simple but shrewd. He first persuaded the Legislature to pass a bill removing the capital from Vandalia, then he secured a succession of votes upon other locations, and finally succeeded in carrying a direct vote in favor of Springfield, which was accomplished by his personal influence. Jesse K. Dubois, who represented another part of the State, says, "We gave the vote to Lincoln because we liked him, because we wanted to oblige him, our friend, and because we wanted to recognize him as our leader," which is a great tribute considering the fact that the delegation from Sangamon County was an unusually strong one. It was famous for the stature of its nine members, which, combined, was fifty-five feet. The delegation was known as "the Long Nine."

When the law was signed the citizens of Springfield tendered a banquet to their representatives, and among the toasts was this:

"Abraham Lincoln: one of Nature's noblemen; he has fulfilled the expectations of his friends and disappointed the hopes of his enemies."

In 1838 and again in 1840 Lincoln was the Whig candidate for Speaker of the House of Representatives, which was the highest tribute his colleagues could pay him and illustrates his rapid advancement in influence. Nor did he take this leading position without rivalry. There were strong men among the Whigs of Illinois even at that date. That party represented the wealth, education, and culture of the State, as the Republican party does to-day, while the masses of the people were Democrats. Notwithstanding this rivalry, he pushed rapidly forward, and the qualities which he had shown from the beginning of his political career were strengthened by experience, knowledge, and self-confidence. His kindly disposition and good-nature, his wit and his stories, his willingness to accept any responsibility that might be thrust upon him or undertake any duty, no matter how laborious or disagreeable, and his determination to succeed in everything he attempted made him a leader; while his skill in debate, in parliamentary tactics, and political organization made his co-operation necessary to the success of any movement.

Lincoln organized the Whig party in Illinois. Up to 1832 the convention system was unknown. In that year it was introduced by the Democrats and was denounced with great vigor by the Whigs, who declared it an invention "intended to abridge the liberties of the people by depriving individuals of the privilege of becoming candidates for office, and depriving them of the right to vote for candidates of their own choice;" nevertheless, all good Whigs, and Lincoln among them, immediately recognized the advantages of the new plan. It concentrated the strength of a party upon single candidates for offices instead of allowing it to be scattered and wasted upon several who voluntarily offered themselves. The "machine" organized by Jackson's supporters worked well; Lincoln watched it closely, and although he was reluctant to accept the principle, he was compelled to admit the advantage of the practice, and prepared, at the request of his fellow-Whigs, a confidential circular which formed the basis of a remarkably complete and effective organization of the Whig party in the State.

In 1841, the year previous to his marriage, Lincoln was offered the Whig nomination for Governor, but declined it. He also declined renomination for the Legislature the following year, and became a candidate for Congress. He did not wait to be invited, but sought the nomination and managed his own canvass. He never believed in concealing his ambition; he was never guilty of false modesty; he held that it was an honorable aspiration, and acted accordingly; but, to his disappointment, Sangamon County was instructed for his friend and colleague, Edward D. Baker. He was the more sensitive because he, "a stranger, friendless, uneducated, penniless boy, working on a flat-boat at ten dollars a month," he wrote a friend, had "been put down here as the candidate of pride, wealth, and aristocratic family distinction. Yet so, chiefly, it was. There was, too, the strangest combination of church influence against me. Baker is a Campbellite, and therefore, as I suppose, with few exceptions, got all that church. My wife has some relations in the Presbyterian churches and some with the Episcopal churches; and therefore, wherever it would tell, I was set down as either the one or the other, while it was everywhere contended that no Christian ought to go for me, because I belonged to no church, was suspected of being a deist, and had talked about fighting a duel. With all these things Baker, of course, had nothing to do. Nor do I complain of them. As to his own church going for him, I think that was right enough, and as to the influences I have spoken of in the other, though they were very strong, it would be grossly untrue and unjust to charge that they acted upon them in a body, or were very near so. I only mean that those influences levied a tax of a considerable per cent. upon my strength throughout the religious community."

Lincoln was appointed a delegate to the Convention and instructed to look after Baker's interests. This, he said, "was a good deal like acting as bridegroom for a man who has cut you out;" but he was loyal and energetic and as skilful as usual, although unsuccessful. J. M. Ruggles, one of the delegates, says, "The ayes and noes had been taken and there were fifteen votes apiece, and one in doubt that had not arrived. That was myself. I was known to be a warm friend of Baker, representing people who were partial to Hardin. As soon as I arrived Baker hurried to me, saying, 'How is it? It all depends on you.' On being told that, notwithstanding my partiality for him, the people I represented expected me to vote for Hardin, and that I would have to do so, Baker at once replied, 'You are right—there is no other way.' The Convention was organized, and I was elected secretary. Baker immediately arose and made a most thrilling address, thoroughly arousing the sympathies of the Convention, and ended by declining his candidacy. Hardin was nominated by acclamation and then came the episode.

"Immediately after the nomination, Mr. Lincoln walked across the room to my table and asked if I would favor a resolution recommending Baker for the next term. On being answered in the affirmative, he said, 'You prepare the resolution, I will support it, and I think we can pass it.' The resolution created a profound sensation, especially with the friends of Hardin. After an excited and angry discussion, the resolution passed by a majority of one."

Thus Lincoln defeated his own prospects for a Congressional nomination for four years. Baker was elected in 1844, and then his turn came in 1846, when the Democrats gave him for a competitor the famous Methodist circuit rider, Peter Cartwright, one of the best-known and beloved men of that period on the frontier. He was the highest type of the itinerant preacher. For sixty years he travelled on horseback throughout the Western country, marrying the young people, baptizing their children, burying the dead, preaching by the wayside and in the forests, and when he died in 1872, at eighty-seven years of age, the record of his ministry showed that he had admitted to the church twelve thousand persons, had preached fifteen thousand sermons, and a procession of one hundred and twenty-nine children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren followed him to his grave. With all his piety and devotion to the Methodist Church, Peter Cartwright was an ardent admirer of Andrew Jackson and a Democrat of the most intolerant pro-slavery type. He probably had a larger acquaintance than any other man in the State, was an exhorter of magnetic intensity, and his energy was unsurpassed; but, nevertheless, Lincoln defeated him by 1511 majority when Henry Clay carried the district by only 914.

When the Thirtieth Congress was called to order on December 6, 1847, Abraham Lincoln answered to his name. The rolls also bore the name of Stephen A. Douglas, but before the House of Representatives met he had been elected to the United States Senate. Lincoln was the only Whig member from Illinois. In those days the House met in the old Hall of Representatives, now used for statuary, and he was so unfortunate as to draw one of the most undesirable seats far in the background. He was assigned to the Committee on Post-Offices and Post-Roads, at the foot of the list, attended its meetings regularly, and occasionally took part in the debates on the bills appropriating money for the support of the postal service and other matters pertaining to that committee. He also was a member of the Committee on Expenditures in the War Department, which, however, never met. He devoted a good deal of time trying to secure amendments to the laws relating to bounty lands for soldiers, a subject of which he had some personal knowledge, having himself received a patent for some wild land in Iowa. He looked after certain grants of land made to railroads in Illinois, and endeavored to protect actual settlers who might possibly have been interfered with. During his first session he made the personal acquaintance of but few members, and lived at a quiet Congressional boarding-house kept by a Mrs. Sprigg, on Capitol Hill, where his messmates were Joshua R. Giddings, of Ohio, and several other Whigs. His favorite place of resort was the post-office of the House of Representatives, where he was in the habit of meeting and exchanging stories with several congenial spirits. Among them were Robert Toombs and Alexander H. Stephens, who, like himself, were destined to become conspicuous figures in the great impending drama. Several writers have described encounters between Lincoln and Jefferson Davis at this period, but they were imaginary. Although Mr. Davis was appointed to the Senate the same year, it is not probable that he ever met the obscure member of the Lower House from Illinois.

From the recollections of his colleagues we have many incidents and anecdotes of more or less interest, which show that he retained the same unassuming, simple habits that characterized him as a member of the Legislature.

Daniel Webster, who was then in the Senate, used occasionally to have Lincoln at one of his pleasant Saturday breakfasts, where the Western Congressman's humorous illustrations of the events of the day, sparkling with spontaneous and unpremeditated wit, would give great delight to "the solid men of Boston" assembled around the festive board. At one time Lincoln had transacted some legal business for Mr. Webster connected with an embryo city laid out where Rock River empties into the Mississippi. Mr. Fletcher Webster had gone there for a while; but Rock Island City was not a pecuniary success, and much of the land on which but one payment had been made reverted to the original owners. Lincoln had charged Mr. Webster for his legal services ten dollars, which the great expounder of the Constitution regarded as too small a fee, and he would frequently declare that he was still Lincoln's debtor.

The librarian of the United States Supreme Court remembers that Lincoln came to the library one day for the purpose of procuring some law-books which he wanted to take to his room for examination. He placed them in a pile on the table, tied them up with a large bandanna handkerchief from his pocket, and, putting a stick which he had brought with him through a knot in the handkerchief, shouldered his burden and marched off to his room. In a few days he returned the books in the same way.

He saw very little of the social life of the capital, although Mrs. Lincoln was with him during the long session. His experience was similar to that of the average green Congressman who comes to Washington unheralded and who is compelled to live on his salary. The only social adventure of which we have any knowledge was in attending the inaugural ball, March 4, 1849, of which Mr. E. B. Washburne writes,—

"A small number of mutual friends, including Mr. Lincoln, made up a party to attend Taylor's inauguration ball together. It was by far the most brilliant inauguration ball ever given. Of course Mr. Lincoln had never seen anything of the kind before. One of the most modest and unpretending persons present, he could not have dreamed that like honors were to come to him almost within a little more than a decade. He was greatly interested in all that was to be seen, and we did not take our departure until three or four o'clock in the morning. When we went to the cloak and hat room, Mr. Lincoln had no trouble in finding his short coat, which little more than covered his shoulders, but after a long search was unable to find his hat. After an hour he gave up all idea of finding it. Taking his cloak on his arm, he walked out into Judiciary Square, deliberately adjusted it on his shoulders, and started off bareheaded for his lodgings. It would be hard to forget the sight of that tall and slim man, with his short cloak thrown over his shoulders, starting for his long walk home on Capitol Hill, at four o'clock in the morning, without any hat on."

After the election of President Taylor, in 1848, Lincoln, being the only Whig member of Congress from Illinois, was required to recommend candidates for office and practically controlled the patronage of the State. He was not a civil service reformer. Even while he was President he adhered to the time-honored doctrine that the victors in politics, as in war, were entitled to the spoils, while at the same time he endeavored to get the most efficient men available for the public offices and recognized merit as the first claim for promotion. While in Congress he performed his duty with absolute fairness to his political foes and with loyalty to his political friends so far as he was able to control appointments. Some of his recommendations are unique, for example:

"I recommend that William Butler be appointed Pension Agent for the Illinois agency when the place shall be vacant. Mr. Hurst, the present incumbent, I believe has performed his duties very well. He is a decided partisan, and I believe expects to be removed. Whether he shall be, I submit to the Department. This office is not confined to my district, but pertains to the whole State; so that Colonel Baker has an equal right with myself to be heard concerning it. However, the office is located here (at Springfield), and I think it is not probable that any one would desire to remove from a distance to take it."

In another instance he writes the Secretary of Interior, "I recommend that Walter Davis be appointed Receiver of the Land Office at this place, whenever there shall be a vacancy. I cannot say that Mr. Herndon, the present incumbent, has failed in the proper discharge of any of the duties of the office. He is a warm partisan, and openly and actively opposed to the election of General Taylor. I also understand that since General Taylor's election he has received a reappointment from Mr. Polk, his old commission not having expired. Whether this is true the records of the Department will show. I may add that the Whigs here almost universally desire his removal."

In another case he forwards the recommendations of the man whom he does not prefer, with an endorsement calling attention to the importance of the writers, and adding, "From personal knowledge I consider Mr. Bond every way worthy of the office and qualified to fill it. Holding the individual opinion that the appointment of a different gentleman would be better, I ask especial attention and consideration of his claims, and for the opinions expressed in his favor by those over whom I can claim no superiority."

In all his communications to the Executive Department concerning appointments to office, he never claims a place because of his position and influence; nor does he demand patronage on behalf of his party or his State; nor does he ask for the removal of an incumbent, although in several cases he says that it is desired by the public and the patrons of the office. He always puts himself in the position of an adviser to the government, and modestly expresses his opinion as to the best man for appointment. If there are two candidates, he describes their qualifications with evident candor and fairness.

Lincoln was tendered the Governorship of Oregon, and might have been Commissioner of the General Land Office under President Taylor, but, fortunately, resisted the temptation.

Amos Tuck, of New Hampshire, in his memoirs, says, "In December, 1847, I made my first visit to Washington, and at the same time took my seat as a member of the House of Representatives. The representation of New Hampshire was equally divided, or rather was half Democratic, Messrs. Peaslee and Johnson, and half opposition, Mr. Wilson, Whig, and myself, Independent Democrat. It was the second Congress in Mr. Polk's administration, and the Mexican War was at its height. Robert C. Winthrop was Speaker.

"The most distinguished man by far, member of the House, was John Quincy Adams. By general consent he had for years occupied the seat of his choice, one of the two largest on the floor, in the second row of seats, the first fronting the Speaker at the left. New members were anxious to see Mr. Adams, the honored ex-President, politically the most distinguished man of the country. He was old and feeble, but clear in mind and decided in all his views as he had been in the days of his vigor. He made one short speech early in the session, but could be heard only by a few near him, and in the month of February following died in the Speaker's room at the Capitol.

"I was late in arriving.... In the fourth seat at my left sat a new member from Illinois, the only Whig from that State, a tall, awkward, genial, good fellow, the future President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln. He was then thirty-nine years old, bore all the signs of scanty preparation for influential position, and excited attention only as the lone star of Illinois Whigs and as an agreeable specimen of frontier character. He was not regarded as a man of mark, nor did the thought seem to have entered his own mind of ever taking a high position in the country. Mr. Lincoln had no opportunity, if he had then had the ability, which I do not think he possessed at that time, of distinguishing himself. I remember that the good-will of his acquaintances was strong in his favor. He made one set speech, near the close of the session, wherein he made sundry telling points against the Democrats, delivering it in the open area in front of the clerk's desk, and created much amusement by the aptness of his illustrations, walking around in front of the Democratic members, singling out individuals specially responsible for unsound and inconsistent doctrines. He was good-natured, enjoyed his own wit, heartily joined in the amusement he excited in others, and sat down amid the cheers of his friends. The friendship formed between Mr. Lincoln and myself in that Congress continued through his life. Alexander H. Stephens and Robert Toombs, of Georgia, were likewise members of the Thirtieth Congress, as they had been of the previous Congress. They were both Whigs, the leading men in the House of their party in the South, but more wedded to slave interests than to their political party."

His term in Congress ended on March 4, 1849, and he was not a candidate for re-election. A year before he had contemplated the possibility of entering the field again. He then wrote to his friend and partner, Herndon, "It is very pleasant for me to learn from you that there are some who desire that I should be re-elected. I made the declaration that I would not be a candidate again, more from a wish to deal fairly with others, to keep peace among our friends, and keep the district from going to the enemy, than for any cause personal to myself, so that, if it should so happen that nobody else wishes to be elected, I could not refuse the people the right of sending me again. But to enter myself as a competitor of others, or to authorize any one so to enter me, is what my word and honor forbid."

Upon returning from Congress in the spring of 1849, Lincoln renewed his law practice and devoted himself exclusively to it, taking no part in politics and having all that he could do in court until there was a great upheaval in the political situation caused by the repeal of the Missouri Compromise. This so aroused his patriotism and indignation against the Democratic party that he went back to the stump and the committee-room and again became the recognized leader of the Whig party in Illinois. All through Illinois and other States in the neighborhood the Whig politicians turned to him for counsel, which was due to his reputation for wisdom and sagacity. It has been said that Lincoln intended to retire from politics, and he wrote a friend that he "had lost interest until the repeal of the Missouri Compromise;" but his ambition as well as his interest soon revived, for we find him in 1854 the most prominent candidate of the Whig party for the United States Senate.

There was an exciting canvass of the State. He entered into it with great enthusiasm, spoke in nearly every county, and it was agreed by all concerned that if the Republican and Anti-Nebraska Democrats should carry the Legislature, Lincoln would be elected to succeed General Shields. He expected it himself, and his defeat brought him more disappointment and chagrin than any other event in his life. It was a painful experience, but he accepted the result with his usual good-nature and philosophy, and his conduct under the most trying circumstances added lustre to his reputation as a patriotic, honorable, unselfish man, and he never forgot his obligation to those who stood by him in the contest.

With his usual candor, he had addressed letters to the Whigs and Anti-Nebraska men who had been elected to the Legislature, asking their support. The replies were almost without exception favorable and in some cases enthusiastic. He was personally known to almost every member, and by his voice and advice had assisted all the Whig candidates during the campaign. But, unfortunately, a complication arose which embarrassed them and him. He had been elected as one of the members from Sangamon County, and the Constitution of the State contained a clause making members of the Legislature and other officials ineligible to the United States Senate. The highest authorities pronounced this provision unconstitutional because the Senate alone was authorized to decide the qualifications of its own members and a State Legislature had no jurisdiction over the subject; but, rather than run the risk of taking the election into the courts, Lincoln decided to resign, relying upon the majority of 650 votes, which had been cast for him, to elect another Whig in his place. Very little interest was taken in the canvass. The Democrats appeared inclined to let the contest go by default. That disarmed the leaders of the Whig party and made the rank and file indifferent. For the first and only time in his political career Lincoln was caught napping. The Democrats nominated a candidate at the very last moment, plunged into a hasty but energetic canvass, got out a full vote, and elected his successor by 60 majority, which lost the Legislature to the Whigs and left them dependant upon their Free-Soil Democratic allies. The members of that party in other parts of the State were very indignant and blamed Lincoln for this unlooked-for result.

He was still further embarrassed by the unauthorized and impertinent act of a small group of abolitionists who met in Springfield before the session of the Legislature, passed resolutions endorsing Lincoln as their candidate for the Senate, and, without consulting him, appointed him a member of their State Central Committee. There were only twenty-six in the assembly,—earnest, eager men, and radical in their views,—and although Lincoln's policy of recognizing the constitutional authority for slavery was well known to them, they admired his ability and the able fight he was making against the extension of the system in the Territories. He was not aware that his name appeared in the list of the abolitionist committee until several weeks after the Convention had adjourned. In fact, very little notice was taken of its meetings, and its action was discovered by the Democrats before it was known to the Whigs. Lincoln immediately wrote a letter declining to serve and saying that he was perplexed to understand why his name was used, because he supposed that his position on the slavery question was not at all satisfactory to their party. But, notwithstanding his disavowal, five Anti-Nebraska Democrats refused under any circumstances to support him for Senator, but cast their votes for Lyman Trumbull. Lincoln was voted for by the other Free-Soilers and Shields by the Democrats. In a letter to Mr. Washburne, written on the evening after the election, Lincoln gives this description of the close of the fight:

"In the mean time our friends, with a view of detaining our expected bolters, had been turning from me to Trumbull until he had risen to 35 and I had been reduced to 15. These would never desert me except by my direction; but I became satisfied that if we could prevent Matteson's election one or two ballots more, we could possibly not do so a single ballot after my friends should begin to return to me from Trumbull. So I determined to strike at once; and accordingly advised my remaining friends to go for him, which they did, and elected him on that, the tenth ballot. Such is the way the thing was done. I think you would have done the same under the circumstances, though Judge Davis, who came down this morning, declares he never would have consented to the 47 (opposition) men being controlled by the 5. I regret my defeat moderately, but am not nervous about it. Perhaps it is well for our grand cause that Trumbull is elected."

And it turned out well for Lincoln, too, because if he had been elected Senator at that time he would never have taken the part he did in the organization of the Republican party, he would never have had the joint debate with Senator Douglas, and in all probability would not have been elected President. Lincoln resumed the practice of his profession, but did not retire from politics again. He took an active interest in every campaign, devoting much of his time to committee work and to the preparation of political literature, extending his acquaintance and increasing his popularity. In the winter of 1855 he attended a meeting of Free-Soil editors at Decatur, who decided upon organizing a Republican party in Illinois and called a convention of all who believed in resisting the extension of slavery to meet at Bloomington in May.

Lincoln was present, made a remarkable speech, which is described in Chapter III., was sent as a delegate to the First National Republican Convention at Philadelphia, and, much to his surprise, received 110 votes for Vice-President on the ticket with Frémont. He was made an elector, canvassed the State thoroughly, making more than fifty set speeches during the campaign, and served as a member of the State Committee.

Mr. Horace White, editor of the New York Evening Post, then connected with the Chicago Tribune, gives his recollections of Lincoln in the campaign: "I was Secretary of the Republican State Committee of Illinois during some years when he was in active campaign work. He was often present at meetings of the committee, and took part in the committee work. His judgment was very much deferred to in such matters. He was one of the shrewdest politicians in the State. Nobody had more experience in that way, nobody knew better than he what was passing in the minds of the people. Nobody knew better how to turn things to advantage politically, and nobody was readier to take such advantage, provided it did not involve dishonorable means. He could not cheat people out of their votes any more than he could out of their money. Mr. Lincoln never gave his assent, so far as my knowledge goes, to any plan or project for getting votes that would not have borne the full light of day.

"I never heard him express contempt for any man's honest errors, although he would sometimes make a droll remark or tell a funny story about them. Deference to other people's opinions was habitual to him. There was no calculation, no politics in it. It was part and parcel of his sense of equal rights. His democracy was of the unconscious kind—he did not know anything different from it."

In the fall of 1858 there was an election of the Illinois Legislature which would choose a successor to Senator Douglas, whose term of service was to expire March 3, 1859. The Republican party at that time was thoroughly organized and presented a united and enthusiastic front, with encouraging prospects of victory, and Lincoln was again its candidate for the United States Senate. The sympathy of his associates and the people generally over his defeat three years before, their appreciation of his services, their admiration for his ability, and their confidence in his integrity and judgment made him the unanimous choice, and for the first time in history the State Republican Convention passed a resolution to that effect. Then followed the most extraordinary canvass that has ever taken place in any of the States of the Union,—the joint debate between Lincoln and Douglas which is described in Chapter III., followed by Lincoln's second defeat for the Senate. Many of Lincoln's friends believed that he might have been elected but for the interference of Horace Greeley, Seward, Colfax, Burlingame, and other earnest Republicans and antislavery men of national prominence, who urged the people of Illinois to support Douglas because he had opposed the Buchanan administration and had been denounced by the slave-holders of the South. But, while Lincoln was deeply wounded by this betrayal of what he considered a vital political principle, he realized that the existing apportionment of the State made his election improbable because it had been based upon the census of 1850 and gave the southern and Democratic counties an excessive representation over the northern Republican counties, which had more rapidly increased in population. The Republican State officers were chosen by a considerable majority, but the Democrats had eight majority in the Legislature, and Mr. Douglas was elected.

Lincoln had passed through an intense canvass, equally trying to his physical and mental endurance, and his strength as well as his temper were sorely tried; but he was never more composed, patient, and philosophical, and to his friends he wrote hopeful and cheerful letters, taking greater satisfaction in the reputation he had made and the results he had accomplished than he would have felt in a commission as United States Senator. As he told many people, he was not trying to defeat Douglas for Senator so much as to prevent his election to the Presidency, and he succeeded in doing so. The attention of the entire country had been drawn to the canvass in Illinois, Lincoln's name had become known everywhere throughout the country, and, as a Chicago editor wrote him, "You have at once sprung from the position of a capital fellow and a leading lawyer of Illinois to a national reputation."

Another friend wrote him, "You have made a noble canvass, which, if unavailing in this State, has earned you a national reputation and made you friends everywhere."

Lincoln's own view of the case is expressed in a letter to a friend as follows: "I wished, but I did not much expect, a better result.... I am glad I made the late race. It gave me a hearing on the great and durable question of the age, which I could have had in no other way; and though I now sink out of view, and shall be forgotten, I believe I have made some marks which will tell for the cause of civil liberty long after I am gone."

The folly of the Eastern Republicans in encouraging the election of Douglas was demonstrated immediately after the election, when that gentleman started upon a tour through the South and made a series of speeches in which he endeavored to convince the slave-holders that he was their best friend and should be their candidate for the Presidency. At the same time Lincoln was invited to speak in the Eastern States, and, after his address in Cooper Institute, New York City, made a tour through New England, creating great interest and making many friends. He became a national character, and his advice was sought by national leaders, to whom his sagacity was immediately apparent. He spent a great deal of time and wrote many letters during the winter of 1858-59, harmonizing the Republican party, concentrating its efforts, and reconciling local prejudices and preferences which conflicted and imperilled its success at the next election. He seemed gifted with foresight that was almost prophetic, for he pointed out with extraordinary accuracy the probable policy which would be pursued by the Democrats, and his suggestions as to the best means for the Republicans to adopt were broad, wise, and statesmanlike. For example, referring to a provision adopted by Massachusetts to restrict naturalization, he wrote, "Massachusetts is a sovereign and independent State, and it is no privilege of mine to scold her for what she does. Still, if from what she has done an inference is sought to be drawn as to what I would do, I may, without impropriety, speak out. I say, then, that, as I understand the Massachusetts provision, I am against its adoption in Illinois, or in any other place where I have a right to oppose it. Understanding the spirit of our institutions to aid at the elevation of men, I am opposed to whatever tends to degrade them. I have some little notoriety for commiserating the oppressed condition of the negro; and I should be strangely inconsistent if I could favor any project for curtailing the existing rights of white men, even though born in different lands and speaking different languages from myself."

He wrote from Springfield to Schuyler Colfax (afterwards Vice-President of the United States), July 6, 1859, "Besides a strong desire to make your personal acquaintance, I was anxious to speak with you on politics a little more fully than I can well do in a letter. My main object in such conversation would be to hedge against divisions in the Republican ranks generally, and particularly for the contest of 1860. The point of danger is the temptation in different localities to 'platform' for something which will be popular just there, but which, nevertheless, will be a firebrand elsewhere, and especially in a national convention. As instances, the movement against foreigners in Massachusetts; in New Hampshire, to make obedience to the fugitive-slave law punishable as a crime; in Ohio, to repeal the fugitive-slave law; and squatter sovereignty in Kansas. In these things there is explosive matter enough to blow up half a dozen national conventions, if it gets into them; and what gets very rife outside of conventions is very likely to find its way into them."

The idea of making Lincoln a Presidential candidate seems to have occurred to a great many people at about the same time, and shortly after his inauguration a regiment might have been organized of the friends who first named him. There are, however, some letters preserved which show that the suggestion had been made to him early in 1859, long before the Cooper Institute address; indeed, immediately after the close of the Senatorial fight in 1858 an editorial friend in Illinois wrote him as follows: "I would like to have a talk with you on political matters, as to the policy of announcing your name for the Presidency, while you are in our city. My partner and myself are about addressing the Republican editors of the State on the subject of a simultaneous announcement of your name for the Presidency."

To this Lincoln replied, "As to the other matter you kindly mention, I must in candor say that I do not think myself fit for the Presidency. I certainly am flattered and gratified that some partial friends think of me in that connection; but I really think it best for our cause that no concerted effort, such as you suggest, should be made."

It would seem from other remarks made at the time that he was planning another fight with Douglas and had the patience to wait six years to renew the contest. He wrote several friends that he intended to fight in the ranks, and declined to be a candidate for the Senate against Trumbull; but while he was writing those letters, about January 1, 1860, there was a conference at Springfield of the Republican leaders of the State, said to have been called by Mr. Norman B. Judd, at which a serious and organized effort was begun to secure his nomination. One of the gentlemen present says, "We asked him if his name might be used in connection with the nomination. With characteristic modesty, he doubted whether he could get the nomination even if he wished it, and asked until the next morning to answer us whether his name might be announced. The next day he authorized us, if we thought proper to do so, 'to place him in the field.' In answer to a question whether he would accept a nomination for Vice-President if he could not be put on the first place on the ticket, he replied that if his name were used for the office of President he would not permit it to be used for any other office, no matter how honorable it might be."

From this time Lincoln exerted every proper means to secure success. He did not repose idly in his Springfield office and allow his friends to do the work, but was quite as active and vigilant in his own behalf as any of his supporters, and managed the campaign himself. He had no funds, however, no literary bureau, no head-quarters or personal organization; nearly every letter he sent out on the subject was written with his own hand, and he used plain and characteristic language asking for the support of his friends in Illinois and other States. Whether his intention was to disarm jealousy, or whether he actually believed that his nomination was impossible, he intimated to several of his correspondents that he desired to make a brave show at the Chicago Convention because of the prestige it would give him in his future fight for the Senate. And to another he wrote, "I am not in a position where it would hurt much for me not to be nominated on the national ticket, but I am where it would hurt some for me not to get the Illinois delegates."

He even sent money from his own small means to pay the expenses of friends who were working in his interest. On March 10, 1860, he wrote to a gentleman in Kansas, "Allow me to say that I cannot enter the ring on the money basis,—first, because in the main it is wrong; and secondly, I have not and cannot get the money. I say in the main the use of money is wrong, but for certain objects in a political contest is both right and indispensable. With me, as with yourself, this long struggle has been one of great pecuniary loss. I now distinctly say this; if you shall be appointed a delegate to Chicago I will furnish one hundred dollars to bear the expense of the trip."

Nevertheless, Kansas instructed her delegation for Seward, whereupon Lincoln wrote a consoling letter to his friends and said, "Don't stir them up to anger, but come along to the Convention and I will do as I said about expenses." There is nothing to show whether the offer was accepted, but, with his usual gratitude for favors received or intended, he appointed his Kansas friend to a lucrative office within ten days after his inauguration, and frequently consulted him about the patronage in that State.

The Illinois State Convention gave Lincoln a hearty endorsement and sent an enthusiastic delegation to Chicago composed of personal friends of great ability, political experience, and personal influence, and by a combination with Chase from Ohio, Cameron from Pennsylvania, Bates from Missouri, and other anti-Seward candidates, he was nominated for the office of President of the United States. The credit of his success was claimed by many; several accounts of bargains have passed into history, and other fictitious explanations for his nomination have been printed from time to time, but we have the authority of David Davis, Norman B. Judd, and other friends who were authorized to speak for him, as well as his own testimony, that after the Convention adjourned he was free from all obligations except the gratitude he was glad to offer to his supporters.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S HOUSE AT SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS

The tree in front of the house was planted by Lincoln

The evening of the second day after the nomination brought to Springfield a committee of notification composed of some of the most distinguished men of that day and others who were destined to play a conspicuous part in national affairs. George Ashmun, of Massachusetts, was the chairman; Governor Boutwell, afterwards United States Senator and Secretary of the Treasury; Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield Republican; Carl Schurz, of Wisconsin; Gideon Welles, of Connecticut; Amos Tuck, of New Hampshire; William M. Evarts and Governor Edwin D. Morgan, of New York; "Pig-Iron" Kelley, of Pennsylvania; Francis P. Blair, of Missouri; and others were of the party. Most of them were disappointed at the result of the Convention and distrustful of the strength and ability of the prairie lawyer as a candidate. He received them, however, with simple dignity. They were invited to deliver their message at his modest home, and appeared there a few moments after their arrival in Springfield, to find him surrounded by his family and a few intimate friends. They saw a man of unprepossessing appearance, with long limbs, large hands and feet, stooping shoulders, coarse features, and a shock of rebellious hair. He was the last man in the world, perhaps, to judge by appearances, that this committee would have chosen as a Presidential candidate; but when he began to speak in reply to Mr. Ashmun, a change seemed to come over him. The rugged face and awkward figure were transformed, and the members of the committee recognized at once that they were in the presence of a man who was master of himself and possessed a strength they had not suspected. And when they left Springfield, almost without exception, they were convinced of the wisdom of his nomination.

The opposing candidates prepared long letters of acceptance explanatory of their views and defining their purposes, but Lincoln had already recognized the wisdom of reticence, and the night of his nomination, standing in his own doorway, he told his neighbors and friends who called to congratulate him and demanded a speech that "the time comes upon every man when it is best to keep his lips closed. That time has come to me." Hence his letter of acceptance was the briefest ever written by a Presidential candidate. After one formal introductory phrase, it reads:

"The declaration of principles which accompanies your letter meets my approval, and it shall be my care not to violate it or disregard it in any way or part. Imploring the assistance of Divine Providence, and with due regard for the views and feelings of all who were represented in the Convention, to the rights of all the States and Territories and people of the nation, to the inviolability of the Constitution, and the perpetual union of prosperity, and harmony of all, I am most happy to co-operate for the practical success of the principles declared by the convention. Your obliged friend and fellow-citizen,

"A. Lincoln."

This letter was not shown to any one of Lincoln's friends, with the exception of Dr. Newton Bateman, State Superintendent of Education and an intimate friend, to whom Lincoln said,—

"Mr. School-master, here is my letter of acceptance. And I wouldn't like to have any mistakes in it. I am not very strong on grammar and I wish you would see if it is all right."

Mr. Bateman suggested one change, so that it would read "it shall be my care not to violate," instead of "it shall be my care to not violate."

"So you think I better put those two little fellows end to end, do you?" replied Lincoln, taking his pen and making the change suggested.

Lincoln's nomination made very little difference in his daily life. He turned his law practice over to his partner, employed John G. Nicolay, a clerk in the office of the Secretary of State, as his private secretary, was given the use of the Governor's room at the State-House for an office, and devoted his entire time to the reception of visitors and correspondence concerning the campaign. His door stood always open. There was not even an usher. Everybody came and went as freely as when he was a candidate for the Legislature or engaged in his practice. He was the same Abraham Lincoln he had always been, except a little more serious because of increasing responsibilities, and a little more dignified because he was sensible of the honor that had been conferred upon him; but his old friends detected no change in the man, and dropped in to exchange gossip whenever they came to town. Distinguished visitors came from a distance,—statesmen, politicians, wire-pullers, newspaper correspondents, men with great purposes and ambitions, adventurers, lion-hunters, and representatives of all classes and conditions, who usually seek the acquaintance of influential and prominent men and worship a rising sun. He told each a story and sent him away, pleased with his person and impressed with his character. His correspondence had increased enormously and every letter received a polite reply, but he maintained his policy of reticence and gave no indication of his plans or purposes.

One day, while a group of distinguished politicians from a distance were sitting in the Governor's room, chatting with Lincoln, the door opened and an old lady in a big sunbonnet and the garb of a farmer's wife came in.

"I wanted to give you something to take to Washington, Mr. Lincoln," she said, "and these are all I had. I spun the yarn and knit them socks myself." And with an air of pride she handed him a pair of blue woollen stockings.

Lincoln thanked her cordially for her thoughtfulness, inquired after the folks at home, and escorted her to the door as politely as if she had been Queen of England. Then, when he returned to the room, he picked up the socks, held them by the toes, one in each hand, and with a queer smile upon his face remarked to the statesmen around him,—

"The old lady got my latitude and longitude about right, didn't she?"

Such incidents occurred nearly every day and were a source of great pleasure to the President, who was never happier than when in the company of "the plain people," as he called them.

No one man of honest intentions visited him without feeling the better for it and being impressed with his ability, his courage, and his confidence. From the beginning he never doubted his own success. He realized that the Democratic party was hopelessly split and that, while the factions, if combined, might embrace a majority of the voters of the country, the Republicans would have a plurality, and his reasoning was so plausible that he convinced his visitors of the truth of his convictions. He never showed the slightest annoyance at the attacks that were continually made upon his reputation and record, and demonstrated his coolness, self-poise, and wisdom by declining to defend himself or offer explanations. His theory was expressed to a friend who wrote him with great concern about a charge that had been made against his integrity.

"I have made this explanation to you as a friend," he wrote, "but I wish no explanation made to our enemies. What they want is a squabble and a fuss, and that they can have if we explain, and they cannot have it if we don't."

The greater number of inquiries related to his position and intentions towards slavery, and to every one he gave a similar answer, that he had defined his position again and again in his speeches before his nomination, and "Those who will not read or heed what I have already publicly said would not read or heed a repetition of it. 'If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.'"

He kept his finger upon the pulse of the country, and none of the managers of either party was so well informed as to the situation and sentiment in different sections as he. The Republican politicians soon discovered this fact and came to him more and more for advice and instruction. Even Thurlow Weed, who was supposed to be the shrewdest politician in the country, recognized a master and sought counsel from him regarding the management of the campaign in New York. Wherever he detected a weak spot, he sent a word of warning and advice: wherever there were local dissensions, he restored harmony with his tact and good-nature. Thus was Lincoln the manager of his own campaign; more so, perhaps, than any man who was ever elected President. But at the same time he made one great mistake. He had heard the threat of secession so long that he had grown indifferent to it, and he told everybody that "The people of the South have too much sense to attempt the ruin of the government."

The election occurred on November 6, 1860, and the result was what he had expected since his nomination. The Republican electors did not receive a majority by nearly a million votes, but the division of the Democrats left them a plurality.

The city of Springfield had never cast so large a vote for any candidate for office up to that time, and it celebrated its triumph with a jubilee of rejoicing. The people called Lincoln from his house and demanded a speech, but he asked to be excused. He thanked them for their support and congratulations, and remarked, "In all our rejoicing let us neither express nor cherish any hard feeling towards any citizen who has differed from us. Let us at all times remember that all American citizens are brothers of a common country and should dwell together in the bonds of fraternal feeling."

After the excitement had quieted down, Lincoln resumed his former habits and daily routine. Springfield was crowded with politicians those days,—office-seekers and advisers, men who came to ask favors and to offer them. The announcement of his election had been the signal for the conspirators in the South to throw off their masks. During long years of controversy, the pro-slavery party had a hope of ultimate triumph, but until the actual election of Lincoln there was no actual treason or revolutionary act. Four days after the Senators from South Carolina resigned, six weeks later that State declared its separation from the Union and organized an independent government, and, while he was still waiting at Springfield, Lincoln read the newspaper reports of conventions in all the Gulf States, at which they also declared their independence. But he was obliged to sit inactive and helpless; unable to do anything to check the dissolution of the Union, although appeals came from every quarter. He described his situation to an old friend who came to see him at Springfield.

"Joe," he said, sadly, "I suppose you have forgotten the trial down in Montgomery County where your partner gave away your case in his opening speech. I saw you motioning to him and how uneasy you were, but you couldn't stop him, and that's just the way with Buchanan and me. He is giving away the case and I can't stop him."

It was not the Republicans of the North alone that appealed to Lincoln. Unionists of the South came to him for pledges that he would do nothing, for assurances that there was nothing to fear from his election, and he went so far as to make an exception in their case to gratify them. In December he wrote a letter to Alexander H. Stephens, whom he had known and admired in Congress, marked "For your eye only," in which he stated his position in the most positive and unmistakable language, and asked, "Do the people of the South really entertain fears that a Republican administration would directly or indirectly interfere with the slaves? If they do, I wish to assure you as once a friend, and still, I hope, not an enemy, that there is no cause for such fears. The South would be in no more danger in this respect than it was in the days of Washington. I suppose, however, that this does not meet the case. You think slavery is right and ought to be extended, while we think it is wrong and ought to be restricted. That, I suppose, is the rub. It is certainly the only substantial difference between us."

General Duff Green came to Springfield in December, 1860, as an emissary from President Buchanan to invite the President-elect to Washington for a conference upon the situation, with the hope that his presence there might prevent civil war, and General Green was bold enough to tell him that, if he did not go, "upon his conscience must rest the blood that would be shed." Here Lincoln's political shrewdness and diplomacy were demonstrated in as conspicuous a manner, perhaps, as at any other crisis in his life. He detected at once the intention to unload upon him the responsibility for disunion and war, and met it with a counter-proposition which must have excited the admiration of the conspirators who were trying to entrap him. He received General Green with great courtesy, heard him with respectful attention, and gave him a letter in which he said that he did not desire any amendment to the Constitution, although he recognized the right of the American people to adopt one; that he believed in maintaining inviolate the rights of each State to control its own domestic institutions; and that he considered the lawless invasion by armed force of the soil of any State or Territory as the gravest of crimes. While those were his sentiments, and while they indicated the policy he should pursue as President, he would not consent to their publication unless the Senators from Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, Louisiana, and Texas would sign a pledge which he had written below his signature to this letter and upon the same piece of paper. It was a pledge "to suspend all action for the dismemberment of the Union until some act deemed to be violative of our rights shall be done by the incoming administration." Thus the responsibility was thrown back upon the representatives of the seceding States, and it is unnecessary to say that Duff Green's mission to Springfield was not considered a success by the rebel leaders. In order to protect himself, Lincoln sent a copy of his letter to Senator Trumbull, calling his attention to the fact that part of its text and all of its sentiment were copied from the Chicago platform.

By this time Lincoln had become thoroughly convinced that the Southern leaders were in earnest and that nothing could prevent the secession of their States, although he continued his efforts to reassure them and to apply every means his ingenuity could suggest to reconcile them to the situation. Notwithstanding all his anxiety, his sense of humor remained, and, as was his habit, he illustrated the situation with a story about a pious man named Brown who was on a committee to erect a bridge over a very dangerous river. They called in an engineer named Jones, who had great confidence in himself, and, after the difficulties had been explained, asked him whether he was able to build the bridge. Jones was a profane man, and replied that he would build a bridge to hell if he could get a contract, or words to that effect. The churchmen were horrified, and when the contractor retired, Brown attempted to allay their indignation by saying all the good things he could remember or invent about Jones. At the same time he was a very cautious man and would not commit himself to any doubtful proposition.

"I know Jones," he said, "and he is a man who will keep his promises. If he agrees to build a bridge to Hades he will do it, although I have my doubts about the 'butments on the infernal side."

The infinite patience exhibited by Lincoln during this period of anxious helplessness, amidst the clamors of office-seekers, the importunities of sincere but timid men who besought him to yield to the South and avoid trouble and bloodshed, the threats of his enemies, the intrigues of the politicians, the conspiracies of the disunionists, showed his strength of character and sense of discretion, and did much to establish him in the confidence of the public. He indulged neither in hope nor fear, he made no boasts, he showed no alarm, he answered neither yea nor nay, but maintained complete self-control and waited for his time to come. To intimate friends who possessed his confidence he never failed to assert his determination to maintain the Union, no matter what it cost, and to resist to the end every proposition for dissolution or dismemberment, but his words were as gentle and as kindly as they were firm.

"The right of a State to secede is not an open or debatable question," he said. "That was fully discussed in Jackson's time and denied not only by him but by the vote of Congress. It is the duty of a President to execute the laws and maintain the existing government. He cannot entertain any proposition for dissolution or dismemberment. He was not elected for any such purpose. As a matter of theoretical speculation it is probably true that if the people, with whom the whole question rests, should become tired of the present government they might change it in the manner prescribed by the Constitution."

At the same time, without being dictatorial, he kept the Republican leaders inspired with his own confidence and determination and endeavored to prevent them from the mistake of yielding to compromise or making concessions. He wrote Representative Washburne with emphasis, "Prevent our friends from demoralizing themselves and their cause by entertaining propositions for compromise of any sort on slavery extensions. There is no possible compromise upon it but what puts us under again, and all our work to do over again. On that point hold firm as a chain of steel."

To Seward he wrote, "I say now, as I have all the while said, that on the question of extending slavery I am inflexible. I am for no compromise which assists or permits the extension of the institution on soil owned by the nation."

He knew what was going on under the direction of the disloyal members of Buchanan's Cabinet. He was aware that the Northern States were being stripped of arms and ammunition and that large quantities of military stores were being sent South where they could easily be seized when the time came. He knew also that disloyal officers of the army were being placed in command of the forts and military posts in the South, and other strategical points, and he asked Washburne to present his respects to General Scott, "and tell him confidentially that I should be obliged to him to be as well prepared as he can either to hold or retake the forts as the case may require after the inauguration."

Mr. Seward and other Republican leaders were apprehensive lest an attempt be made to prevent the counting of the electoral vote and the inauguration of Lincoln. The secessionists controlled both Houses and could have prevented constitutional proceeding if they had chosen to do so, but offered no interference. Mr. Seward always claimed—and he had an excessive degree of admiration for his own acts—that a speech which he made at the Astor House in January deceived the secession leaders into permitting the vote to be canvassed and Lincoln inaugurated. "When I made that speech the electoral vote was not counted," said Mr. Seward with pride, "and I knew it never would be if Jeff Davis believed there would be war. I had to deceive Davis and I did it. That's why I said it would all be settled in sixty days."

The will of the people to make Abraham Lincoln President was carried into effect upon February 13, 1861, when the Congress of the United States met in joint session and declared him duly elected.

Mr. Seward and other Republican leaders had urged Lincoln to come to Washington early in February, but the latter, with his usual judgment and common sense, declined to depart from ordinary usage, and politely explained his own feeling that he ought not to appear in Washington until he had been formally declared President. When that formality had been completed, he bade his old friends good-by and began a memorable journey, taking a circuitous route in order to gratify the people of the Northern States, who wished to see the President-elect, and gathered at every station through which he passed, hoping to hear his voice or catch a glimpse of his face. He made about thirty speeches on the journey, and every time he spoke it was to stimulate the patriotism and the determination of the people to preserve the Union. The address delivered in Independence Hall, Philadelphia, was perhaps the most notable, as it was the longest, because he was deeply moved by the date and the place, for it was Washington's birthday. Among other things, he said,—

"All the political sentiments I entertain have been drawn, so far as I have been able to draw them, from the sentiments which originated in and were given to the world from this hall. I have never had a feeling, politically, that did not spring from the sentiments embodied in the Declaration of Independence. It was that which gave promise that in due time the weight would be lifted from the shoulders of all men and that all should have an equal chance. Now, my friends, can this country be saved on that basis? If it can, I will consider myself one of the happiest men in the world if I can help to save it. If it cannot be saved upon that principle, it will be truly awful. But if this country cannot be saved without giving up that principle, I was about to say I would rather be assassinated on this spot than surrender it. Now, in my view of the present aspect of affairs, there is no need of bloodshed and war. There is no necessity for it. I am not in favor of such a course; and I may say in advance that there will be no bloodshed unless it be forced upon the government. The government will not use force unless force is used against it.

"My friends, this is wholly an unprepared speech. I did not expect to be called upon to say a word when I came here. I supposed it was merely to do something towards raising a flag—I may, therefore, have said something indiscreet. [Cries of 'No! no!'] But I have said nothing but what I am willing to live by, and, if it be the pleasure of Almighty God, to die by."

The manner in which Lincoln came into Washington has been the subject of abundant discussion and criticism, but long ago the public mind settled down to a mature opinion that he did exactly right, and that a President-elect of the United States, particularly at such a critical juncture, should not take any risks or omit any precautions for his personal safety. Lincoln himself, long after, declared that he did not then and never did believe that he would have been assassinated, but always thought it wise to run no risk when no risk was necessary. Wisdom justifies such a rule, while the tragic experience of the American people has left no doubt of it. The facts were that an Italian barber named Ferrandini, an outspoken secessionist working at a Baltimore hotel, had submitted to an organization of Southern sympathizers a wild plan for intimidating the Union people of Maryland and the North, which included the blowing up of all the bridges around Washington, the kidnapping of several prominent Republicans, and the assassination of Lincoln, General Scott, and Hamlin, the President and Vice-President elect. This would leave the capital open to the Southern leaders, throw the entire government into confusion, and prevent interference from the North with any revolutionary plans which Jefferson Davis might be contemplating.

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

From a photograph by Klauber, Louisville, Kentucky. Reproduced by special permission of James B. Speed, Esq.

Just how much encouragement Ferrandini received from the Southern sympathizers in Baltimore and Washington is not known, but he was the captain of a military company whose members were pledged to prevent the inauguration of Lincoln or any abolitionist President. When Allan Pinkerton learned of his suggestions, he reported the matter at once to Mr. Felton, President of the railroad that connected Baltimore with Philadelphia. Mr. Pinkerton's disclosures were confirmed by detectives employed by Governor Hicks, of Maryland, and the military authorities at Washington, although neither knew that the others were at work on the case. After consultation with his friends, Lincoln decided not to take any chances, and it was arranged that, after the ceremonies at Harrisburg were concluded, he should return to Philadelphia with a single companion and take the regular midnight train to Washington, leaving the rest of his party to continue in the special train according to the original itinerary. Lincoln wore no disguise, no deception was practised upon any one, and the only unusual occurrence that night was the disconnection of the telegraph wires just outside of Philadelphia and Harrisburg, so that, in case the change of plan was discovered, the news could not reach Baltimore until Lincoln had passed through that city. Mr. Seward and Mr. Washburne were the only persons to meet the President-elect at the station, and they had been advised of his coming only a few hours before by Mr. Seward's son, who had come by a previous train from Harrisburg.

The week before the inauguration was a busy one for the President-elect. A great deal of his time was occupied by visits of ceremony and consultations with Republican leaders about the composition of his Cabinet, the terms of his inaugural, and the policy to be pursued by the new administration. March 4 Mr. Buchanan escorted him from the Executive Mansion to the Capitol, where the oath was administered to him by Chief-Justice Taney, and, standing upon a platform at the east portico of the unfinished Capitol, he was introduced to the multitude by his old friend, Edward D. Baker, while Stephen A. Douglas, his opponent for the Presidency, stood at his left hand and held his hat. The public curiosity to see the President-elect reached its climax as he made his appearance. All sorts of stories had been told and believed about his personal appearance. His character had been grossly misrepresented and maligned in both sections of the Union, and the hysterical condition of the country naturally whetted the appetite of men of all parties to see and hear the man who was now the central figure of the republic. The tone of moderation, tenderness, and good-will which breathed through his inaugural speech made a profound impression in his favor, while his voice rang out over the acres of people before him with surprising distinctness, and was heard in the remotest parts of his audience.

No inaugural address before or since has been awaited with so much anxiety and interest. It was expected that in this, his first official utterance, the new President would outline the policy of his administration and determine whether the country should have war or peace. Thousands of men were eager for an intimation of what he intended to say, and an accurate forecast was worth millions of dollars to the stock market; but not a word nor a thought leaked out. The document was written with Lincoln's own hand upon the backs of envelopes and other scraps of paper from time to time as ideas suggested themselves and he determined what to say, and finally, as the time of his departure from Springfield approached, he put them together in a little bare room in a business block over the store of his brother-in-law, where he was accustomed to retire when he wanted to be alone or had to do writing of importance. Only two persons knew of this retreat.

When the manuscript was finished it was intrusted to Mr. William H. Bailhache, editor of the Illinois State Journal, who put it in type himself, assisted by a veteran compositor, also an old friend of Lincoln. After taking a dozen proof-slips, the type was distributed. Judge David Davis and one or two other friends read it in Springfield. Orville H. Browning read it on the journey to Washington, and upon the morning of his arrival at the capital, a copy was handed to Mr. Seward, who spent an entire Sunday revising it. His amendments and suggestions were almost as voluminous as the original document. Lincoln adopted either in whole or in part nearly all of them, except where they affected the style or changed the policy indicated. The most important changes made were to modify the declaration of his intentions to recover and hold the fortifications and property which had been seized by the secessionists and to speak of the exercise of power in that direction with some ambiguity and a hint at forbearance.

During all his life at the White House Lincoln took an active part in political affairs. He never forgot that he was the President of the whole country; but at the same time he considered it necessary to its salvation to establish the Republican party upon a firm and permanent basis, and for that purpose a more complete and thorough organization was necessary. He knew the value of an organization of trained politicians and of political discipline as well as any man in public life. He was thoroughly a practical politician and as skilful in execution as he was in planning. He knew how to manipulate men and direct movements as well as Thurlow Weed, and no man in the Cabinet or in either House of Congress was more adroit in accomplishing his purposes. He never failed to carry through Congress any measure that he considered important; he never failed to obtain the confirmation of a nominee. He used the patronage of his office to strengthen the Republican party because he believed it essential to the salvation of his country. He possessed a political tact so subtle and masterful that it enabled him to reconcile rivalries and enemies, to unite conflicting purposes, and to bring to his support men of implacable hostility, who never realized his purpose until his object was accomplished, and then it was such as they almost invariably approved. He was candid when candor was necessary, he was mysterious when he believed it wise to excite curiosity, and he was determined and often arbitrary with men whom he thought would be most impressed that way. His greatest quality, the most valuable talent he possessed, was his ability to fathom the human heart, to understand its weakness and its strength, so that he could measure the influence that must be exerted and the methods by which it could be induced to assist him in his direction of affairs.

His lowly birth and early experience were of great advantage to him in understanding human nature, and he looked to the great masses of "the plain people" as well as to the Almighty for guidance, and had full faith in their honesty and capacity. Before he acted upon any important question he felt the public pulse, and when he thought the people were ready he acted, and not before. While he was a great leader, a shrewd and deep manipulator of public opinion, he often said, in his quaint way, that it was possible to fool a part of the people all the time, and all of the people part of the time; but no man could fool all the people all the time. With his great common sense, he endeavored to discover what was in the public mind and how the public conscience would regard certain measures proposed, and waited for it to point out his path of duty. The atmosphere of Washington never affected him; he was self-contained and indifferent to social and other influences that usually exercise much force upon public men.

His sympathies were tender, and his desire to contribute to the happiness of every one made it difficult for him to say "No;" but this, his greatest weakness, was never shown in the direction of the military or political policy of the government. On the contrary, the man who would violate the laws of war and imperil the discipline of an army by pardoning a deserter or commuting the sentence of some poor wretch who was sentenced to be shot would not permit delegations of United States Senators to move him one atom from what he deemed best to be done. He carried this principle into his appointments to office also. During the Presidential canvass of 1864, when a quarrel between the Weed and Fenton factions of the Republican party endangered the ticket in New York, Lincoln sent for the Senator. What occurred we do not know; but Mr. Fenton started immediately for New York with Mr. Nicolay, and the latter returned to Washington with the resignation of Rufus F. Andrews, a friend of Mr. Fenton, who had been surveyor of the port, and Abram Wakeman, Mr. Weed's choice for the office, was appointed at once. From that time forward Mr. Weed was earnest in his support of the Republican ticket. Senator Fenton, in his reminiscences, says, "The small majority in New York in November, less than 7000 for the Republican ticket, served to illustrate Mr. Lincoln's political sagacity and tact. He was always a politician as well as a statesman, and but for his intervention at that time the electoral vote of New York might have been cast for the Democratic candidate, and no one dare measure the effect of such an event upon the war."

President Lincoln never hesitated to use the patronage of the government for political purposes. He held that the government of the United States is a political organization, and that the political opinions of those intrusted with its administration in those critical days were of as much consequence as their integrity or intelligence. As a consequence, he made his appointments first from among those whom he believed would give him the most efficient support in his efforts to save the Union, and second to those who believed in the principles and the measures of the party with which he was identified. He would have rejected with scorn the demands of the civil service reformers of the present day. Public opinion was not then educated up to the existing standard of political morality. At the same time, his keen sense of justice required him to recognize and reward merit and efficiency even among his political opponents.

He had a sly way of stating his intentions, and he often expressed great truths in an odd way. Soon after his arrival in Washington the Massachusetts delegation in the Peace Congress called upon him to recommend Salmon P. Chase for Secretary of the Treasury. Lincoln heard them respectfully, and then, with a twinkle in his eye, remarked,—

"Gentlemen, of course, you would not expect me to tell you who is going to be in the Cabinet; but, from what I hear, I think Mr. Chase's chances are about one hundred and fifty for any other man's hundred for that place."

One day, at Cabinet meeting, Mr. Chase was reproaching himself for failing to write a letter that he had intended to send that day, when Lincoln observed,—

"Never be sorry for what you don't write; it is the things you do write that you are usually sorry for."

The President enforced political discipline among the subordinates of the government. Representative George W. Julian, of Indiana, relates this incident:

"After my nomination for re-election in the year 1864, Mr. Holloway, who was holding the position of Commissioner of Patents, and was one of the editors of a Republican newspaper in my district, refused to recognize me as the party candidate, and kept the name of my defeated competitor standing in his paper. It threatened discord and mischief, and I went to the President with these facts, and on the strength of them asked for Mr. Holloway's removal from office.

"'Your nomination,' said Mr. Lincoln, 'is as binding on Republicans as mine, and you can rest assured that Mr. Holloway shall support you, openly and unconditionally, or lose his head.'

"This was entirely satisfactory; but after waiting a week or two for the announcement of my name, I returned to the President with the information that Mr. Holloway was still keeping up his fight, and that I had come to ask of him decisive measures. I saw in an instant that his ire was roused. He rang the bell for his messenger, and said to him in a very excited and emphatic way,—

"'Tell Mr. Holloway to come to me!'

"The messenger hesitated, looking somewhat surprised and bewildered, when Mr. Lincoln said in a tone still more emphatic,—

"'Tell Mr. Holloway to come to me!'

"It was perfectly evident that the business would now be attended to, and in a few days my name was duly announced and the work of party insubordination ceased."

The late Chief-Justice Cartter, of the District of Columbia, once called upon Lincoln with a party of politicians to secure the appointment of a gentleman who was opposed by the Senators from his State. Lincoln suggested that they ought to get the Senators on their side. They replied that, owing to local complications, such a thing was impossible. Lincoln retorted that nothing was impossible in politics; that the peculiarities of the Senator referred to were well known, and that by the use of a little tact and diplomacy he might be brought around, in which case there would be no doubt about the appointment. To clinch his argument Lincoln told a story of James Quarles, a distinguished lawyer of Tennessee. Quarles, he said, was trying a case, and after producing his evidence rested; whereupon the defence produced a witness who swore Quarles completely out of court, and a verdict was rendered accordingly. After the trial one of his friends came to him and said,—

"Why didn't you get that feller to swar on your side?"

"I didn't know anything about him," replied Quarles. "I might have told you about him," said the friend, "for he would swar for you jest as hard as he'd swar for the other side. That's his business. Judge, that feller takes in swarrin' for a living."

Representative John B. Alley, of Massachusetts, who was himself famous as a politician, said, "Mr. Lincoln was a thorough and most adroit politician as well as statesman, and in politics always adopted the means to the end, fully believing that in vital issues 'success was a duty.' In illustration of this feeling and sentiment, I need only refer to his action and conduct in procuring the passage of the constitutional amendment abolishing slavery. It required a two-thirds vote of Congress to enable the amendments to the Constitution to be sent to the Legislatures for ratification, and there were two votes lacking to make two-thirds, which Lincoln said 'must be procured.' Two members of the House were sent for and Lincoln said that those two votes must be procured. When asked 'How?' he remarked,—

"'I am President of the United States, clothed with great power. The abolition of slavery by constitutional provision settles the fate, for all coming time, not only of the millions now in bondage, but of unborn millions to come—a measure of such importance that those two votes must be procured. I leave it to you to determine how it shall be done; but remember that I am President of the United States, clothed with immense power, and I expect you to procure those votes.'"

These gentlemen understood the significance of the remark. The votes were procured, the constitutional amendment was passed, and slavery was abolished forever.

"Senator Sumner and myself," continued Mr. Alley, "called upon him one morning to urge the appointment of a Massachusetts man to be a secretary of legation, chiefly upon the ground of his superior qualifications. But Mr. Lincoln said, emphatically, 'No;' that he should give the place to an applicant from another State who was backed by strong influence, although he acknowledged that he did not think him fit for the position.

"We were naturally indignant, and wished to know if one of acknowledged fitness was to be rejected because he was a Massachusetts man, and one whom he was willing to say was not fit was to be appointed. 'Yes,' said the President, 'that is just the reason,' and facetiously added, 'I suppose you two Massachusetts gentlemen think that your State could furnish suitable men for every diplomatic and consulate station the government has to fill.' We replied that we thought it could. He appeased our displeasure by saying he thought so too, and that he considered Massachusetts the banner State of the Union, and admired its institutions and people so much that he sent his 'Bob,' meaning his son Robert, to Harvard for an education."

The Presidential campaign of 1864 was fought on one issue only, and that was the success of the war, although Lincoln, in his annual message to Congress in the December following, declared that "No candidate for any office whatever, high or low, has ventured to seek votes on the avowal that he was for giving up the Union." Nevertheless, the Democrats nominated McClellan and attempted to discredit the patriotism and the ability of Lincoln. Similar attempts were made in his own party by the radical antislavery element and the friends of Secretary Chase and numerous disappointed contractors and politicians, but they made hardly a ripple upon the great current of public opinion which swept on irresistible to the Convention. Lincoln did nothing to promote his candidacy, but made no secret of his desire for a re-election, and himself suggested the most effective argument in his own support when he recalled the homely proverb of his youth that "It is bad policy to swap horses while crossing a stream." He placed no obstacles in the way of Mr. Chase, and when warned that General Grant might aspire to the Presidency, replied, "If he takes Richmond, let him have it." He admonished the officials of the administration against too much activity and rebuked them for opposing his enemies. He made no speeches of importance during the campaign, but on several occasions addressed delegations which visited Washington, appeared at sanitary fairs for the benefit of sick soldiers, responded to serenades, and whenever custom or courtesy required him to appear in public he did so without reference to political results.

In August, 1864, the political horizon was very dark, and the President himself, who was always the most hopeful and confident of men, almost entirely lost heart. Having convinced himself that the campaign was going against him, he deliberately laid down a line of duty for himself, and at the Cabinet meeting on August 23 he requested each one of his ministers to write their names upon a folded sheet of paper in such a way that the seal could not be broken without mutilating their autographs. He made no explanation of its contents or of his reason for desiring them to attest it, but after the election it was disclosed that the mysterious paper contained a pledge from himself and his administration loyally to accept any verdict which the people of the country might pronounce upon their efforts to save the Union, and to continue their labors with zealous loyalty until relieved by their successors. The pledge closed as follows:

"This morning, as for some days past, it seems exceedingly probable that this administration will not be re-elected. Then it will be my duty to so co-operate with the President-elect as to save the Union between the election and the inauguration, as he will have secured the election on such ground that he cannot possibly save it afterwards."

Lincoln tells us that before he left the telegraph office at Springfield on the night of the election in November, 1860, he had practically selected his Cabinet. The superintendent of the telegraph company gave him a room from which all other visitors were excluded, and, with no company but two operators, he read the reports as they came in. Between times he had plenty of opportunity for meditation, and, always confident, the returns soon convinced him of his election and his mind naturally turned upon the next important act for him to perform. "When I finally left that room," he said afterwards, "I had substantially completed the framework of my Cabinet as it now exists."

To begin with, he decided to offer posts of honor to those who had been his rivals for the Presidential nomination,—Seward, Chase, Cameron, and Bates,—and to fill the remaining places with representatives of the various elements that had combined to form the Republican party. It was to be a composite Cabinet, purely political, including no intimate friends, no personal adherents, and in the entire list there was not one with whom he ever had confidential relations. His plan seems to have been to combine, as one of his secretaries said, the experience of Seward, the integrity of Chase, the popularity of Cameron, and to hold the West with Bates, attract New England with Welles, please the Whigs through Smith, and convince the Democrats through Blair. Lincoln always had a great respect for names. No one had studied more closely the careers of American politicians, although his personal acquaintances outside of his own State were limited, and he was more familiar with the personal qualifications and political records of the gentlemen he had chosen than were they with his. Perhaps he overestimated their ability and the value of their advice, as he was likely to do because of his own modesty and inexperience. He saw distinctly the impending crisis, and felt the need of support from leaders of experience, ability, and influence, as well as popular sympathy. But at the same time the combination he selected had in it all the seeds of disaster because of personal jealousy, previous political rivalry, and the intrigues of their henchmen. Yet by his great tact, patience, and strength of purpose he made them instruments of his will. As finally chosen, his Cabinet represented every faction of the new Republican party and the ablest representative of each division as evenly as an odd number could. When reminded that he had selected four Democrats and only three Whigs, he promptly replied that he was himself a Whig, and hoped that he should often be at Cabinet meetings to make the parties even. This was a famous jest during the early part of the administration.

Although he had decided in his own mind upon five of seven of his future advisers before the votes that elected him were counted, he treated with patience and courtesy the crowds of politicians that came from different parts of the country to advise and persuade him in the interest of their friends. He listened attentively to all that his visitors had to say and gave their suggestions careful reflection. He said to Thurlow Weed that he supposed the latter had some experience in cabinet-making, and, as he had never learned that trade himself, he was disposed to avail himself of the suggestions of friends. The making of a Cabinet, he added, was by no means as easy as he had supposed, partly, he believed, because, while the population had increased, great men were scarcer than they used to be.

He was extremely anxious to get two Southerners for the Cabinet, as he believed that such an act might go far to reconcile the loyal people of that section to his election and establish him in their confidence, but from the beginning he saw that his hopes were not to be realized. In order to draw out public sentiment, he wrote a brief anonymous editorial for the Illinois State Journal on the subject, in which he asked whether it was known that any Southern gentlemen of character would accept such an appointment, and, if so, on what terms would they surrender their political differences to Mr. Lincoln or Mr. Lincoln to them.

"There are men in Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee," said Thurlow Weed, "for whose loyalty under any circumstances and in any event I would vouch."

"Let's have the names of your white blackbirds," replied Lincoln, and Weed gave him four, Mr. Seward suggested several, and Mr. Greeley suggested five. Of all the gentlemen named, Lincoln preferred John A. Gilmer, of North Carolina, with whom he had served in Congress, and who had been a prominent leader of the Whig party in that State. He invited Gilmer to Springfield, but the latter would not come, and after canvassing the various suggestions which were made him, he found that he must limit his choice to the border States, and selected Edward Bates, of Missouri, and Montgomery Blair, of Maryland.

Mr. Bates was an able lawyer and a highly respected and popular antislavery Whig from a slave State. He had been a candidate for the Presidential nomination at Chicago, and had received 48 votes out of 465 cast by delegates from Delaware, Maryland, Missouri, Texas, Oregon, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. Early in December he sent word to Mr. Bates that he would be in St. Louis the next day to consult him about matters of importance; but Mr. Bates would not permit him to make the journey, and started at once for Springfield. They had been acquainted for several years and were very good friends, and after cordial greetings, Lincoln explained that he would like to have Mr. Bates accept the post of Attorney-General in his Cabinet, for which the latter was in every way qualified, and which he would find congenial. Mr. Bates accepted, and the next day the announcement was given to the newspapers for the purpose of quieting the demands of the conservative Republicans and antislavery Whigs in the border States for recognition.

A few days later he offered a Cabinet position to Caleb B. Smith, of Indiana, without assigning him to any particular portfolio. This was done to relieve him from the pressure that was being brought by Schuyler Colfax, whose friends were exceedingly persistent. Mr. Colfax was very much disappointed, and attributed his failure to obtain the appointment to Lincoln's resentment towards him because he had favored the re-election of Douglas to the United States Senate in 1858. Lincoln was not aware of this supposition until after he had entered upon his duties as President, when he showed his candor and good-nature by writing a friendly letter to Mr. Colfax explaining that "a tender of the appointment was not withheld in any part because of anything that happened in 1858. Indeed, I should have decided as I did, easier than I did, had that matter never existed. I had partly made up my mind in favor of Mr. Smith—not conclusively, of course—before your name was mentioned in that connection. When you were brought forward I said, 'Colfax is a young man already in a position, is running a brilliant career, and is sure of a bright future in any event. With Smith it is now or never.' I now have to beg that you will not do me the injustice to suppose for a moment that I remember anything against you in malice."

Mr. Smith did not remain in the Cabinet a great while, however. The duties of Secretary of the Interior were arduous and uncongenial, and he retired in December, 1862, at his own request, to accept an appointment to the United States District bench. He was succeeded by John P. Usher, also of Indiana, who continued in office until after the inauguration of Johnson, although he tendered his resignation early in 1865 to relieve President Lincoln from the criticism of having two members of his Cabinet from Indiana, Hugh McCulloch having been appointed Secretary of the Treasury. The President was reluctant to let Mr. Usher go, but accepted his resignation, and, for some reason never explained, fixed May 15, 1865, as the day when it should take effect. When that day arrived Lincoln had no further need of his services.

Mr. Bates proved a strong supporter of the war. He was a man of determination and belligerent disposition, notwithstanding his conservative education; and although he came from a slave State, he was one of the most radical of the President's advisers whenever the slavery question came up. When the Emancipation Proclamation was first proposed, Mr. Bates and Mr. Stanton were the only members of the Cabinet who gave it their unreserved approval, while Mr. Chase, who came nearer to being the representative of the abolition faction than any other member, and Mr. Seward, who was supposed to be the most radical of Republicans, were opposed to it.

Among Mr. Stanton's papers is a curious memorandum which throws a search-light upon his position and that of some of his colleagues.

"Tuesday, July 22.

"The President proposes to issue an order declaring free all slaves in States in rebellion on the —— day of ——.

"The Attorney-General and Stanton are for its immediate promulgation.

"Seward against it; argues strongly in favor of cotton and foreign governments.

"Chase silent.

"Welles—

"Seward argues—That foreign nations will intervene to prevent the abolition of slavery for sake of cotton. Argues in a long speech against its immediate promulgation. Wants to wait for troops. Wants Halleck here. Wants drum and fife and public spirit. We break up our relations with foreign nations and the production of cotton for sixty years.

"Chase thinks it a measure of great danger, and would lead to universal emancipation.—The measure goes beyond anything I have recommended."

However, before 1864 Mr. Bates grew weary of his official labors and expressed to the President his desire to retire. He was offered a vacant judgeship in Missouri, but declined it on the ground that he could not work in harmony with the radicals who were in control of politics there. When he retired the Cabinet was left without a Southern member.

A few days before the meeting of the Supreme Court, in December, 1864, Lincoln sent for Titian J. Coffey, the Assistant Attorney-General, and said,—

"My Cabinet has shrunk up North, and I must find a Southern man. I suppose if the twelve apostles were to be chosen nowadays the shrieks of locality would have to be heeded. I have invited Judge Holt to become Attorney-General, but he seems unwilling to undertake the Supreme Court work. I want you to see him, remove his objection if you can, and bring me his answer."

"I then had charge of the government cases in the Supreme Court, and they were all ready for argument," said Mr. Coffey. "I saw Judge Holt, explained the situation, and assured him that he need not appear in court unless he chose to do so. He had, however, decided to decline the invitation, and I returned to the President and so informed him.

"'Then,' said the President, 'I will offer it to James Speed, of Louisville, a man I know well, though not so well as I know his brother Joshua. I slept with Joshua for four years, and I suppose I ought to know him well. But James is an honest man and a gentleman, and if he comes here you will find he is one of those well-poised men, not too common here, who are not spoiled by a big office.'"

Mr. Speed accepted the appointment and served until after the assassination.

The relations between several of the members of Lincoln's Cabinet were from the beginning to the end unfriendly, and no President without the tact, patience, and forbearance of Lincoln could have controlled them. He treated them all with unvarying kindness, and although he never disclosed any desire or intention to dominate, and, in fact, invariably yielded on matters of little importance, he was always their master, and on matters of great importance they were compelled to submit to his will. It is the highest testimony to their confidence in him that even those who had retired at his wish never afterwards failed to show him respect and even affection, and none of them ever retired from his post from feelings of dissatisfaction with the orders or the treatment he received from him.

During the early days of his administration he had a higher opinion of his advisers than they had of him, which was because they did not yet know one another. He recognized them as men who had made honorable records in the United States Senate and in other eminent positions, while they regarded him as an ordinary frontier lawyer, without experience, and the struggle for ascendancy and control puzzled a good many people from time to time. Mr. Seward was looked upon as the chief pillar of the temple for many months, Mr. Stanton's iron will was constantly felt by the public, Mr. Chase was regarded as an eminent statesman; but in all the critical issues of the war the uncouth Western lawyer, without experience in statecraft or executive administration, unused to power, asserted and maintained his official supremacy, and every member of his Cabinet yielded implicit obedience. They recognized his unselfish purpose, his purity of character, his keen perception, his foresight, and his common sense, and were usually willing to accept his judgment. While others fretted and became confused in the emergencies that overwhelmed them, Lincoln was never liable to excitement or impulsive action.

MONTGOMERY BLAIR, POSTMASTER-GENERAL

From a photograph by Brady

At the beginning of his administration the entire organization of the government was in a chaotic state. The Buchanan administration had filled the offices with Democrats and Southern sympathizers, who resigned immediately after Lincoln's inauguration and left their affairs in utter confusion. Their places had to be filled with untrained men who did not understand their duties and had not been accustomed to official labor or discipline. It would have been remarkable if they had conducted the routine work without friction, but the urgency and the magnitude of the responsibility and labor that were thrown upon them was more than a trained corps of officials could have executed without confusion and delay. The President was probably the only man connected with the government that did not lose his self-control. During all that most trying period, as was the case throughout his life, he was composed, serene, and confident. Oftentimes, when subordinate officials and outsiders came to him raging with indignation, he heard them with patience, replied with a jest on his lips, and quieted their nerves by talking of commonplace matters. His Cabinet officers were often fretful, and there was continual friction between the several departments. Several times it almost reached the breaking-point. But Lincoln soothed and satisfied all parties without taking the side of either.

Montgomery Blair, of Maryland, was not only a representative of the border State aristocracy, but belonged to one of the most prominent Democratic families in the country, was one of the founders of the Republican party, and was first known to Lincoln as the attorney who argued Dred Scott's case in the Supreme Court. He was a graduate of West Point Military Academy, had several years of military training in Indian campaigns, had studied law, and was appointed a judge of the Court of Common Pleas when he was a very young man. President Buchanan made him solicitor of the Court of Claims, but removed him because of his opposition to the repeal of the Missouri Compromise. This made a Republican of Blair, and, with the exception of his brother Francis P. Blair, of Missouri, and Cassius M. Clay, of Kentucky, he was the most conspicuous antislavery man in all the Southern States.

Blair could not be appointed to the Cabinet without a bitter controversy. He was opposed by Henry Winter Davis, one of the most able and brilliant young Whigs in the House of Representatives, and by other partisans in Maryland, who fought so hard and so persistently as to involve several of the leading Whigs of the country on his side, while the former Democrats in the Republican party rallied to the support of Blair. Davis had the powerful sympathy of Seward and Chase, Benjamin F. Wade, and other prominent abolitionists, and it became no longer a matter of personal rivalry between Blair and Davis, but a struggle for supremacy between the Whigs and the Democrats for the control of the administration. During the few days before the inauguration it seemed as if the Republican party would be split in twain, or at least that the entire Cabinet slate would be destroyed if either Blair or Davis received an appointment. Lincoln seemed to be the only man in Washington who was not involved in the controversy. He watched the situation with keen eyes, however, and was alert for every event or incident that might have a serious effect upon his administration; but his mind was made up, and when Norman B. Judd came bursting into his bedroom at Willard's Hotel on the night of March 3, to inquire in great excitement if he had decided to nominate Davis instead of Blair, Lincoln replied calmly but with emphasis,—

"When that slate breaks again it will break at the top."

Mr. Blair was a loyal and useful member of the Cabinet, and from the beginning was in favor of prompt and energetic measures against the secessionists. He had been a Democrat of the Jackson type, and urged Lincoln to adopt Jackson's vigorous policy against nullification. It might have been wiser and better for the country, it might have saved lives and money, sorrow and tears, if his advice had been adopted. He understood the South better than Seward or Chase or any other member of the Cabinet; but conditions would not permit the adoption of his energetic policy, and he became very restless. His temper and his character were revealed in a memorandum which he submitted with his colleagues at the request of Lincoln, concerning setting forth his views of the course that should be pursued.

Mr. Blair wrote,—

"First. As regards General Scott, I have no confidence in his judgment on the questions of the day. His political views control his judgment, and his course, as remarked on by the President, shows that whilst no one will question his patriotism, the results are the same as if he were in fact traitorous.

"Second. It is acknowledged to be possible to relieve Fort Sumter. It ought to be relieved without reference to Pickens or any other possession. South Carolina is the head and front of this rebellion, and when that State is safely delivered from the authority of the United States it will strike a blow against our authority, from which it will take us years of bloody strife to recover."

He opposed the Emancipation Proclamation on the ground of policy, and made an earnest effort to convince Lincoln that it was a mistake to take such radical action at that particular junction. He had been an emancipationist for years, the principle of the measure he approved, but he thought the time was inopportune, because he feared that it would drive the border States over to the Confederacy.

Mr. Blair was constantly coming into collision with Mr. Stanton. Like two flints, they struck fire whenever they met, and often engaged in acrimonious discussions at Cabinet meetings over actual or fancied grievances on the part of Mr. Blair, who felt that Mr. Stanton was continually interfering with his prerogatives. Mr. Blair's enmity to Mr. Seward was equally strong and often developed in an embarrassing manner, while the hostility between Mr. Chase and himself was concealed under the thinnest veneer of politeness.

In the summer of 1864 Mr. Blair desired to have certain orders issued relating to the postal service within the lines of the army. A draft of the proposed orders was made, but Mr. Stanton declined to issue them. General Markland, who was in charge of the army mails, says, "When I returned to Mr. Blair with the information that the orders would not be issued by the Secretary of War, he said, 'We will see,' and wrote a letter to Mr. Lincoln, which he gave to me to deliver with the accompanying papers. When I delivered the letter, Mr. Lincoln read it carefully and handed it back to me, saying,—

"'What is the matter between Blair and Stanton?' "I told him all I knew in reference to the proposed orders. He then said, 'If I understand the case, General Grant wants the orders issued, and Blair wants them issued, and you want them issued, and Stanton won't issue them. Now, don't you see what kind of a fix I will be in if I interfere? I'll tell you what to do. If you and General Grant understand one another, suppose you try to get along without the orders, and if Blair or Stanton makes a fuss, I may be called in as a reference, and I may decide in your favor.' The orders were never issued, and pleasant relations were maintained on that score all around."

Mr. Blair was not popular with the Union people of the North. The public distrust is strikingly illustrated by the following anecdote from the reminiscences of Henry Ward Beecher: "There was some talk, early in 1864, of a sort of compromise with the South. Blair had told the President he was satisfied that if he could be put in communication with some of the leading men of the South in some way or other, that some benefit would accrue. Lincoln had sent a delegation to meet Alexander Stephens, and that was all the North knew. We were all very much excited over that. The war lasted so long, and I was afraid Lincoln would be so anxious for peace, and I was afraid he would accept something that would be of advantage to the South, so I went to Washington and called upon him. I said to him, 'Mr. Lincoln, I come to you to know whether the public interest will permit you to explain to me what this Southern commission means? I am in an embarrassing position as editor and do not want to step in the dark.' Well, he listened very patiently, and looked up to the ceiling for a few moments, and said, 'Well, I am almost of a mind to show you all the documents.'

"'Well, Mr. Lincoln, I should like to see them if it is proper.' He went to his little secretary and came out and handed me a little card as long as my finger and an inch wide, and on that was written,—

"'You will pass the bearer through the lines' [or something to that effect].

"'A. Lincoln.'

"'There,' he said, 'is all there is of it. Now, Blair thinks something can be done, but I don't; but I have no objection to have him try his hand. He has no authority whatever but to go and see what he can do.'"

The President was continually receiving letters, resolutions, and even delegations demanding the removal of his Postmaster-General, and Mr. Blair did not improve the situation by his own conduct. He continued to write letters and make speeches, and indulged in caustic and sometimes cruel criticism of his colleagues and the Republican leaders in Washington until the situation became so strained that the President was compelled to ask his resignation. Before this was done, however, a little incident occurred which forcibly illustrates the President's patience, dignity, and at the same time his determination. The incident is probably without parallel in the history of the government.

General Halleck, in command of the army, called the attention of the Secretary of War to a speech made by Mr. Blair just after General Early's raid upon Washington and the destruction of Mr. Blair's property over the District border in Maryland, in which the army and its commander were denounced for cowardice and inefficiency. General Halleck declared that if the charge was true the names of the officers should be stricken from the rolls of the army. If it were not true, he said, the slanderer should be dismissed from the Cabinet.

Secretary Stanton handed the letter to the President without comment, whereupon Lincoln replied to General Halleck:

"Whether the remarks were really made I do not know, nor do I suppose such knowledge is necessary to a correct response. If they were made, I do not approve them; and yet, under the circumstances, I would not dismiss a member of the Cabinet therefor. I do not consider what may have been hastily said in a moment of vexation at so severe a loss is sufficient ground for so grave a step. Besides this, truth is generally the best vindication against slander. I propose continuing to be myself the judge as to when a member of the Cabinet shall be dismissed."

Not satisfied with this, the President, when the Cabinet came together, read them this impressive little lecture:

"I must myself be the judge how long to retain and when to remove any of you from his position. It would greatly pain me to discover any of you endeavoring to procure another's removal, or in any way to prejudice him before the public. Such endeavor would be a wrong to me, and, much worse, a wrong to the country. My wish is that on this subject no remark be made or question asked by any of you, here or elsewhere, now or hereafter."

This occurred in July, but Mr. Blair continued to exasperate every person with whom he came in contact. He accused Seward, Stanton, and Chase of a conspiracy to break down the administration, and wearied the President with his suspicions of the motives and actions of all the leading Republicans of the country, until Lincoln finally wrote him a kindly letter, saying, "You have generously said to me more than once that whenever your resignation could be a relief to me it was at my disposal. The time has come. You know very well that this proceeds from no dissatisfaction of mine with you personally or officially. Your uniform kindness has been unsurpassed by that of any other friend."

Mr. Blair's loyalty to Lincoln and the Union was in no way affected by his dismissal. He immediately took the stump in behalf of Lincoln's re-election and his personal fidelity and friendship were never shaken. Lincoln offered him the choice between the Austrian and Spanish missions, but he declined the honor with thanks.

Mr. Blair's successor was William Dennison, of Ohio, a man of the highest character, who had been Governor of that State at the outbreak of the war, and had sustained the administration at Washington with great ability and loyalty. He was a man of fine presence, winning manners, and amiable disposition, wise in counsel, and energetic in action.

Simon Cameron, of Pennsylvania, was a candidate for the Presidential nomination at Chicago and received fifty votes. His friends reached some sort of an understanding with David Davis, who was looked upon as Lincoln's personal representative at the Convention, under which they transferred their votes to the latter, although it was distinctly understood that Davis had no authority to make pledges or promises and could only recommend to Lincoln that Mr. Cameron be recognized in as honorable and notable a manner as possible. It was, however, perfectly natural for the President to select a member of his official family from a State of such importance as Pennsylvania, and Mr. Cameron was recognized as the representative of the protective tariff element in the Republican party. Hence, after a "balancing of matters," as he called it, he invited Mr. Cameron to Springfield during the holidays in 1860, had a frank talk with him, and tendered him a seat in the Cabinet either as Secretary of the Treasury or Secretary of War, "which of the two I have not yet definitely decided."

There was a volcanic eruption in Pennsylvania after the announcement, and bitter hostility was immediately developed among the members of Mr. Cameron's own party, headed by the newly elected Governor and chairman of the Republican State Committee, who protested against his appointment, and claimed the right to be consulted if a member of the Cabinet was to be selected from their State. Being a strict party man, the President recognized their claim, and therefore wrote a polite and friendly note to Mr. Cameron, explaining that it was impossible to take him into the Cabinet under the circumstances, and suggesting that he decline the appointment. "Better do this at once," he wrote, "before things change so that you cannot honorably decline and I be compelled to openly recall the tender. No person living knows or has an intimation that I write this letter." This, of itself, is sufficient answer to the frequent charge that there was a corrupt bargain at Chicago between Lincoln and Cameron.

As might be expected, Mr. Cameron was deeply disappointed, and sent a friend to Springfield to demand a further explanation of the President-elect. Whereupon Lincoln wrote a conciliatory reply, expressing regret that Mr. Cameron's feelings were wounded by the tone of his letter, and saying that it had been written "under great anxiety, and perhaps I was not so guarded in its terms as I should have been. My great object was to have you act quickly, if possible, before the matter should be complicated with the Pennsylvania Senatorial election. Destroy the offensive letter or return it to me. I say to you now that I have not doubted that you would perform the duties of a department ably and faithfully. Nor have I for a moment intended to ostracize your friends. If I should make a Cabinet appointment for Penn. before I reach Washington, I will not do so without consulting you and giving all the weight to your views and wishes which I consistently can. This I have always intended."

This was purely personal, and attached to it was a letter in more formal language which Mr. Cameron was authorized to show to his friends. In it Lincoln stated that Mr. Cameron came to Springfield by his invitation and not upon any suggestion of his own; that he had been offered an appointment in the Cabinet, but that complications had arisen which made it necessary to recall the offer.

In this way Mr. Cameron was "let down easy," and while he did not conceal his disappointment and chagrin, he kept his temper and conducted himself in so dignified a manner that Lincoln was greatly impressed. Cameron's enemies, still fearing that he might be taken into the Cabinet, resorted to despicable measures to prejudice Lincoln against him, while, on the other hand, he was earnestly defended by some of the best people of Pennsylvania; hence the President decided to revive his original plan, and placed Mr. Cameron's name on the slate as Secretary of War.

It proved to be an unfortunate decision, for before active hostilities began it had been clearly demonstrated that he was not qualified to fill that important post. Scandals and dissensions of the most serious character were immediately developed in the War Department, so that Congress appointed a special committee to make an investigation. Its report was sensational and was too grave for Lincoln to overlook. About the time the report was made Mr. Cameron took the liberty to announce in his annual report the policy of the administration in regard to arming the negroes and enlisting them in the military service. So radical an announcement, without even consulting him, was not only a shock to Lincoln, but passed the limits of his forbearance. Fortunately, Mr. Cameron's report had not reached the public. Printed copies had been sent to the press to be published as soon as the telegraph had announced that the President's message had been read in Congress. Every copy was recalled to Washington, the objectionable paragraphs were modified, a new edition was published, and Mr. Cameron expressed a wish to exchange the onerous responsibilities of the War Department for a foreign mission. Lincoln wrote him a brief note, keeping up the pretence by saying, "As you have more than once expressed a desire for a change of position, I can now gratify you consistently with my view of the public interest. I therefore propose to nominate you to the Senate next Monday as Minister to Russia."

As was the case with Mr. Blair, the dissolution of relations caused no break in the friendship between the President and his former minister. Cameron remained one of the most devoted of Lincoln's supporters and one of the most earnest and effective advocates of his renomination to the Presidency.

Gideon Welles was altogether the most agreeable and satisfactory of the fifteen members of Lincoln's official advisers. He invariably sustained him in any position that he took or in any measure that he desired. He gave him consistent and cordial support and the least trouble and anxiety of any of his official family. Mr. Welles was selected as the representative of New England. Amos Tuck, of New Hampshire, George Ashmun, of Boston, and several other eminent gentlemen were also under consideration.

GIDEON WELLES, SECRETARY OF THE NAVY

From a photograph by Brady

The morning after his speech in Hartford, in the spring of 1860, Lincoln took a long stroll through the principal streets of that beautiful city. As he approached the hotel he stepped into a book-store, where a gentleman who had been in his audience the evening before approached and introduced himself. There seemed to be a mutual attraction, and for two hours they discussed various subjects of interest, politics, law, and literature. The next time they met was after the Chicago Convention, to which Mr. Welles was a delegate, and during the campaign they exchanged frequent letters, until Lincoln was thoroughly convinced of the fitness, availability, and character of the Connecticut lawyer for a position in his Cabinet. The special knowledge of maritime law shown by the latter seems to have suggested his assignment to the Navy Department.

Mr. Welles showed a vigorous determination, a high sense of patriotism, and great executive ability from the start, but almost immediately after the organization of the Cabinet came into collision with Mr. Seward because of the interference of the latter with naval affairs, and they never became friends. Notwithstanding the intensity of their hostility, however, both remained through the entire administration, and were the only members of the original Cabinet who continued in that relation until Lincoln's death. Although there were many complaints of his arrogant manner and irritable temper, Mr. Welles always showed a loyal affection for the President, and in August, 1862, refused to sign the "round robin" which Seward and Chase had prepared, demanding the dismissal of General McClellan. He agreed heartily with them, but refused to sign because of his deep respect for the President and a fear of wounding his feelings.

The first member of the Cabinet selected was William H. Seward. There was no delay, doubt, or hesitation in Lincoln's intention to offer him the highest honor in his gift from the hour that he received the news of his nomination, and it was entirely fitting that it should be so. At that time Mr. Seward was pre-eminent among the members of the Republican party. He was its leader in the Senate and was recognized as its logical candidate for the Presidency. He had the largest number of supporters at the Convention, and was defeated only by a combination of the minority. He had been longer in public life, was higher in official rank, and had been more conspicuous and successful in statesmanship than any other of Lincoln's supporters; he had been Governor of the greatest State in the Union, and was just completing his second term in the United States Senate. He had the best organization behind him that had ever been known in American politics up to that time, with Thurlow Weed, recognized as the most consummate politician in the country, as his manager. It certainly would have been strange if the President-elect had not selected such a man as Secretary of State. Nevertheless, there was considerable opposition to Seward's appointment in his own State as well as elsewhere. It came from personal jealousy and enmity, and also from patriotic and honorable people who feared that he might dominate the administration, they not liking his methods; but Lincoln did not hesitate. He wrote Mr. Seward at once after the election, asking permission to nominate him as Secretary of State, and saying that such had been his intention from the day of the nomination at Chicago. "With the belief that your position in the public eye, your integrity, ability and learning and great experience, all combine to render it an appointment pre-eminently fit to be made."

Mr. Seward took three weeks for reflection, and with "much self-distrust" finally relieved Lincoln's anxiety by admitting, in a lofty manner, that he considered it his duty to accept. The tone of this letter did not please Lincoln; and from that moment, with the instinct of self-protection which he often displayed,—and his instincts were exceedingly accurate,—he was on his guard in dealing with the great man from New York. Nevertheless, he treated him with frankness and delicate courtesy and continued to correspond with him concerning confidential matters.

Upon his arrival in Washington he immediately handed a copy of his inaugural address to his future Secretary of State, and the latter revised it in such a vigorous and arrogant manner that the unfavorable impression was deepened. Mr. Seward was always at hand to offer advice and give directions upon every subject. Lincoln listened with respectful attention, but continued to exercise his own judgment, and the spirit of independence he showed concerning several matters which Mr. Seward undertook to decide for him so alarmed the latter that two days before the inauguration he wrote a polite note asking leave to withdraw his acceptance of the office of Secretary of State. The note was received on Saturday. Any other man but Lincoln would have been disconcerted, at least, and would have immediately sought advice and assistance; but he did not mention the matter to any one, nor did he make any reply until Monday morning. Then, while waiting at Willard's Hotel for President Buchanan to escort him to the Capitol, he dictated a brief note, saying, "I feel constrained to beg that you will countermand the withdrawal. The public interest, I think, demands that you should, and my personal feelings are deeply enlisted in the same direction."

He handed the note to Mr. Nicolay, saying, "I can't afford to let Seward take the first trick."

After the return of the inaugural procession to the White House the two men had a long and confidential talk. No one knows what they said to each other, but Mr. Seward accepted the office and his nomination was sent to the Senate the next morning.

Mr. Seward at once assumed that he was Prime Minister with independent and autocratic powers. He sent agents upon secret missions, he indicated to his visitors the policy of the administration,—and made pledges on behalf of the President without consulting him. He opened negotiations with the secession leaders upon his own responsibility. He issued orders to officers of the army and navy over the heads of his associates in charge of those departments, and gave assurances to the representatives of foreign governments without the approval or even the knowledge of the President. He seemed cheerfully to assume responsibility for the entire government, and did not hesitate to permit the official representatives of the Southern States and the public generally to presume that he and not Lincoln was the highest and final authority. He even attempted to deceive his wife on this subject. "I will try to save freedom and my country," he wrote her. "I have assumed a sort of dictatorship.... It seems to me if I am absent only eight days, this administration, the Congress and the District would fall into consternation and despair.... I am the only hopeful, calm, and conciliatory person here...." Again he writes, "Only the soothing words which I have spoken have saved us and carried us along thus far. And still again the cares chiefly fall on me."

Secretary Welles wrote a book to describe the controversies between Mr. Seward and the rest of the Cabinet, in which he shows a good deal of resentment but a good deal of truth. Mr. Seward's moral perceptions were obscured by the responsibilities and power that had been assumed by him. Although he did not suspect it, he was gradually drifting into a collision with a stronger character than his own, and but for the magnanimity and generous nature of the President, his political career might have been swallowed up in his vanity and arrogance.

WILLIAM H. SEWARD, SECRETARY OF STATE

From a photograph by Brady

Upon April 1, after the new administration had been in control for a little more than three weeks, under the title "Some Thoughts for the President's Consideration," he submitted the most extraordinary proposition that appears among the archives of the Department of State. Assuming that he, and not Lincoln, was responsible for the conduct of the administration and the management of the government; writing as if he were the Prime Minister and Lincoln an impotent king; he laid down his plan of action and the line of policy he intended to pursue. He proposed that Lincoln should practically relinquish his Presidential responsibilities and authority; that he should repudiate the party that had elected him; that he should ignore the principles upon which the Presidential campaign had been fought and surrender the moral triumph of the victory; that he should convene Congress and declare war against Great Britain, Russia, France, and Spain, and endeavor to negotiate for an offensive and defensive alliance with Canada, Mexico, and Central America against Europe. The following is the text:

"SOME THOUGHTS FOR THE PRESIDENT'S CONSIDERATION, APRIL 1, 1861.

"First. We are at the end of a month's administration, and yet without a policy, either domestic or foreign.

"Second. This, however, is not culpable, and it has even been unavoidable. The presence of the Senate, with the need to meet applications for patronage, have prevented attention to other and more grave matters.

"Third. But further delay to adopt and prosecute our policies for both domestic and foreign affairs would not only bring scandal on the administration, but danger upon the country.

"Fourth. To do this we must dismiss the applicants for office. But how? I suggest that we make the local appointments forthwith, leaving foreign or general ones for ulterior and occasional action.

"Fifth. The policy at home. I am aware that my views are singular, and perhaps not sufficiently explained. My system is built upon this idea as a ruling one,—namely, that we must

"Change the question before the public from one upon slavery, or about slavery, for a question upon UNION OR DISUNION:

"In other words, from what would be regarded as a party question, to one of patriotism or union.

"The occupation or evacuation of Fort Sumter, although not in fact a slavery or a party question, is so regarded. Witness the temper manifested by the Republicans in the free States, and even by the Union men in the South.

"I would therefore terminate it as a safe means for changing the issue. I deem it fortunate that the last administration created the necessity.

"For the rest, I would simultaneously defend and re-enforce all the ports in the Gulf, and have the navy recalled from foreign stations to be prepared for a blockade. Put the island of Key West under martial law.

"This will raise distinctly the question of union or disunion. I would maintain every fort and possession in the South.

"FOR FOREIGN NATIONS.

"I would demand explanations from Spain and France, categorically, at once.

"I would seek explanations from Great Britain and Russia, and send agents into Canada, Mexico, and Central America to rouse a vigorous continental spirit of independence on this continent against European intervention.

"And, if satisfactory explanations are not received from Spain and France,

"Would convene Congress and declare war against them.

"But whatever policy we adopt, there must be an energetic prosecution of it.

"For this purpose it must be somebody's business to pursue and direct it incessantly.

"Either the President must do it himself, and be all the while active in it, or

"Devolve it on some member of his Cabinet. Once adopted, debates on it must end, and all agree and abide.

"It is not my especial province; but I neither seek to evade nor assume responsibility."

It is impossible for any one to conceive the feelings of the President when he read this boastful and insolent document. But his self-control was so perfect, his anxiety to preserve harmony among those who were trying to save the Union was so great, and his patience so limitless that he returned the memorandum to Mr. Seward with the following firm and conclusive but courteous rebuke, and the subject was never alluded to again by either of them:

"Executive Mansion, April 1, 1861.

"Hon. W. H. Seward.

"My Dear Sir: Since parting with you, I have been considering your paper dated this day, and entitled 'Some Thoughts for the President's Consideration.' The first proposition in it is, 'First. We are at the end of a month's administration, and yet without a policy, either domestic or foreign.'

"At the beginning of that month, in the inaugural, I said, 'The power confided to me will be used to hold, occupy, and possess the property and places belonging to the government, and to collect the duties and imposts.' This had your distinct approval at the time; and taken in connection with the order I immediately gave General Scott, directing him to employ every means in his power to strengthen and hold the forts, comprises the exact domestic policy you now urge, with the single exception that it does not propose to abandon Fort Sumter.

"Again, I do not perceive how the reinforcement of Fort Sumter would be done on a slavery or party issue, while that of Fort Pickens would be on a more national and patriotic one.

"The news received yesterday in regard to San Domingo certainly brings a new item within the range of our foreign policy; but up to that time we have been preparing circulars and instructions to ministers and the like, all in perfect harmony, without even a suggestion that we had no foreign policy.

"Upon your closing proposition—that 'whatever policy we adopt, there must be an energetic prosecution of it.

"'For this purpose it must be somebody's business to pursue and direct it incessantly.

"'Either the President must do it himself, and be all the while active in it, or

"'Devolve it on some member of his Cabinet. Once adopted, debates on it must end, and all agree and abide.'—I remark that if this must be done, I must do it. When a general line of policy is adopted, I apprehend that there is no danger of its being changed without good reason, or continuing to be a subject of unnecessary debate; still, upon points arising in its progress I wish, and suppose I am entitled to have, the advice of all the Cabinet.

"Your obedient servant,

"A. Lincoln."

The President never revealed this amazing incident to anybody but Mr. Nicolay, and it was never suspected by any member of his Cabinet until the correspondence was published by Nicolay and Hay in the Century Magazine, nearly thirty years after. Mr. Seward recognized his master at last and wrote his wife, "Executive force and vigor are rare qualities. The President is the best of us."

From that time there were no serious differences between the President and his Secretary of State, although they frequently differed upon matters of policy as well as details of administration. Mr. Seward was loyal, devoted, and always respectful to his chief.

The same cannot be said of Secretary Chase. He also had been a rival of Lincoln for the Presidential nomination in 1860, and had gone into the Cabinet feeling that his supporters from Ohio had made Lincoln's nomination possible and that he was entitled to special consideration for that reason. He supported Lincoln cordially through the campaign, and among the first telegrams of congratulation received by the President-elect was one from him which read, "I congratulate you and thank God. The great object of my wishes and labors for nineteen years is accomplished in the overthrow of the slave power. The space is now clear for the establishment of the policy of freedom on safe and firm grounds. The lead is yours. The responsibility is great. May God strengthen you for your great duties."

After January 1 following the election, Mr. Chase was invited to Springfield, and upon his arrival the President-elect waived all ceremony and called upon him at his hotel. "I have done with you," said he, "what I would not have ventured to do with any other man in the country,—sent for you to ask you whether you will accept the appointment of Secretary of the Treasury without, however, being exactly prepared to offer it to you." Concerning this conversation Mr. Chase wrote to a friend as follows:

"He said he had felt bound to offer the position of Secretary of State to Mr. Seward as the generally recognized leader of the Republican party, intending, if he declined it, to offer it to me. He did not wish that Mr. Seward should decline it, and was glad that he had accepted, and now desired to have me take the place of Secretary of the Treasury."

Mr. Chase told the President-elect that he was not prepared to give a definite answer because he wanted to ask the advice of friends and be governed by the course of events. He valued the trust and its opportunities, but was reluctant to leave the Senate. No further communication took place between the two on the subject; but, assuming that Mr. Chase had accepted, Lincoln sent his name to the Senate on March 5 with those of other members of his Cabinet.

From the beginning of the administration Mr. Chase advocated a radical policy; was very urgent in advocating the relief of Fort Sumter and pushing the war, while Seward hung back. Mr. Chase's policy was presented in a memorandum, with similar ones from other members of the Cabinet, at the request of the President, in March, and reads as follows:

"If war is to be the consequence of an attempt to provision Fort Sumter, war will just as certainly result from the attempt to maintain possession of Fort Pickens.

"I am clearly in favor of maintaining Fort Pickens and just as clearly in favor of provisioning Fort Sumter. If that attempt should be resisted by military force, Fort Sumter should, in my judgment, be reinforced.

"If war is to be the result, I perceive no reason why it may not be best begun by military resistance to the efforts of the administration to sustain troops of the Union, stationed under the authority of the government, in a fort of the Union, in the ordinary course of service."

GENERAL GEORGE B. McCLELLAN AT THE HEAD-QUARTERS OF GENERAL MORRELL'S BRIGADE, MINOR'S HILL, VIRGINIA

From a photograph by M. B. Brady

In the beginning Mr. Chase was a very strong supporter of General McClellan and frequently called the attention of the latter to his obligations to him. "The country was indebted to me," he wrote McClellan, "in some considerable degree for the change of your commission from Ohio into a commission of major-general of the army of the Union;" and he wrote a friend the good news, "McClellan is Commander-in-Chief! let us thank God and take courage!" but this was his habit. He invariably worshipped the rising sun, and was usually one of the first to turn his back upon old friends when they met with misfortunes. He usually cultivated the closest relations with those generals who had grievances against the administration. His correspondence and his diary, as published by his chosen biographer, are full of caustic and unkind criticisms of his chief. He received many letters containing violent abuse of the President and his colleagues in the government, and neither defended them nor rebuked the writers. He records in his diary a conversation with an officer who, meeting him, the Secretary of the Treasury, for the first time, was rude enough to utter a gross insult directed at the President. In his comments Mr. Chase seems to approve the remarks, and describes the President's assailant as "well read and extremely intelligent." But Mr. Chase never defended his colleagues when they were attacked. In reply to a violent criticism from an enemy of the administration, he wrote, "I am not responsible for the management of the war and have no voice in it, except that I am not forbidden to make suggestions, and do so now and then when I can't help it."

He soon lost his confidence in and admiration for McClellan, however, and in his criticisms concerning his dilatory tactics was the most bitter of all the Cabinet. He once drew up a paper, which he induced several of his colleagues to sign, demanding McClellan's removal. He continually offered advice and suggestions, and when they were not accepted he usually took the trouble to record his resentment in his diary or to express it in vigorous terms in a letter to some friend.

Chase was in favor of the unconditional emancipation of the slaves, and when the President laid before the Cabinet the Emancipation Proclamation he writes in his diary, "I said that I should give to such a measure my cordial support, but I should prefer that no expression on the subject of compensation should be made, and I thought that the measure of emancipation could be better and more quickly accomplished by allowing generals to organize and arm the slaves and by directing the commanders of departments to proclaim emancipation within their districts as soon as practicable. But I regarded this as so much better than inaction on the subject that I could give it my entire support."

The President was not unaware of the disposition of Mr. Seward to criticise himself and the members of his Cabinet, but placed so high a value upon his ability and his importance to the government that he treated him with the same patience that he did Mr. Stanton and others who were critical and petulant concerning his deliberation and other peculiarities. The extent to which this forbearance was exercised may be illustrated by a note addressed to the President by his Secretary of the Treasury, April 25, 1861, in which the latter was guilty of such bad taste and impertinence that Lincoln would have been justified in asking his instant resignation. Mr. Chase held the President practically responsible for the demoralized condition of affairs in the country and for all that had happened before his inauguration as well as since, and said, "Let me beg of you to remember that the disunionists have anticipated us in everything, and that as yet we have accomplished nothing but the destruction of our own property. Let me beg of you to remember also that it has been a darling object with the disunionists to secure the passage of a secession ordinance by Maryland.... Save us from this new humiliation. You alone can give the word."

Mr. Chase was in consultation with the President daily, he had been consulted about every situation and movement, he was quite as familiar with what had been done and what was intended as the President himself, and the reasons which prompted him to address his chief in such a manner can only be conjectured. It is believed that he was prompted to do so by one of the many hostile critics of the administration, and wrote the letter without realizing its tone and impertinence. But Lincoln received it with his usual complacency, made no complaint to any one about it, and calmly filed it away among his other correspondence.

Like Mr. Seward, he went into the Cabinet with the opinion that the President was incapable and inexperienced, and that it was his duty to support and assist him in the management of the government; but, unlike Mr. Seward, he was never able to rid himself of a sense of his own superiority. He had an honest conviction that he was more competent and would make a much better President himself, and that if his advice were accepted and his suggestions carried out, the war would be brought to a close much sooner than otherwise. He lacked confidence in his colleagues also and never lost an opportunity to express it. He considered himself their superior in zeal, ability, and devotion to the general welfare. He imagined that every disaster which occurred in the field was due to the refusal of the President and the Secretary of War to carry out the plans he suggested, and that every victory could be directly attributed to his wise counsel. This was not known at the time. Had it been, the people of the country would have been less charitable towards Mr. Chase. His egotism, jealousy, contempt, and hostility towards Lincoln and his fellow-members of the Cabinet were not fully disclosed until the publication of his biography, which contained extracts from his diary and copies of his voluminous correspondence.

The President would not allow the conduct or the disposition of his Secretary of the Treasury to make the slightest difference in his treatment of that official or to affect the policy of his administration, for in his management of the finances, without previous experience or preparation, Mr. Chase had shown genius equal to that of Alexander Hamilton, unswerving integrity, and untiring industry. So highly did Lincoln esteem his public services in this respect that he would have forgiven him anything; and Mr. Chase not only had his constant support, but he was less interfered with in the administration of his department than any other member of the Cabinet.

Mr. Chase began a serious and systematic canvass for the Presidential nomination as early as the fall of 1863, and although he continued to delude himself and assure his friends that he was indifferent to advancement and anxious only for the public good, he found plenty of leisure in the midst of his arduous duties and immense responsibilities to write hundreds of letters to friends in different parts of the Union pointing out the mistakes of the President and leaving the irresistible conclusion that he was the only man capable of saving the country. Many of these letters are published in his biography, and it is inexplicable that he preserved the documentary evidence of his treachery, and even more remarkable that his family thus exposed him to public censure and contempt.

Although Lincoln had the full confidence of the loyal people of the North, many disappointed politicians and other citizens in different parts of the country were dissatisfied with his management of affairs. The critics naturally gravitated together and sought to organize a movement to prevent his renomination. They found it difficult to contend against the popularity of the President, and looked among the discordant elements for a standard-bearer. Neither in Congress nor in the army was there any one who was willing to undertake the hopeless task until some of the leaders consulted Mr. Chase and, to their surprise, found him so indiscreet and disloyal as to encourage their opposition to the administration of which he was a member, and so foolish as to believe that he was strong enough to lead them to victory.

Mr. Chase fell willingly into the trap, although he continued to protest his loyalty and attachment to Lincoln. His only excuse was that the President's intellect and capacity for government were inferior to his own, and in its great emergency his beloved country needed the strongest man. He wrote his son-in-law, Governor Sprague, of Rhode Island, "If I were controlled by merely personal sentiments I would prefer the re-election of Mr. Lincoln to that of any other man, but I think a man of different qualities from those the President has will be needed for the next four years."

President Lincoln was fully informed concerning every movement Mr. Chase made, for the latter was surrounded by false friends who were willing to destroy him. However, he rebuked the tale-bearers and discouraged all conversation concerning the ambition of his Secretary of the Treasury, and when the criticisms uttered by Mr. Chase of himself and the members of his Cabinet were brought to his attention, he declined to listen to them.

"I have determined," he said, "to shut my eyes so far as possible to everything of the sort. Mr. Chase makes a good Secretary and I shall keep him where he is. If he becomes President, all right. I hope we may never have a worse man. I am entirely indifferent as to his success or failure in these schemes as long as he does his duty at the head of the Treasury Department." He appointed Chase's partisans and wire-pullers to office as fast as the latter proposed them, although he knew perfectly well what he was doing. He was more amused than otherwise at the protestations of his own friends; but all the time he was conscious that he had every reason for magnanimity. With his usual political perspicuity, he was perfectly confident of his own nomination and re-election, and recognized that Chase was daily making mistakes that were fatal to his own political prospects. He endeavored to conceal his knowledge, and avoided explanations from his Secretary of the Treasury until the publication of a secret circular in the Washington newspapers signed by Senator Pomeroy, of Kansas, compelled Mr. Chase to allude to the subject. It was a spiteful, unjust, and untruthful attack upon the President, and proposed the nomination of Mr. Chase as his successor, appealing to patriotic citizens to organize in his support and correspond with the chairman of his committee.

Mr. Chase at once disavowed all knowledge of or responsibility for this circular, but explained that he had yielded to the urgent solicitations of friends and had consented to be a candidate for the Presidential nomination. "If there is anything in my action or position which in your judgment will prejudice the public interest under my charge, I beg you to say so. I do not wish to administer the Treasury Department one day without your entire confidence. For yourself I cherish sincere respect and esteem and, permit me to add, affection."

The next day the President acknowledged the receipt of this letter and promised to answer it more fully later, which he did, saying,—

"... My knowledge of Mr. Pomeroy's letter having been made public came to me only the day you wrote; but I had, in spite of myself, known of its existence several days before. I have not yet read it, and I think I shall not. I was not shocked or surprised by the appearance of the letter, because I had had knowledge of Mr. Pomeroy's committee, and of secret issues which I supposed came from it, and of secret agents who I supposed were sent out by it, for several weeks. I have known just as little of these things as my friends have allowed me to know. They bring the documents to me, but I do not read them: they tell me what they think fit to tell me, but I do not inquire for more....

"Whether you shall remain at the head of the Treasury Department is a question which I will not allow myself to consider from any stand-point other than my judgment of the public service, and, in that view, I do not perceive occasion for a change."

If anything was needed to complete the collapse of the plans of Mr. Chase, the reputation of the man who signed the circular was sufficient. As fast as conventions were held delegations were instructed for Lincoln. The Republican members of the Ohio Legislature were so fearful lest they might be suspected of sympathizing with the ambition of Mr. Chase that they held a caucus and unanimously endorsed the President. Even little Rhode Island, supposed to be a pocket borough absolutely controlled by its Governor, who was a son-in-law of Mr. Chase, bolted and declared for Lincoln. The Secretary of the Treasury, left without a supporter in the Republican party, sought consolation from the Democrats, but they repudiated him and selected as their candidate General McClellan, a man who had been alternately eulogized and anathematized by him.

The retirement of Mr. Chase from the Cabinet was due to his determination to control the patronage of the Treasury Department in the State of New York without reference to the wishes of Mr. Morgan and Mr. Harris, the Senators from that State. There was also friction over Treasury appointments in other parts of the country. Mr. Chase's failure as a Presidential candidate made him very irritable, and whenever the President or any member of the Cabinet offered the slightest opposition to his plans or wishes, he showed so much temper that it was impossible to get along with him except by conceding all his demands. Lincoln, valuing his services in the Treasury so highly, endeavored to gratify him as far as possible, and assured other members of his Cabinet that, as Mr. Chase's ability, industry, and integrity were beyond question, he had a right to select men for whose proper conduct he was responsible. But when Mr. Chase invaded the political provinces of the members of the Senate, the President found it difficult to reconcile the differences, and on two occasions the Secretary of the Treasury tendered his resignation rather than yield what he considered to be his right to select all of his subordinates. Maunsell B. Field, the Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, quotes Lincoln as saying, "I went directly up to him [Chase] with the resignation in my hand, and putting my arm around his neck, said, 'Here is a paper with which I wish to have nothing to do. Take it back and be reasonable.' I had to plead with him a long time, but I finally succeeded, and heard nothing more of that resignation."

But this state of affairs could not endure. There came an occasion upon which the President was not able to give way, and when the two New York Senators objected to the appointment of the same Maunsell B. Field as Assistant Treasurer of New York, he was compelled to recognize their wishes. He wrote Mr. Chase, "As the proverb goes, no man knows so well where the shoe pinches as he who wears it. I do not think Mr. Field a very proper man for the place, but I would trust your judgment and forego this were the greater difficulty out of the way.... Strained as I already am at this point, I do not think that I can make this appointment in the direction of still greater strain." But Mr. Chase felt that the President was acting badly and must be disciplined, and so he resigned again. To submit to Mr. Chase under the circumstances would be to abdicate in his favor and to offend his loyal supporters in New York; hence, without hesitation, he wrote Mr. Chase as follows: "Of all I have said in commendation of your ability and fidelity I have nothing to unsay, yet you and I have reached a point of mutual embarrassment in our official relations which it seems cannot be overcome or longer sustained consistently with the public service."

Mr. Chase was taken entirely by surprise. He supposed that the President, like himself, believed that his presence in the Treasury Department was indispensable to the salvation of the government. Governor Todd, of Ohio, was nominated as his successor, but declined, and the President then sent to the Senate the nomination of William Pitt Fessenden, a Senator from Maine and chairman of the Committee on Finance, entirely without that gentleman's knowledge.

After the President's secretary had left for the Capitol with the nomination, Mr. Fessenden appeared at the White House and, after preliminary conversation, suggested the appointment of Hugh McCulloch, who had served with great ability since the beginning of the war as Comptroller of the Currency. Lincoln listened to his eulogy of Mr. McCulloch with a gentle smile, and then informed him that he had already sent his own name to the Senate. Mr. Fessenden protested and declared that he would decline.

"If you decline," replied the President, "you must do it in open day, for I cannot recall the nomination."

The significance and appropriateness of Mr. Fessenden's nomination to succeed Mr. Chase was immediately recognized as a coup d'état on the part of the President, and the former could not decline the responsibility. He served for only a few months, however, and was succeeded by Hugh McCulloch.

Mr. Chase could not suppress his sense of injury or cease talking about it. After he left the Cabinet, his criticisms of the President personally and the administration of the government became more frequent and bold than ever; but as soon as the death of Chief-Justice Taney of the Supreme Court was announced, he immediately claimed the vacancy. Notwithstanding all that had occurred, he was willing to forgive and forget, provided the President would make him Chief-Justice. Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield Republican, writes on December 4, 1864, two months after Taney's death, "Chase is going around peddling his grief in private ears and sowing dissatisfaction about Lincoln. Oh, how little great men can be!" The President at once made up his mind to appoint Mr. Chase, but would not announce his intention until he had heard the views of every Republican of importance. In the mean time Mr. Chase was appealing to his friends for support and endorsement and prophesying disasters for the government unless his appointment was made. One day Mr. Nicolay brought the President a letter from Mr. Chase.

"What is it about?" inquired Lincoln.

"Simply a kind and friendly letter."

"File it with the other recommendations," was the laconic reply.

On December 6, when the Senate met, Mr. Chase's nomination appeared among others. It was written out in Lincoln's own hand instead of upon a printed blank, as was customary. The nomination was confirmed without reference to a committee, and the same evening Mr. Chase wrote the President a very grateful acknowledgment. "Be assured," he said, "that I apprize your confidence and good-will more than any nomination to office."

Lincoln afterwards told Mr. Boutwell that he never had any intention of refusing the office to Mr. Chase. "There were three reasons why he should be appointed and one reason why he should not be," said the President. "In the first place, he occupies a larger space in the public mind with reference to the office than any other person. Then we want a man who will sustain the Legal Tender Act and the Proclamation of Emancipation. We cannot ask a candidate what he would do, and if we did and he should answer we should only despise him for it. But Chase wants to be President, and if he does not give that up it will be a great injury to him and a great injury to me. He can never be President."

Among the most urgent friends of Mr. Chase were Senator Sumner and Representative Alley, of Massachusetts, who went to Washington to plead with the President in his behalf.

"We found, to our dismay," said Mr. Alley, "that the President had heard of the bitter criticisms of Mr. Chase upon himself and his administration. Mr. Lincoln urged many of Mr. Chase's defects, to discover, as we afterwards learned, how his objection could be answered. We were both discouraged and made up our minds that the President did not mean to appoint Mr. Chase. It really seemed too much to expect of poor human nature. But early one morning in the following December I went to the White House, found the President in his library, and was cordially received. As I entered he made to me this declaration:

"'I have something to tell you that will make you happy. I have just sent Mr. Chase word that he is to be appointed Chief-Justice, and you are the first man I have told of it.'

"I said, 'Mr. President, this is an exhibition of magnanimity and patriotism that could hardly be expected of any one. After what he has said against your administration, which has undoubtedly been reported to you, it was hardly to be expected that you would bestow the most important office within your gift on such a man.'

"His quaint reply was, 'Although I may have appeared to you and to Mr. Sumner to have been opposed to Chase's appointment, there never has been a moment since the breath left old Taney's body that I did not conceive it to be the best thing to do to appoint Mr. Chase to that high office; and to have done otherwise I should have been recreant to my convictions of duty to the Republican party and to the country.'

"I repeated again my sense of his magnanimity and his patriotism in making the appointment.

"He replied, 'As to his talk about me, I do not mind that. Chase is, on the whole, a pretty good fellow and a very able man. His only trouble is that he has "the White House fever" a little too bad, but I hope this may cure him and that he will be satisfied.'"

One would suppose, after this exhibition of magnanimity on the part of the President, that he would escape the criticism of Mr. Chase at least, but the latter still considered himself the inspired critic of the administration and sought the Democratic nomination for the Presidency. Nor was this all. His decisions upon the bench were in direct contradiction to the positions he had taken as a member of the Cabinet. He had criticised the President for his weakness in refusing to attack the doctrine of State rights, yet, on the first opportunity, he appeared as the judicial champion and defender of that doctrine; from his place on the bench he declared unconstitutional the Legal Tender Act which he had himself assisted in preparing and whose passage through the House of Representatives had been secured by his personal influence. While he was Secretary of the Treasury he sustained and encouraged Mr. Stanton in the exercise of the "war power" more earnestly and took more radical grounds than any other member of the Cabinet, yet when those very transactions came before the Supreme Court he denounced them as illegal and unjustified. The only explanation, the only apology that could be made by the friends of Mr. Chase was that his mind was soured by disappointment. He was a man of unbounded ambition, he had been working all his life to become President, he was convinced of his own great talents, and could not reconcile himself to disappointment.

President Lincoln's character and methods are nowhere better illustrated than in the story of his relations with Edwin M. Stanton, his great Secretary of War, a man of intense personality, of arbitrary disposition, impetuous in action, impatient under restraint, and intolerant of opposition. Combined with these qualities Mr. Stanton had great learning, unselfish patriotism, and conscientious convictions of duty. He was a native of Ohio, a graduate of Kenyon College, and when still young in years attained a high rank in the practice of his profession of the law, making his head-quarters first at Pittsburgh and in 1856 at Washington. He was born and bred in Democratic principles, but had a profound hatred of slavery, and during the administration of President Buchanan was pronounced in his opposition to the disunion schemes of the Southern politicians.

Shortly after the election in 1860, when the situation at Washington was becoming critical, President Buchanan sought his advice, and Mr. Stanton prepared an argument to prove that a State could be coerced into remaining in the Union. A few weeks later Mr. Buchanan called him into his Cabinet as Attorney-General, and he immediately joined with the loyal members of the Cabinet and the Republican leaders in Congress in vigorous efforts to save the Union. But after Lincoln was inaugurated Mr. Stanton became the most scornful and unsparing critic of the new administration. He called the President an imbecile, charged Cameron with corruption, and declared that the administration was treating the treasure of the nation as booty to be divided among thieves. He predicted disaster in every direction; he declared that in less than thirty days Jefferson Davis would be in possession of Washington, and used the most intemperate and unjust language that his lips could frame in his comments upon the character and the conduct of the President and his advisers. Therefore, when he was invited to succeed Mr. Cameron, the chief object of his detestation and attack, he was placed in a peculiar situation, but was broad-minded enough to appreciate Lincoln's magnanimity, and accepted the war portfolio as the highest duty that could be assigned to a citizen. He wrote ex-President Buchanan, "My accession to my present position was quite as sudden and unexpected as the confidence you bestowed upon me in calling me to your Cabinet. And the responsible trust was accepted in both instances from the same motives and will be executed with the same fidelity to the Constitution and the laws." In another letter he wrote, "I knew that everything that I cherish and hold dear would be sacrificed by accepting office, but I thought I might help to save the country, and for that I was willing to perish."

When some one objected to Stanton's appointment on account of his ungovernable temper, and stated that he was in the habit of jumping up and down when he lost his patience, Lincoln replied,—

"Well, if he gets to jumping too much, we will treat him as they used to treat a minister I knew out West. He would get so excited and wrought up at revival meetings that they had to put bricks in his pockets to keep him down. But I guess we will let Stanton jump a while first."

Lincoln and his new Secretary of War had met before, and the President had no reason to be friendly towards him. The story is told in the chapter relating to Lincoln's legal career. But the President was willing to submerge his personal feelings in his patriotism in order to secure the support and assistance of a man for whose ability, energy, and patriotism he had the highest respect. He selected Mr. Stanton for the same reason that he retained McClellan in command and postponed the Emancipation Proclamation. He was not thinking of himself, but of his country. He was not seeking a friend or an agreeable companion, but a man of executive ability, iron will, stern integrity, and physical endurance to relieve him from what was becoming an unendurable burden; for, up to this time, he had borne almost alone the responsibility for military movements in the field as well as the organization and equipment of the army. Months before he had foreseen that Mr. Cameron must soon leave the Cabinet, and had been on the lookout for a suitable Secretary of War. With the silent sagacity and foresight that were among his most remarkable characteristics, he had searched the list of public men, and, finding no one available among his friends, had gone over into the ranks of his opponents and had chosen perhaps the most unfriendly and vigorous critic of his administration. He had learned of Mr. Stanton's tremendous energy and keen perceptions and recognized at once how useful those traits would be in the War Department; while his fearless candor, his indifference to criticism, and the public confidence in his integrity were qualities equally valuable under the circumstances.

Within a few weeks he was satisfied of the accuracy of his judgment in making the selection, and their daily intercourse brought the two men into relations which could not have existed between men of weaker character. Unlike Mr. Chase, his colleague of the Treasury Department, Mr. Stanton had the highest admiration for Lincoln's ability and judgment, and his imperious will and stubborn convictions would not have yielded to any one else. On the other hand, no one appreciated so much as Lincoln the genuine worth, the deep sincerity, and the rare ability to organize and execute that existed in his new Secretary of War. There were continual differences of opinion between them. Men of strong character seldom think alike, and with his peculiar temperament and impulsive disposition Mr. Stanton could not have served under a chief less amiable and considerate than Lincoln.

There is no doubt that the President's patience was often sorely tried, but the same spirit that governed him when he invited Mr. Stanton into the Cabinet continued to recognize the necessity of toleration and forbearance. While he usually yielded to his War Secretary in details, in matters of supreme importance he invariably insisted upon following his own judgment, and with a gentle but unyielding firmness compelled Mr. Stanton to submit to his will. For example, Mr. Stanton refused to carry out an order of the President concerning the enlistment of rebel prisoners of war who wished to enter the service of the Union, and when the order was repeated, refused a second time. General Fry, the Provost-Marshal-General, who was present at the interview, describes the incident as follows:

"'Now, Mr. President, those are the facts, and you must see that your order cannot be executed,' exclaimed Stanton.

"Lincoln sat upon a sofa with his legs crossed, and did not say a word until the Secretary's last remark. Then he said, in a somewhat positive tone, 'Mr. Secretary, I reckon you'll have to execute the order.'

"Stanton replied with asperity, 'Mr. President, I cannot do it.'

"Lincoln fixed his eyes upon Stanton, and in a firm voice, and with an accent that clearly showed his determination, he said, 'Mr. Secretary, it will have to be done.'

"Stanton realized that he was overmatched. He had made a square issue with the President and had been defeated, notwithstanding the fact that he was in the right. Upon an intimation from him I withdrew and did not witness his surrender. A few minutes after I reached my office I received instructions from the Secretary to carry out the President's order."

The President "always liked to get something on Stanton," as he used to say. Judge Shellabarger, of Ohio, relates this incident:

"A young man in the army, Ben Tappan, wanted a transfer from the volunteer service to the regular army, retaining his rank of Lieutenant and with staff duty. There was some regulation against such transfer; but Tappan's step-father, Frank Wright, thought it could be done. He had been to Secretary Stanton, who was an uncle of Tappan by marriage, and, on account of this so-called relationship, the Secretary declined to act in the matter. Wright and I therefore went up to the White House to see the President about it. After talking it over, Mr. Lincoln told a story, the application of which was that the army was getting to be all staff and no army, there was such a rush for staff duty by young officers. However, he looked over Lieutenant Tappan's paper, heard what Secretary Stanton had told us about his delicacy in transferring Lieutenant Tappan against the regulation because of his relationship by marriage. Then Mr. Lincoln wrote across the application something like the following endorsement:

"'Lieutenant Tappan, of —— Regiment Volunteers, desires transfer to —— Regiment, Regular service, and assigned to staff duty with present rank. If the only objection is Lieutenant Tappan's relationship to the Secretary of War, that objection is overruled.

"'A. Lincoln.'

"Of course this threw the responsibility of breaking the regulation on Secretary Stanton. We never heard anything more about the transfer."

General Fry says, "A story has long been current that Lincoln sent an application for office with a note to the Secretary of War, directing that a letter of appointment be prepared for the man to the office he sought; that the applicant returned to the President and announced that Stanton refused to obey the order; that the President looked disappointed, but merely expressed his regret at the result, and remarked that he had not much influence with the administration. The anecdote has generally been interpreted as meaning that Lincoln could not control Stanton. The inference is erroneous. Lincoln, so far as I could discover, was in every respect the actual head of the administration, and whenever he chose to do so he controlled Stanton as well as all the other Cabinet ministers."

Ex-Representative John A. Kasson, of Iowa, says, "Numerous officers in the field had written me to have Colonel ——, of —— Iowa Regiment, promoted to be a brigadier-general. The colonel deserved the promotion, but it was difficult to obtain. At last there came an Iowa resignation, and I went to the President, who signed an order to the Secretary of War to let Colonel —— have the commission in place of the resigning brigadier. Mr. Stanton was seated on a sofa talking with a friend. I told him my errand, and handed him the President's order. He glanced at it, and said, in an angry tone,—

"'I shan't do it, sir; I shan't do it!' and passed the paper up to his clerk.

"Utterly amazed at these words, and indignant at his tone, I inquired why he refused to obey the President's order.

"'It isn't the way to do it, sir, and I shan't do it.'

"I was going on to speak of the merits of the officer and of the proceeding, my wrath rising, when he cut me off with,—

"'I don't propose to argue the question with you, sir; I shan't do it.'

"Utterly indignant, I turned to the clerk and asked to withdraw the paper.

"'Don't you let him have it, sir,' said Stanton; 'don't let him have it.'

"The clerk, whose hands were trembling like an Eastern slave before his pasha, withdrew the document which he was in the act of giving to me. I felt my indignation getting too strong for me, and, putting on my hat and turning my back to the Secretary, I slowly went to the door, with set teeth, saying to myself, 'As you will not hear me in your own forum, you shall hear from me in mine.'

"A few days later, after recovering my coolness, I reported the affair to the President. A look of vexation came over his face. Then he gave me a positive order for the promotion of the colonel to be a brigadier, and told me to take it over to the War Department. I replied that I could not speak again with Mr. Stanton till he apologized for his insulting manner to me on the previous occasion.

"'Oh,' said the President, 'Stanton has gone to Fortress Monroe and Dana is acting. He will attend to it for you.'"

EDWIN M. STANTON, SECRETARY OF WAR

From a photograph by Brady

Judge Usher, Lincoln's Secretary of the Interior, says, "Chief among his great characteristics were his gentleness and humanity, and yet he did not hesitate promptly to approve the sentences of Kennedy and Beall. During the entire war there are but few other evidences to be found of a willingness on his part that any one should suffer the penalty of death. His great effort seemed to be to find some excuse, some palliation for offences charged. He strove at all times to relieve the citizens on both sides of the inconveniences and hardships resulting from the war. It has often been reported that Secretary of War Stanton arbitrarily refused to carry out his orders. In all such cases reported it will be found that the President had given directions to him to issue permits to persons who had applied to go through the lines into the insurgent districts. The President said at one time, referring to Stanton's refusal to issue the permits and the severe remarks made by the persons who were disobliged,—

"'I cannot always know whether a permit ought to be granted, and I want to oblige everybody when I can, and Stanton and I have an understanding that if I send an order to him that cannot be consistently granted, he is to refuse it, which he sometimes does; and that led to a remark which I made the other day to a man who complained of Stanton, that I hadn't much influence with this administration, but expected to have more with the next.'"

Mr. George W. Julian, a Representative in Congress, said, "I called on the President respecting the appointments I had recommended under the conscription law, and took occasion to refer to the failure of General Frémont to get a command. He said he did not know where to place him, and that it reminded him of the old man who advised his son to take a wife, to which the young man responded, 'Whose wife shall I take?'

"At another time," said Mr. Julian, "a committee of Western men, headed by Mr. Lovejoy, procured from the President an important order looking to the exchange of Eastern and Western soldiers, with a view to more effective work. Repairing to the office of the Secretary, Mr. Lovejoy explained the scheme, as he had done before the President, but was met by a flat refusal.

"'But we have the President's order, sir,' said Lovejoy.

"'Did Lincoln give you an order of that kind?' said Stanton.

"'He did, sir.'

"'Then he is a d—d fool,' said the irate Secretary.

"'Do you mean to say the President is a d—d fool?' asked Lovejoy in amazement.

"'Yes, sir, if he gave you such an order as that.'

"The bewildered Congressman from Illinois betook himself at once to the President and related the result of his conference.

"'Did Stanton say I was a d—d fool?' asked Lincoln, at the close of the recital.

"'He did, sir, and repeated it.'

"After a moment's pause, and looking up, the President said,—

"'If Stanton said I was a d—d fool, then I must be one, for he is nearly always right, and generally says what he means. I will step over and see him.'"

Mr. Stanton was entirely without a sense of humor, and was the only member of the Cabinet who could not tolerate and could never understand Lincoln's stories and the reasons for his frequent resort to comic anecdotes and books of humor to relieve his mind from anxiety and the terrible strain that was always upon him. He never told a story himself, and would not waste his time listening to stories from others. With his unsympathetic disposition and nerveless constitution he could not understand the need of relaxation, and his serious mind regarded with disapproval and even contempt the simple remedies which the President applied as relief to his anxieties and care. Charles A. Dana, who was Mr. Stanton's assistant in the War Department, referring to this fact in his reminiscences, says,—

"The political struggle (November, 1864) had been most intense, and the interest taken in it, both in the White House and in the War Department, had been almost painful. I went over to the War Department about half-past eight in the evening and found the President and Mr. Stanton together in the Secretary's office. General Eckert, who then had charge of the telegraph department of the War Office, was coming in continually with telegrams containing election returns. Mr. Stanton would read them and the President would look at them and comment upon them. Presently there came a lull in the returns, and Mr. Lincoln called me up to a place by his side.

"'Dana,' said he, 'have you ever read any of the writings of Petroleum V. Nasby?'

"'No, sir,' I said. 'I have only looked at some of them, and they seemed to me quite funny.'

"'Well,' said he, 'let me read you a specimen,' and, pulling out a thin yellow-covered pamphlet from his breast-pocket, he began to read aloud. Mr. Stanton viewed this proceeding with great impatience, as I could see, but Mr. Lincoln paid no attention to that. He would read a page or a story, pause to con a new election telegram, and then open the book again and go ahead with a new passage. Finally Mr. Chase came in and presently Mr. Whitelaw Reid, and then the reading was interrupted. Mr. Stanton went to the door and beckoned me into the next room. I shall never forget the fire of his indignation at what seemed to him to be mere nonsense. The idea that when the safety of the republic was thus at issue, when the control of an empire was to be determined by a few figures brought in by the telegraph, the leader, the man most deeply concerned, not merely for himself but for his country, could turn aside to read such balderdash and to laugh at such frivolous jests, was to his mind something most repugnant and damnable. He could not understand, apparently, that it was by the relief which these jests afforded to the strain of mind under which Lincoln had so long been living and to the natural gloom of a melancholy and desponding temperament—this was Mr. Lincoln's prevailing characteristic—that the safety and sanity of his intelligence were maintained and preserved."

When President Lincoln, confronted by the infirmities and incapacity of General Scott and the jealousy and rivalry of the younger officers of the army, was compelled to assume the direction of the conduct of the war, he was entirely ignorant of military affairs, except for the experience he had gained in his youth during the Black Hawk War, which, however, was more of a frontier frolic than a serious campaign. His own account of it is found in the autobiography he furnished to the press after his nomination to the Presidency:

"Abraham joined a volunteer company, and to his own surprise was elected captain of it. He says he has not since had any success in life which gave him so much satisfaction. He went into the campaign, served nearly three months, met the ordinary hardships of such an expedition, but was in no battle."

We know from others that Lincoln was one of the first to enlist, and that it was something besides ambition which led him to seek the captaincy of his company. During his first year in Illinois he worked for a time in a saw-mill run by a man named Kirkpatrick, who promised to buy him a cant-hook with which to move heavy logs. Lincoln offered to move the logs with his own common handspike, provided Kirkpatrick would give him in cash the two dollars which a cant-hook would cost. Kirkpatrick agreed to do so, but never did, and Lincoln always bore him a grudge. When the volunteers from Sangamon County assembled on the green to elect their officers, Lincoln discovered that Kirkpatrick was the only candidate for captain, and remarked to his friend and neighbor, Green,—

"Bill, I believe I can make Kirkpatrick pay me that two dollars he owes me on the cant-hook or I'll run against him for captain."

So he and Green began immediately to "hustle" for votes, and when the order was given for the men to assemble at the side of their favorite candidate for captain, three-fourths of them came to Lincoln, and he led them over the prairies and through the wilderness to the rendezvous. He had no knowledge of military tactics and did not even know the order to give. He used to describe his blunders with great amusement, and one that he enjoyed particularly was a device to get his men through a gate-way into an enclosure. They were marching across a field four abreast, and Lincoln could not remember the proper command for changing them into single file, "or getting the company through the gate endwise," as he described it. "So, as we came near the gate, I shouted, 'The company is dismissed for two minutes, when it will fall in again on the other side of the gate.'"

This ingenuity did not save him from disgrace on other occasions, and once he was severely punished by being deprived of his sword on account of a violation of discipline. But these punishments did not seem to diminish the respect in which he was held by his company. They were proud of his wit, his strength, and his learning, and throughout their lives they remained devotedly attached to him because of his personal qualities. One day an Indian fugitive took refuge in the camp, and the soldier frontiersmen, with more or less experience of the treachery and cruelty of the savage, saw no reason why they should not put him out of the way at once, especially as they had come out to kill Indians; but Lincoln's humanity and sense of justice revolted at the murder of a helpless savage, and, at the risk of his life, he defied the entire camp and saved the Indian.

At the end of their term of service his company was mustered out, and most of the volunteers, seeing no prospect of glory or profit, started towards home; but Captain Lincoln re-enlisted the same day as a private, and often spoke of the satisfaction he felt when relieved of the responsibility of command. He served through the campaign. He was the strongest man in the army and the best wrestler, with the exception of a man named Thompson, who once threw him on the turf.

Black Hawk was captured through the treachery of his allies. Lincoln's battalion was mustered out at Whitewater, Wisconsin, by Lieutenant Robert Anderson, who, twenty-nine years later, was to stand with him as the most interesting figure upon the national stage. A story that Lincoln was mustered into the service by Jefferson Davis has been widely published. It was a natural mistake, however, because Davis, then a lieutenant in the army, was stationed at a fort near Rock Island, but during the summer of the Black Hawk War he was on leave of absence and did not join his regiment until long after the Sangamon County volunteers had returned to their homes. However, Lincoln was to see and meet several interesting characters, including Colonel Zachary Taylor, whom he afterwards supported for President, General Winfield Scott, another Whig candidate for the Presidency and the commander of the army at the beginning of his administration, Lieutenant Albert Sidney Johnston, afterwards a Confederate general, and others of fame.

Lincoln never permitted any one to call him "captain," and when in Congress in 1848 he made a political speech in which he ridiculed the efforts of the friends of General Cass to obtain some political advantage from that eminent gentleman's services in a similar capacity. He said,—

"If General Cass went in advance of me picking whortleberries, I guess I surpassed him in charges on the wild onions. If he saw any live, fighting Indians, it was more than I did, but I had a good many bloody struggles with the mosquitoes; and although I never fainted from loss of blood, I can truly say I was often very hungry. If ever I should conclude to doff whatever our Democratic friends may suppose there is of black-cockade Federalism about me, and thereupon they shall take me up as their candidate for the Presidency, I protest that they shall not make fun of me, as they have of General Cass, by attempting to write me into a military hero."

When compelled to supervise the enlisting and equipment of a great army and plan campaigns that were to determine the destiny and the happiness and prosperity of the people, he was entirely without preparation or technical knowledge of the science of war, and could only rely upon his common sense and apply to military affairs the experience he had gained in politics. His talent developed rapidly, however, until he became recognized as the ablest strategist of the war, not excepting Grant or Sherman. His correspondence with his generals, his memoranda concerning the movements of troops, his instructions to the Secretary of War, the plans he suggested, and the comments and criticisms he made upon those of others indicate the possession of a military genius which in actual service would have given him a high reputation. In times of crisis his generals found him calm and resourceful; in great emergencies he was prompt, cool, and clear-sighted; and under the shock of defeat he was brave, strong, and hopeful.

Soon after his inauguration he began to realize the magnitude of the struggle and the responsibilities which rested upon him. He was convinced that the government was in the right, but determined that there should be no mistake on this point; therefore he gave the South every liberty and indulgence that could possibly be granted. He determined that the "overt act" should be committed by the South, that there should be no excuse to accuse the government of "invasion" or an attempt at "subjugation," and for that reason he delayed the attempt to reinforce and provision Fort Sumter. When the public understood the moral issues involved he gave the order, because he knew that he would be supported by a united North. In his inaugural address he said, "In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors." And that solemn pledge he endeavored to fulfil even at the risk of Northern criticism and the loss of the military posts at Charleston and other points in the South.

It was a disheartening and almost impossible situation for the new administration. President Lincoln and General Scott were left almost entirely dependent upon strangers and men of no experience who had been appointed for political reasons rather than for capacity or knowledge. Nearly all the trained officers of the army resigned as fast as their native States seceded; officers of Northern birth and sympathies had been sent to distant posts so that they could not interfere with the treasonable designs of Secretary Floyd during the Buchanan administration. Confusion, corruption, and complications were unavoidable, and caused the President unutterable anxiety and distress. Ignorance and zeal often provoked more trouble than could be corrected, and jealousy, rivalry, and partisanship made matters worse.

The political problems alone would have been as great a load as mortal man might have been expected to carry, but his perplexities were increased, his time occupied, and his patience sorely tested by such an undignified and unpatriotic clamor for offices as has never been exceeded in the history of our government. The Democratic party had been in power for many years. Every position in the gift of President Buchanan had been filled with a Democrat, many of them Southern sympathizers, and now hordes of hungry Republicans besieged the White House demanding appointments. The situation was described by the President in a single ejaculation. A Senator who noticed an expression of anxiety and dejection upon his face, inquired,—

"Has anything gone wrong, Mr. President? Have you heard bad news from Fort Sumter?"

"No," answered the President, solemnly. "It's the post-office at Jonesville, Missouri."

The area of the country was vast; the seat of war stretched from the Atlantic to the Missouri River, with a strip of States undecided in their purpose which must be carefully handled to prevent them from joining the Confederacy. With inexperienced and incompetent commanders, a divided Cabinet, public clamor dinning in his ears, and his mind harassed by other cares and perplexities, it was difficult to develop a military policy and plan a campaign for the suppression of the rebellion. Even if the situation had been divested of political significance, it would have taxed the genius of a Napoleon. The coast line to be protected was more than three thousand six hundred miles long, the frontier line was nearly eight thousand miles, and the field of operation covered an area larger than the whole of Europe. Furthermore, it was a political war, and everything must be planned with a view to political consequences. It was not a struggle between rival powers, nor for conquest, but for the preservation of the Union, and from the beginning President Lincoln appreciated that the common interests and the general welfare required that the integrity of the country be preserved with as little loss and as little punishment as possible to either side. Whatever damage was done must be repaired at the end by a reunited country; whatever was destroyed was a common loss. The war was a family affair, in which the sufferings and sorrows and material losses must be equally shared. With all these considerations in his mind, he undertook to guide the government in such a way as to prevent the dissolution of the Union and at the same time accomplish the overthrow of the slave power and the removal of that curse from the American people.

General Scott, like General Sherman, had accurately measured the requirements of the situation. Their experience and military instincts taught them that it was to be a long and a tedious struggle, and they urged deliberation and preparation as absolutely necessary to success. But, when General Sherman's opinion was made public, he was called a lunatic, and General Scott's practical plan of military operations was defeated by public ridicule. General Sherman demanded two hundred thousand men before attempting a campaign in the Mississippi Valley. General Scott called for only one hundred thousand men, but said they would be required for three years, and advised that they be distributed among ten or fifteen healthy camps for four months until they could be organized, drilled, and acclimated; then, after the navy had blockaded the harbors of the Southern coast, he proposed to move his army down both banks of the Mississippi River, establishing strong posts at frequent intervals to protect that stream until New Orleans was captured and occupied; he then proposed to move his army gradually eastward from the Mississippi and southward from the Potomac, slowly closing in upon the Confederacy until its military power was paralyzed. Notwithstanding the sorrows and anxieties of the North, the people howled with derision at this thorough, practical plan of the old veteran. The comic papers took it up and published cartoons representing a monster serpent with General Scott's head, coiled around the cotton States, and they called it "Scott's Anaconda." In the same breath they demanded a battle. "On to Richmond," they cried, and President Lincoln yielded to the clamor. The battle of Bull Run was fought, with its disastrous consequences. The lesson was valuable, as it taught the President that public opinion was not a safe guide to follow in military operations.

It must be remembered that in the midst of the most appalling situation in American history Lincoln stood practically alone because of a divided Cabinet and the age and infirmities of General Scott, then seventy-five years old, quite feeble in body and irritable of temper. The President had great respect for him and confidence in his patriotism and military judgment. He had supported Scott for President in 1852, had been in correspondence with him before the inauguration, and had encouraged him in his futile efforts to check the treasonable transactions of Secretary Floyd and other conspirators; but he soon discovered that the venerable warrior was in no condition to perform labor or assume responsibility. Yet he was reluctant to do anything to wound his pride or reflect upon his present ability. This increased the embarrassment and difficulties of the situation. General Scott recognized and appreciated Lincoln's consideration, but refused to resign or retire until finally driven from his post by McClellan.

At the White House, shortly after the battle of Bull Run, the old veteran, after listening to criticisms directed at the President for permitting the Union army to suffer defeat, broke out in his wrath,—

"Sir, I am the greatest coward in America. I will prove it. I fought this battle, sir, against my judgment; I think the President of the United States ought to remove me to-day for doing it. As God is my judge, after my superiors had determined to fight it, I did all in my power to make the army efficient. I deserve removal because I did not stand up when my army was not in a condition for fighting and resist to the last."

"Your conversation seems to imply that I forced you to fight this battle," suggested the President.

"I have never served a President who has been kinder to me than you have been," replied the general, avoiding the question.

The battle of Bull Run was fought to gratify the politicians. It was the only time the President yielded to public clamor, and he always regretted it. It was a political movement. When he assembled a council of war five days previous, the commanders declared that they had force enough to overcome the enemy; but General Scott was positive that such a victory could not be decisive, and advised a postponement of active hostilities for a few months until the army could be placed in a better condition. The Cabinet and the military committees of Congress feared that public sentiment in the North would not consent to the delay, and that the Confederate leaders would make such good use of it that the results of an offensive movement would be more doubtful then than now, hence an order for the advance was given. The President did not rebuke General Scott for his indignant outbreak, because he felt that his words were true.

The President suffered great anxiety during that eventful Sunday, but exhibited his usual self-control, and attended church with Mrs. Lincoln. After his noon dinner he walked over to the head-quarters of the army, where he found General Scott taking a nap, and woke him up to ask his opinion. The old gentleman was not only hopeful but confident, for one of his aides had arrived with a report that General McDowell was driving everything before him. The President's mind was relieved and about four o'clock he went out to drive. At six o'clock Secretary Seward staggered over the threshold of the White House and nervously asked for the President. When told that he was driving, he whispered to the private secretary,—

"Tell no one, but the battle is lost; McDowell is in full retreat, and calls on General Scott to save the capital."

When the President drove up to the portico a few minutes later he listened in silence to the message, but his head hung low as he crossed the White House grounds to head-quarters. There the disaster was confirmed, and he conferred long and anxiously with General Scott and Secretary Cameron as to the next duty. Towards midnight he returned to the White House and heard the accounts of members of Congress and others who had gone out to witness the battle. His long frame lay listlessly upon a couch, but his mind was active, his calmness and resolution had not been disturbed, and before he slept that night he had planned the reorganization of the army, and from that time undertook the direction of military as well as civil and diplomatic affairs; consulting freely with Senators and Representatives and officers of the army as he did with his constitutional advisers, but relying upon his own judgment more and more.

A gleam of hope arose in his mind that he might be relieved of much detail by George B. McClellan, a brilliant young officer, who had been called to Washington and appointed a major-general.

McClellan was a graduate of West Point, had served with distinction in the Mexican War, had been a member of a military commission to inspect the armies of Europe, had observed the conduct of the Crimean War, had been engaged in various scientific and diplomatic duties, had resigned from the army to become Chief Engineer of the Illinois Central Railroad when only thirty-one years old, was elected its Vice-President at thirty-two, and made President of the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad when he was thirty-four. He had made a brief but dashing campaign in West Virginia, and was credited with saving that State to the Union. His brilliant professional attainments, the executive ability he had displayed in railway management, combined with attractive personal qualities and influential social connections, made him the most conspicuous officer in the Union army and naturally excited the confidence of the President, who gave him a cordial welcome and intrusted him with the most responsible duties, making him second only to General Scott in command.

Unfortunately, however, the honors which were showered upon McClellan turned his head, and the young commander not only failed to comprehend the situation and his relations to the President and General Scott, but very soon developed signs of vanity and insubordination which caused the President great concern. He saw himself followed and flattered by statesmen, politicians, and soldiers of twice his age and experience. The members of the Cabinet and even the President himself came to his residence to ask his advice, and the venerable hero of the Mexican War deferred to his judgment and accepted his suggestions without hesitation. McClellan was the idol of the army and a magnet that attracted all the interest, influence, and ambition that were centred at Washington at that period of the war. His state of mind and weakness of character were exhibited in letters he wrote to his family at this time, which, by a lamentable error of judgment, were afterwards printed in his biography.

On July 27 he wrote his wife, "I find myself in a new and strange position here, President, Cabinet, General Scott and all deferring to me. By some strange operation of magic I seem to have become the power of the land."

A little later he wrote, "They give me my way in everything, full swing and unbounded confidence. Who would have thought when we were married that I should so soon be called upon to save my country?" Ten days after his appointment he declared, "I would cheerfully take the dictatorship and agree to lay down my life when the country is saved."

Very soon, however, the tone of his letters began to change. The President, General Scott, and the Cabinet had evidently begun to detect his weakness and egotism and no longer accepted his own estimate of his ability and importance. To the President's profound disappointment, he realized within a few days that McClellan was not a staff that could be leaned upon, while General Scott's admiration and confidence in his young lieutenant were shaken at their first interview.

With the air of an emperor McClellan began to issue extraordinary demands upon the President, the War Department, and the Treasury. It soon became apparent that he desired and expected to be placed in command of the greatest army of history; that he intended to organize and equip it according to the most advanced scientific theories; and when the President, the Secretary of War, and General Scott objected to the magnitude of his plans, pointed out their impracticability, and urged him to do something to check the alarming movements of the Confederates, he was seized with a delusion which remained with him to the end, that they were endeavoring to thwart and embarrass him. The tone of his letters to his wife was radically changed.

"I am here in a terrible place," he said; "the enemy have from three to four times my force; the President and the old General will not see the true state of affairs."

"I am weary of all this," he said a week later, "and disgusted with this administration,—perfectly sick of it;" and he declared that he remained at the head of affairs only because he had become convinced that he was alone the salvation of the country. He expressed especial contempt for the President, and said, "There are some of the greatest geese in the Cabinet I have ever seen,—enough to tax the patience of Job." The incompetence and stupidity of the President, he wrote, was "sickening in the extreme, and makes me feel heavy at heart when I see the weakness and unfitness of the poor beings who control the destinies of this country."

He wrote other friends that his wisdom alone must save the country, that he spent his time "trying to get the government to do its duty, and was thwarted and deceived by these incapables at every turn." He demanded that all recruits be sent to his army and that all supplies be issued to him, as if the armies in the Mississippi Valley could take care of themselves. He demanded that "the whole of the regular army, old and new, be at once ordered to report here," and that the trained officers be assigned to him. "It is the task of the Army of the Potomac to decide the question at issue," he declared. When advice and suggestions were offered him he rejected them contemptuously, and announced that whenever orders were issued to him he exercised his own judgment as to obedience.

General McClellan's vanity and presumption might have been overlooked by General Scott, but his insulting remarks could not be excused. Their relations reached an acute stage in August, 1861, notwithstanding the President's efforts at reconciliation. Again and again he apologized for and explained away the rudeness of the younger officer towards his superior; and General Scott, realizing the President's embarrassment, begged to be relieved from active command because of his age and infirmities. Perhaps it would have been wiser if the wishes of the aged general had been complied with, for he was now practically helpless, fretful, and forgetful, and his sensitiveness made it necessary to consult him upon every proposition and admit him to every conference. Finally, McClellan's contemptuous indifference, persistent disrespect, and continual disobedience provoked General Scott beyond endurance, and on the last day of October he asked that his name be placed on the list of army officers retired from active service.

"For more than three years," he wrote, "I have been unable from a hurt to mount a horse or to walk more than a few paces at a time and that with much pain. Other and new infirmities, dropsy, and vertigo, admonish me that repose of mind and body are necessary to add a little more to a life already protracted much beyond the usual span of man."

Lincoln, however, continued to consult him, and in June, 1862, made a visit to West Point for the purpose of asking his advice upon certain military movements then in contemplation. General Scott outlived him, and was the most distinguished figure at the obsequies of the martyred President at New York City in April, 1865.

After General Scott's retirement McClellan assumed even greater importance in his own eyes, and treated the President in the same contemptuous manner; yet the latter's indulgence was inexhaustible, and he would not even allow personal indignity to himself to interfere with his relations with the commander of his army. He was accustomed to visit army head-quarters and General McClellan's residence in the most informal manner, entering both without notification of his coming, and, if the general was not in, returning to the White House; but one night in November, 1861, he called at General McClellan's residence on a matter so important that he decided to await the latter's return from a wedding. Although informed that the President had been waiting an hour, McClellan went directly by the drawing-room upstairs, and when a servant went to remind him that the President wished to see him, the general sent down word that he was retiring and would like to be excused. Lincoln did not mention the insult. No one could have detected any difference in his treatment of General McClellan thereafter, except that he never entered his house again, and after that date when he wanted to see him sent for him to come to the Executive Mansion. On another occasion when the young general treated him with similar arrogance, Governor Dennison, of Ohio, and General Mitchell remonstrated, but the President replied cheerfully,—

"Never mind; I will hold McClellan's horse if he will only bring us success."

But he did not bring success, and the public as well as both Houses of Congress became very impatient about the idleness and delay of the Army of the Potomac. McClellan's "All quiet on the Potomac" became a slang phrase as notorious as General Butler's "contraband." Newspaper artists and cartoonists made him the subject of ridicule, committees of Senators and Representatives waited upon him, Legislatures passed resolutions, but he was no more affected by those promptings than he had been by the entreaties and admonitions of the President. When positive orders were issued, McClellan refused to obey them, or obeyed them in such a manner as to defeat their purpose. A committee of Congress was appointed to make an investigation. The President began to lose his patience, and declared that "if something were not done the bottom would drop out of the whole affair. If McClellan did not want to use the army he would like to borrow it, provided he could see how it could be made to do something." McClellan replied that his forces were insufficient; that he was outnumbered by the enemy. Finally, at a conference with the Cabinet, Secretary Chase, who had been his most enthusiastic admirer, but had lost all confidence in McClellan, asked the general point-blank what he intended to do and when he intended to do it. McClellan refused to answer the question unless the President ordered him to do so. The latter, with his usual consideration, attempted to protect the general, and in a conciliatory way asked whether he had resolved in his own mind when he would be able to make a forward movement. McClellan replied in the affirmative, but would give no further information. The President urged him to do so, but he continued to refuse, whereupon the former remarked,—

"Then I will adjourn the meeting."

The President waited a few weeks longer, and, as nothing was done, issued his famous Special War Order No. 1, in which he ordered the celebration of Washington's birthday, 1862, by a general movement of all the land and naval forces of the United States; but even then McClellan reported that he would be obliged to fall back until he could construct a railway.

"What does this mean?" asked the President, when Secretary Stanton read him the despatch.

"It means that it is a damn fizzle!" exclaimed the Secretary of War. "It means that he does not intend to do anything."

The President then issued General War Order No. 2, reorganizing the Army of the Potomac, and followed it with General War Order No. 3, which directed a movement in ten days; but still McClellan blocked the way, and continued to drill his troops, dig entrenchments, and write insolent letters to the President and Secretary of War.

"Had I twenty thousand or even ten thousand fresh troops to use to-morrow I could take Richmond," he telegraphed Secretary Stanton. "If I save this country now I tell you plainly that I owe no thanks to you or any other person in Washington. You have done your best to sacrifice this army."

The Secretary's rage may be imagined, and he would have had McClellan arrested and sent before a court-martial; but Lincoln's patience yet prevailed, and he crossed the Potomac for a personal conference with his insubordinate commander, urging him to make a forward movement. The members of the Cabinet drew up an indignant protest demanding the immediate removal of McClellan from command, but decided not to hand it to the President.

Finally, the Army of the Potomac was compelled to follow Lee northward, and after the battle of Antietam the President telegraphed McClellan: "Please do not let him [the enemy] get off without being hurt." Two weeks later he again visited the camp, and, after reviewing and inspecting the troops, remarked,—

"It is called the Army of the Potomac, but is only McClellan's body-guard."

President Lincoln's warmest defenders cannot excuse his procrastination with McClellan upon any other ground than excessive caution. They know that he acted against his own judgment; that he was convinced of McClellan's unfitness within three months after he had placed him in command, and that the conviction grew upon him daily, but his fear of offending public opinion and wounding McClellan's vanity led him to sacrifice the interests of the government and unnecessarily prolong the war. The same criticism can be made of his treatment of other generals intrusted with the command of the army. Of all his officers, no one ever possessed the full confidence of the President except General Grant.

While McClellan was in command Lincoln studied the military situation with characteristic thoroughness and penetration, and drew up memoranda in detail as to the movements of the army. He also gave his opinion as to what the enemy would do under the circumstances. These memoranda were rejected by McClellan in a contemptuous manner, but since they have become public they have commanded the respect and admiration of the ablest military critics.

The President's troubles were not confined to the Army of the Potomac, nor were they bounded by the Alleghany Mountains, but extended wherever there were military movements; wherever there were offices to be filled the same conditions existed; the same jealousies, rivalries, and incompetence interfered with the proper administration of the government. And the most popular heroes, the idols of the public, invariably caused the most confusion and showed the most flagrant indiscretion and incompetence. Second only in popularity to McClellan, perhaps even higher in the esteem of the Republican party, was John C. Frémont, the first candidate of that party for the Presidency, a man whose adventures as an explorer had excited the admiring interest of every school-boy, and whose activity in making California a state had given him a reputation for romance, gallantry, and patriotism. He was "the Pathfinder," and second only to Daniel Boone as a frontier hero. Seward had pressed him for appointment as Secretary of War; at one time Lincoln put him down on the slate as minister to France, and when the war broke out his name was among the first to suggest itself to the people as that of a savior of the country. He had been in France during the winter, and had sailed for home when Sumter was fired upon.

Upon his arrival in New York he was handed a commission as major-general in the regular army and orders to take command in the Mississippi Valley. It was an opportunity that any soldier might have envied, and the President expected him to proceed at once to his head-quarters at St. Louis, where his presence was imperatively needed; but the ovations he received in the East and the adulation that was paid him everywhere were too gratifying for his self-denial, and it was not until he received peremptory orders, twenty-five days after his appointment, that he proceeded leisurely westward to find his department in a state of the greatest confusion and apprehension. Instead, however, of devoting himself to the task of organization and getting an army into the field to quell disloyal uprisings and exterminate the bushwhackers who were burning towns, plundering farm-houses, tearing up railroads, murdering loyal citizens, and committing other crimes, he remained in St. Louis, taking more interest in political than in military questions, issuing commissions to his friends, and giving contracts with such a lavish hand and in such an irregular way as to provoke protest from the accounting officers of the government. Political intrigue and distrust were so prevalent that Frémont was accused of an ambition to lead a new secession movement, separate the Western States from the Union, and establish an empire under his own sovereignty similar to that of which Aaron Burr is supposed to have dreamed.

President Lincoln watched with anxiety and sorrow the dethronement of another popular idol, and defended and protected Frémont with the same charity and patience he had shown to McClellan. Instead of removing him from command, as he should have done, he endeavored to shield him from the consequences of his mismanagement, and sent General David Hunter, an old friend and veteran officer in whom he had great confidence, this request:

"General Frémont needs assistance which is difficult to give him. He is losing the confidence of men near him, whose support any man in his position must have to be successful.... He needs to have by his side a man of large experience. Will you not for me take that place? Your rank is one grade too high to be ordered to it; but will you not serve your country and oblige me by taking it voluntarily."

With this letter General Hunter went to St. Louis to try and save Frémont, but it was too late. Frémont's principal political backing came from the Blair family, who were also his warmest personal friends; but, when they endeavored to advise and restrain him, a quarrel broke out and Frémont placed General Frank P. Blair under arrest. Blair preferred formal charges against his commander; and his father and brother, the latter being Postmaster-General, demanded Frémont's removal on account of incapacity. Then, to increase Lincoln's anxieties and perplexities, Mrs. Jessie Benton Frémont, the daughter of Senator Benton and a romantic figure in American history, appeared in Washington to conduct her husband's side of the quarrel, denouncing the Blairs and all other critics with unmeasured contempt and earnestness.

The President confesses that he was exasperated almost beyond endurance. Mrs. Frémont, he says, "sought an audience with me at midnight, and attacked me so violently with many things that I had to exercise all the awkward tact I had to avoid quarrelling with her. She more than once intimated that if General Frémont should decide to try conclusions with me, he could set up for himself."

While the weary President was spending sleepless nights planning the reorganization of the Army of the Potomac and an offensive campaign to satisfy public clamor, he endeavored to arbitrate the quarrel between Frémont and the Blairs. In the midst of his efforts at conciliation, General Frémont startled the country and almost paralyzed the President by issuing an emancipation proclamation and an order that all persons found with arms in their hands should be shot. The President wrote him a gentle but firm remonstrance, "in a spirit of caution and not of censure," he said, and sent it by special messenger to St. Louis, "in order that it may certainly and speedily reach you." Mrs. Frémont brought the reply to Washington. It was an apology mixed with defiance. Frémont asserted that he had acted from convictions of duty with full deliberation, and proceeded at length to argue the justice and expediency of the step; and he was as much encouraged in his defiance as Lincoln was embarrassed by the radical Republican leaders and newspapers of the North. Frémont's proclamation was revoked by order of the President, but it was not so easy to correct the mistakes he had made in administration. Finally, after long deliberation and upon the advice of three experienced officers in whom he had great confidence and who had been with Frémont and were familiar with his conduct and the political and military situation, the President relieved him from command.

Frémont accepted the inevitable with dignity. He issued a farewell address to his army, was given ovations by radical Republicans in different parts of the country, but was not again intrusted with an independent command.

After he arose from his sleepless bed the morning following the battle of Bull Run, Lincoln devoted every spare moment to the study of the map of the seat of war and to reading military history. A shelf in his private library was filled with books on tactics, the histories of great campaigns, and such military authorities upon the science of warfare as might afford him ideas, valuable information, and suggestions. He undertook the preparation of a plan of campaign precisely as he had been accustomed to prepare for a trial in court, and before many days his quick perceptions, his retentive memory, and his reasoning powers had given him wider knowledge than was possessed by any of his generals. He did not fail to consult every person in whom he had confidence both upon abstract military questions and geographical and political conditions, and before long he developed a plan which he submitted to the military committees of Congress a few days after Congress assembled in December, 1861. Several of the most influential Senators and Representatives who did not belong to the committees were invited to be present. He proposed, first to maintain the military force along the Potomac to menace Richmond; second, to move an army from Cairo southward within easy communication of a flotilla upon the Mississippi; and, third, to send an army from Cincinnati eastward to Cumberland Gap in East Tennessee. Preliminary to the latter movement he proposed the construction of a railway from Cincinnati to Knoxville by way of Lexington, Kentucky, in order to avoid the difficulties and delays of transportation through the mountains, and military authorities now agree that if his advice had been followed the war would have been shortened at least two years. Mr. Nicolay, his private secretary, reports the substance of the President's appeal to Congress, as he stood before a map of Tennessee in the President's room at the Capitol:

"I am thoroughly convinced that the closing struggle of the war will occur somewhere in this mountain country. By our superior numbers and strength we will everywhere drive the rebel armies back from the level districts lying along the coast, from those lying south of the Ohio River, and from those lying east of the Mississippi River. Yielding to our superior force, they will gradually retreat to the more defensible mountain districts, and make their final stand in that part of the South where the seven States of Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee, Kentucky, and West Virginia come together. The population there is overwhelmingly and devotedly loyal to the Union. The despatches from Brigadier-General Thomas of October 28 and November 5 show that, with four additional good regiments, he is willing to undertake the campaign and is confident he can take immediate possession. Once established, the people will rally to his support, and by building a railroad, over which to forward him regular supplies and needed reinforcements from time to time, we can hold it against all attempts to dislodge us, and at the same time menace the enemy in any one of the States I have named."

There was no response to this appeal, except from the Senators and Representatives from East Tennessee, where nearly the entire population were loyal to the Union. One of the motives of the President in planning this campaign was to protect them from the raids of the Confederate cavalry. The Congressmen who heard him, however, were determined to gratify the public demand for an assault upon Richmond. All eyes were upon the Army of the Potomac, and it was popularly believed that if an assault were made and the Confederate capital captured, the rebellion would be promptly crushed. The President then undertook to carry out his plan with the forces at his disposal, but General Buell was too stubborn and too slow, either refusing to carry out his orders or wasting his time and strength in arguments against the practicability of the plan. If the same time, money, and military strength that were expended in his attempted march from Corinth to East Tennessee during the following summer had been devoted to the construction of a railroad, as proposed by the President, the entire situation in the Mississippi Valley would have been changed, and the battles which made Grant, Thomas, and Sherman famous would never have been fought. This is the opinion of the military experts after a quarter of a century of controversy, and the longer the subject is discussed the more firmly established is the verdict in favor of the wisdom and practicability of Lincoln's plan.

General McClellan was not the only military commander to annoy and perplex the President by procrastination and argument. The official records of the war at this time are filled with letters and telegrams addressed by Lincoln to Buell and Halleck, appealing to them to obey his orders and move towards the enemy. Buell kept promising to do so, but his delay was exasperating, and, differing in opinion from his superiors, he was, like McClellan, continually guilty of insubordination. Halleck, who was considered one of the ablest and best-equipped officers in the Union army, and was intended to be the successor of General Scott, was equally dilatory, although he had a better excuse, because, when he assumed command at St. Louis, succeeding General Frémont, he found the whole department in a deplorable condition, and was working with great energy and ability to organize and equip an army for the field. It is undoubtedly the case that both Buell and Halleck lacked confidence in the President's military capacity and placed a higher value upon their own judgment; but, whether the President realized this or not, he laid out the plan of a campaign and gave orders to both generals to co-operate in a joint land and river expedition up the Tennessee or Cumberland River. Neither made the slightest preparation for it or communicated with each other on the subject,—an act of insubordination that would not have been tolerated in any other country in the world. Then, when the President began to press his generals, Halleck excused himself for refusing to carry out his orders on the ground that it was bad strategy, and Buell made no reply whatever.

The patience of the President seemed inexhaustible. He kept his temper, and finally persuaded General Halleck to make a demonstration, which resulted in the capture of Forts Henry and Donelson and the famous campaign of General Grant in the early spring of 1862. The results of that campaign might have been much more conclusive had General Buell obeyed orders and responded to the appeals of General Halleck for assistance and to the President's orders for him to co-operate. Lincoln watched every step of the march with anxious interest, and his telegrams show that he anticipated Grant's movements with remarkable accuracy. His suggestions show how familiar he was with the country and the location of the Confederate forces. One of his telegrams to Halleck illustrates his knowledge of detail. It reads,—

"You have Fort Donelson safe, unless Grant shall be overwhelmed from outside; to prevent which latter will, I think, require all the vigilance, energy, and skill of yourself and Buell, acting in full co-operation. Columbus will not get at Grant, but the force from Bowling Green will. They hold the railroad from Bowling Green to within a few miles of Fort Donelson, with the bridge at Clarksville undisturbed. It is unsafe to rely that they will not dare to expose Nashville to Buell. A small part of their force can retire slowly towards Nashville, breaking up the railroad as they go, and keep Buell out of that city twenty days. Meantime, Nashville will be abundantly defended by forces from all south and perhaps from here at Manassas. Could not a cavalry force from General Thomas on the upper Cumberland dash across, almost unresisted, and cut the railroad at or near Knoxville, Tennessee? In the midst of a bombardment at Fort Donelson, why could not a gunboat run up and destroy the bridge at Clarksville? Our success or failure at Fort Donelson is vastly important, and I beg you to put your soul in the effort. I send a copy of this to Buell."

Imagine his sensations when he received a reply from General Halleck: "Make Buell, Grant, and Pope major-generals of volunteers and give me command in the West. I ask this in return for Fort Henry and Donelson."

The President realized the situation, made the promotions, consolidated the different departments west of the Blue Ridge Mountains, placed Halleck in command, and directed him to take advantage of "the golden opportunity;" but the latter was too deliberate, and it required only a brief experience to demonstrate that he was unfit to command troops in the field. He was called to Washington, placed at the head-quarters of the army to succeed General McClellan, and Grant was left in command of the army in Tennessee, where he undertook the task of opening the Mississippi in his own way, having the full confidence of the President.

It is quite remarkable that from the beginning Lincoln's confidence in Grant was firm and abiding. This may have been partly due to the strong endorsements he had received from Representative Washburne and other mutual friends, although Grant was not highly regarded at home at that time, and found difficulty in obtaining a commission from the Governor of Illinois. President Lincoln had never seen him until he came East to take command of the army, and had heard evil as well as good reports concerning that silent but stubborn soldier who was working his way down the banks of the Mississippi and closing around Vicksburg. There is no evidence, however, except his own words, that Lincoln's faith in him was ever shaken. He gave Grant no orders, sent him no telegrams or letters such as he had written to Halleck, Buell, Rosecrans, and other commanders in the West, and there must have been some reason for his not doing so. We are left only the inference that his sagacity taught him that Grant was not a man to be interfered with; and although his patience, like that of the rest of the country, was being sorely tried by the lack of tangible results in the West, he waited until the problem was worked out and then wrote Grant the following candid and characteristic letter:

"My dear General: I do not remember that you and I ever met personally. I write this now as a grateful acknowledgment for the almost inestimable service you have done the country. I wish to say a word further. When you first reached the vicinity of Vicksburg, I thought you should do what you finally did—march the troops across the neck, run the batteries with the transports, and thus go below; and I never had any faith, except a general hope that you knew better than I, that the Yazoo Pass expedition and the like could succeed. When you got below and took Port Gibson, Grand Gulf, and vicinity, I thought you should go down the river and join General Banks, and when you turned northward, east of the Big Black, I feared it was a mistake. I now wish to make the personal acknowledgment that you were right and I was wrong."

Copyright, 1901, by M. P. Rice

GENERAL ULYSSES S. GRANT

From an original, unretouched negative made in 1864, when he was commissioned Lieutenant-General and commander of all the armies of the republic

Such letters are very seldom written by the rulers of nations to the commanders of their armies. Confirming the obligation, and as a reward for the victories of Donelson, Vicksburg, and Chattanooga, the President recommended the revival of the rank of lieutenant-general, which had been conferred only upon Washington and Scott. His recommendation was adopted by Congress, Grant was called to Washington, and at a public reception at the White House on March 8, 1864, he met Lincoln for the first time. On the following day he was formally invested with his new rank and authority by the President in the presence of the Cabinet and several civil and military officials. It was not often that such formalities occurred at the capital of the simple republic. Lincoln was very much averse to formalities of all kinds. His democratic spirit led him to avoid parade, but here was an occasion which his political instincts taught him might be used to impress the country; hence the unusual ceremony was arranged.

General Grant did not reach Washington until the early evening of March 8, 1864, and the reception at the White House began at eight o'clock. A message from the White House notified him that the President desired his attendance if he was not too tired by his journey; so, immediately after his arrival he took a hasty supper, changed his travel-worn uniform for a fresh one, and, in company with an aide-de-camp, reached the White House about half-past nine o'clock. The cheers that greeted him as he was recognized by the crowd about the portico reached the President's ears, but that was the only announcement of the approach of the latest popular hero. General Grant took his place in line with the other guests and slowly passed through the corridor and anteroom to the door of the Blue Parlor where the President stood, with Mrs. Lincoln and the ladies of the Cabinet at his side, receiving his guests and shaking hands with them as they passed before him. He recognized Grant without an introduction, being familiar with his portraits, and these two remarkable men gazed into each other's eyes in an inquiring way for a moment, while the people watched them with absorbing interest. After exchanging the ordinary phrases of greeting, the President introduced General Grant to Mr. Seward, and the latter led him into the East Room, where he was received with cheer after cheer, and, blushing with embarrassment, was compelled to stand upon a sofa where people could see him, because he was so short of stature that he was hidden in the throng.

The President asked Grant to remain after the close of the reception, and they had a long conference. As Grant was leaving the White House the President explained to him the reasons for the formality that would be observed in presenting his commission as lieutenant-general on the following day.

"I shall make a very short speech to you," said he, "to which I desire that you should make a brief reply for an object; and that you may be properly prepared to do so I have written what I shall say, only four sentences in all, which I will read from my manuscript as an example which you may follow, and also read your reply, as you are perhaps not so much accustomed to public speaking as I am, and I therefore give you what I shall say so that you may consider it. There are two points that I would like to have you make in your answer: first, to say something which shall prevent or obviate any jealousy of you from any of the other generals in the service; and, second, something which shall put you on as good terms as possible with the Army of the Potomac. If you see any objection to this, be under no restraint whatever in expressing that objection to the Secretary of War."

General Grant and Mr. Stanton left the White House together. The next day, at one o'clock, in presence of the Cabinet, General Halleck, two members of Grant's staff, and the President's private secretary, the commission of lieutenant-general was formally delivered by the President. Mr. Lincoln said,—

"General Grant, the nation's appreciation of what you have done, and its reliance upon you for what remains to do in the existing great struggle, are now presented, with this commission constituting you Lieutenant-General in the army of the United States. With this high honor devolves upon you, also, a corresponding responsibility. As the country herein trusts you, so, under God, it will sustain you. I scarcely need to add that with what I here speak for the nation goes my own hearty personal concurrence."

The general had written his speech on half of a sheet of note-paper, in lead-pencil, but when he came to read it he was as embarrassed as Washington was when the House of Burgesses at Williamsburg tendered him its thanks after the Braddock campaign. He found his own writing very difficult to read, but what he said could hardly have been improved:

"Mr. President, I accept this commission with gratitude for the high honor conferred. With the aid of the noble armies that have fought on so many fields for our common country, it will be my earnest endeavor not to disappoint your expectation. I feel the full weight of the responsibilities now devolving on me, and I know that, if they are met, it will be due to those armies and, above all, to the favor of that Providence which leads both nations and men."

It will be observed that Grant did not comply with the request of the President, and his speech contains no reference to the subject to which the President alluded on the previous evening. Grant never offered an explanation and Lincoln never asked one. Some writers have advanced the theory that Secretary Stanton, who often differed from the President in regard to little matters, advised Grant not to refer to such delicate subjects, but it is more probable that, with his distrust of politicians and his fear of becoming complicated with them as McClellan and others had been, the wary warrior thought it wise to be entirely non-committal. Before leaving his head-quarters in the West, Grant had written Sherman, "I shall say very distinctly on my arrival there [Washington] that I shall accept no appointment which will require me to make that city my head-quarters," and Sherman had urged him to stand by that resolution: "Do not stay in Washington. Halleck is better qualified than you to stand the buffets of intrigue and politics."

After the presentation ceremonies the President and Grant retired together, and the latter inquired what was expected of him. Lincoln answered that he was expected to take Richmond; that every one who had tried it so far had failed, and he asked Grant point-blank if he thought he could do it. With the same directness and simplicity Grant answered that he could if he had the troops. The President assured him that he should have all the troops he needed and that he would not be interfered with in the management of the campaign. Grant himself says, "I did not communicate my plans to the President, nor did I to the Secretary of War, nor to General Halleck;" and the President wrote him that he neither knew nor wished to know his plan of operations, but wanted to tender his good wishes and promise every aid which the government could furnish. "If the results shall be less favorable than I hope and the government expects," he said, "the fault will not be the fault of the administration." Under those circumstances Grant assumed command of the army, and from that time President Lincoln felt himself relieved from the responsibility of planning and directing military movements.

After making an inspection of the army, Grant returned to Washington, had another conference with President Lincoln, established his head-quarters at Culpeper, and prepared for active operations. On April 30, 1864, the President sent him the following candid letter:

"Not expecting to see you again before the spring campaign opens, I wish to express in this way my entire satisfaction with what you have done up to this time, so far as I understand it. The particulars of your plan I neither know nor seek to know. You are vigilant and self-reliant; and, pleased with this, I wish not to obtrude any constraints or restraints upon you. While I am very anxious that any great disaster or capture of our men in great numbers shall be avoided, I know these points are less likely to escape your attention than they would be mine. If there is anything wanting which is within my power to give, do not fail to let me know it. And now, with a brave army and a just cause, may God sustain you."

Grant's immediate reply confessed the groundlessness of his apprehensions:

"From my first entrance into the volunteer service of the country to the present day, I have never had cause of complaint—have never expressed or implied a complaint against the administration, or the Secretary of War, for throwing any embarrassment in the way of my vigorously prosecuting what appeared to me my duty. Indeed, since the promotion which placed me in command of all the armies, and in view of the great responsibility and importance of success, I have been astonished at the readiness with which everything asked for has been yielded, without even an explanation being asked. Should my success be less than I desire and expect, the least I can say is, the fault is not with you."

In his reminiscences, General Grant says, "Just after receiving my commission as lieutenant-general, the President called me aside to speak to me privately. After a brief reference to the military situation, he said he thought he could illustrate what he wanted to say by a story, which he related as follows: 'At one time there was a great war among the animals, and one side had great difficulty in getting a commander who had sufficient confidence in himself. Finally, they found a monkey, by the name of Jocko, who said that he thought he could command their army if his tail could be made a little longer. So they got more tail and spliced it on to his caudal appendage. He looked at it admiringly, and then thought he ought to have a little more still. This was added, and again he called for more. The splicing process was repeated many times, until they had coiled Jocko's tail around the room, filling all the space. Still he called for more tail, and, there being no other place to coil it, they began wrapping it around his shoulders. He continued his call for more, and they kept on winding the additional tail about him until its weight broke him down.' I saw the point, and, rising from my chair, replied, 'Mr. President, I will not call for more assistance unless I find it impossible to do with what I already have.'

"Upon one occasion," continued Grant, "when the President was at my head-quarters at City Point, I took him to see the work that had been done on the Dutch Gap Canal. After taking him around and showing him all the points of interest, explaining how, in blowing up one portion of the work that was being excavated, the explosion had thrown the material back into, and filled up, a part already completed, he turned to me and said, 'Grant, do you know what this reminds me of? Out in Springfield, Illinois, there was a blacksmith named ——. One day, when he did not have much to do, he took a piece of soft iron that had been in his shop for some time, and for which he had no special use, and, starting up his fire, began to heat it. When he got it hot he carried it to the anvil and began to hammer it, rather thinking he would weld it into an agricultural implement. He pounded away for some time until he got it fashioned into some shape, when he discovered that the iron would not hold out to complete the implement he had in mind. He then put it back into the forge, heated it up again, and recommenced hammering, with an ill-defined notion that he would make a claw hammer, but after a time he came to the conclusion that there was more iron there than was needed to form a hammer. Again he heated it, and thought he would make an axe. After hammering and welding it into shape, knocking the oxidized iron off in flakes, he concluded there was not enough of the iron left to make an axe that would be of any use. He was now getting tired and a little disgusted at the result of his various essays. So he filled his forge full of coal, and, after placing the iron in the centre of the heap, took the bellows and worked up a tremendous blast, bringing the iron to a white heat. Then with his tongs he lifted it from the bed of coals, and thrusting it into a tub of water near by, exclaimed with an oath, "Well, if I can't make anything else of you, I will make a fizzle, anyhow."'"

A friend once asked Lincoln whether the story was true that he had inquired where General Grant got his liquor, so that he might send a barrel to each of his other generals. Lincoln replied that the story originated in King George's time. When General Wolfe was accused of being mad, the King replied, "I wish he would bite some of my other generals."

At the dedication of the Lincoln monument at Springfield, October 15, 1874, General Grant said, "From March, 1864, to the day when the hand of the assassin opened a grave for Mr. Lincoln, then President of the United States, my personal relations with him were as close and intimate as the nature of our respective duties would permit. To know him personally was to love and respect him for his great qualities of heart and head and for his patience and patriotism. With all his disappointments from failures on the part of those to whom he had intrusted commands, and treachery on the part of those who had gained his confidence but to betray it, I never heard him utter a complaint, nor cast a censure, for bad conduct or bad faith. It was his nature to find excuses for his adversaries. In his death the nation lost its greatest hero; in his death the South lost its most just friend."

These relations thus established were never disturbed. Grant was the first of all the generals in whom the President placed implicit confidence; he was the only one with whom he seemed to feel entirely at ease; and although their communications were frequent and voluminous, there was seldom a difference of opinion. They contain no complaint or reproach, but ring with mutual confidence and appreciation. Seldom have two men of such remarkable character and ability enjoyed such unruffled relations. Military history furnishes no similar instance. Each seemed to measure the other at his full stature and recognize his strength. There were many busybodies carrying tales and striving to excite suspicion and jealousy, but their faith could not be shaken or their confidence impaired. Lincoln's letters to Grant offer a striking contrast to those addressed to Burnside, Hooker, McClellan, and other commanders.

General Ambrose E. Burnside was selected to command the Army of the Potomac after McClellan was relieved November 5, 1862. He was a classmate and intimate friend of his predecessor, handsome, brave, generous, and as modest as McClellan was vain. He not only did not seek the honor, but declined it twice on the ground that he was not competent to command so large an army, but finally accepted the responsibility at the urgent wish of the President, and very soon demonstrated the mistake. His career was as unfortunate as it was brief, but his manly report of the unfortunate battle of Fredericksburg did him great credit, for he assumed all the responsibility for the failure and said nothing but praise of his men.

The President replied by a kind and sympathetic despatch after his failure at Fredericksburg, and fully appreciated his situation. "Although you were not successful," he said, "the attempt was not an error nor the failure other than accident. The courage with which you in an open field maintained the contest against an intrenched foe, and the consummate skill and success with which you crossed and recrossed the river in the face of the enemy, show that you possess all the qualities of a great army, which will yet give victory to the cause of the country and of popular government."

Burnside's confession of failure destroyed the confidence of the army in him, and Burnside realized it. "Doubtless," he said, "this difference of opinion between my general officers and myself results from a lack of confidence in me. In this case it is highly necessary that this army should be commanded by some other officer, to whom I will most cheerfully give way."

The President replied, "I deplore the want of concurrence with you in opinion by your general officers, but I do not see the remedy. Be cautious, and do not understand that the government or the country is driving you. I do not yet see how I could profit by changing the command of the Army of the Potomac, and if I did I would not wish to do it by accepting the resignation of your commission."

Nevertheless, it was futile for the President to pretend that Burnside's usefulness as commander of the army was not at an end, and the latter determined to bring about a crisis himself by recommending for dismissal from the army General Joseph Hooker for "unjust and unnecessary criticisms of the actions of his superior officer.... As unfit to hold an important commission during a crisis like the present when so much patience, charity, confidence, consideration, and patriotism are due from every soldier in the field." Burnside also prepared an order dismissing nine other generals, and with his usual frankness took them to Washington and asked the President's approval. As an alternative he tendered his own resignation. Lincoln realized that a commander who had lost the confidence of his army and the country at large could not restore it by punishing his critics, so, in the most kindly manner, he accepted Burnside's resignation and assigned General Hooker to command. The President was fully aware of Hooker's weakness, and that the latter's conduct and language concerning Burnside and himself had been not only indiscreet and insubordinate, but actually insulting. But he was willing to overlook all that and confer honor and responsibility upon him because he believed in his ability and patriotism, and knew that the soldiers held him in higher esteem than any other general in the East. But accompanying Hooker's commission was a letter which no man but Abraham Lincoln could have written without giving offence, and nothing from the pen of the President at that period of his life better indicates the complete self-control and self-confidence which possessed him.

"I have placed you at the head of the Army of the Potomac," he said. "Of course I have done this upon what appears to me sufficient reason, and yet I think it best for you to know that there are some things in regard to which I am not quite satisfied with you. I believe you to be a brave and skilful soldier, which, of course, I like. I also believe you do not mix politics with your profession, in which you are right. You have confidence in yourself, which is a valuable, if not an indispensable quality. You are ambitious, which, within reasonable bounds, does good rather than harm; but I think that during General Burnside's command of the army you have taken counsel of your ambition and thwarted him as much as you could, in which you did a great wrong to the country and to a most meritorious and honorable brother officer. I have heard, in such a way as to believe it, of your recently saying that both the army and the government needed a dictator. Of course it was not for this, but in spite of it, that I have given you the command. Only those generals who gain successes can set up dictators. What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship. The government will support you to the utmost of its ability, which is neither more nor less than it has done and will do for all commanders. I much fear that the spirit which you have aided to infuse into the army, of criticising their commander and withholding confidence from him, will now turn upon you. I shall assist you as far as I can to put it down. Neither you nor Napoleon, if he were alive again, could get any good out of an army while such a spirit prevails in it; and now beware of rashness. Beware of rashness, but with energy and sleepless vigilance go forward and give us victories."

General Hooker received this rebuke and admonition in the spirit in which it was offered; he recognized its justice, and endeavored to restore himself in the President's estimation; but his first important movement was defeated by the enemy, and, although it was not so great a disaster as that of Burnside at Fredericksburg, the battle of Chancellorsville, in May, 1863, marked the darkest hour in the Civil War and inspired Lee and the Confederate authorities with confidence of the ultimate success of the rebellion. Mr. W. O. Stoddard, an inmate of the White House at that time, has given us the following picture:

"The darkest hour in the Civil War came in the first week of May, 1863, after the bloody battle of Chancellorsville. The country was weary of the long war, with its draining taxes of gold and blood. Discontent prevailed everywhere, and the opponents of the Lincoln administration were savage in their denunciation. More than a third of each day's mail already consisted of measureless denunciation; another large part was made up of piteous appeals for peace.

"There were callers at the White House. Members of the Senate and House came with gloomy faces; the members of the Cabinet came to consult or condole. The house was like a funeral, and those who entered or left it trod softly for fear they might wake the dead.

"That night the last visitors in Lincoln's room were Stanton and Halleck, and the President was left alone. Not another soul except the one secretary busy with the mail in his room across the hall. The ticking of a clock would have been noticeable; but another sound came that was almost as regular and as ceaseless. It was the tread of the President's feet as he strode slowly back and forth across his chamber. That ceaseless march so accustomed the ear to it that when, a little after twelve, there was a break of several minutes, the sudden silence made one put down his letters and listen.

"The President may have been at his table writing, or he may—no man knows or can guess; but at the end of the minutes, long or short, the tramp began again. Two o'clock and he was walking yet, and when, a little after three, the secretary's task was done and he slipped noiselessly out, he turned at the head of the stairs for a moment. It was so—the last sound he heard as he went down was the footfall in Lincoln's room.

"The young man was there again before eight o'clock. The President's room was open. There sat Lincoln eating his breakfast alone. He had not been out of his room; but there was a kind of cheery, hopeful morning light on his face. He had watched all night, but beside his cup of coffee lay his instructions to General Hooker to push forward. There was a decisive battle won that night in that long vigil with disaster and despair. Only a few weeks later the Army of the Potomac fought it over again as desperately—and they won it—at Gettysburg."

From the time when Hooker took command the President kept closer watch than ever upon the movements of the Army of the Potomac, and his directions were given with greater detail than before. He had no confidence in Hooker's ability to plan, although he felt that he was a good fighter.

Early in June, 1863, Hooker reported his opinion that Lee intended to move on Washington, and asked orders to attack the Confederate rear. To this Lincoln answered in quaint satire, "In case you find Lee coming north of the Rappahannock I would by no means cross to the south of it. If he should leave a rear force at Fredericksburg, tempting you to fall upon it, it would fight you in entrenchments and have you at a disadvantage, while his main force would in some way be getting an advantage of you northward. In one word, I would not take any risk of being entangled upon the river, like an ox would jump half over a fence and be liable to be torn by dogs front and rear, without a fair chance to gore one way or kick the other."

To illustrate how dependent was the commander of the Army of the Potomac upon Lincoln I give another despatch, sent by the President to Hooker when the latter proposed to make a dash upon Richmond while Lee was moving his army westward towards the Shenandoah Valley.

"If left to me, I would not go south of the Rappahannock upon Lee's moving north of it. If you had Richmond invested to-day, you would not be able to take it in twenty days; meanwhile your communications, and with them your army, would be ruined. I think Lee's army, and not Richmond, is your true objective point. If he comes towards the upper Potomac, follow on his flank and on his inside track, shortening your lines while he lengthens his. Fight him, too, when opportunity offers. If he stays where he is, fret him and fret him."

A few days later Lincoln telegraphed Hooker, "If the head of Lee's army is at Martinsburg and the tail of it on the plank road between Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, the animal must be very slim somewhere. Could you not break him?" But Hooker made no attempt to do so, and merely followed Lee northward through Virginia and Maryland into Pennsylvania, keeping on the "inside track," as Mr. Lincoln suggested, between the Confederate army and Washington. Before the battle of Gettysburg, which ended the most aggressive campaign of the Confederates, a long-standing feud between Hooker and Halleck became so acute that the President saw that one or the other of them must be relieved. Hooker, in a fit of irritation because Halleck had declined to comply with some unimportant request, asked to be relieved from the command, and the President selected George G. Meade to succeed him. A few days later the battle of Gettysburg was fought. The vain ambition of Lee and Davis to raise the Confederate flag over Independence Hall and establish the head-quarters of the Confederate government in Philadelphia was dissipated and Lee fell back, leaving two thousand six hundred killed, twelve thousand wounded, and five thousand prisoners.

Lincoln's military instincts taught him that the war could be practically ended there if the advantages gained at Gettysburg were properly utilized, and so implored Meade to renew his attack. But Meade held back, Lee escaped, and for once the President lost his patience. In the intensity of his disappointment he wrote Meade as follows:

"You fought and beat the enemy at Gettysburg, and, of course, his loss was as great as yours. He retreated, and you did not, as it seemed to me, pressingly pursue him; but a flood in the river detained him till, by slow degrees, you were again upon him. You had at least twenty thousand veteran troops directly with you and as many more raw ones within supporting distance, all in addition to those who fought with you at Gettysburg, while it was not possible that he had received a single recruit, and yet you stood and let the flood run down, bridges be built, and the enemy move away at his leisure, without attacking him. Again, my dear general, I do not believe you appreciate the magnitude of the misfortune involved in Lee's escape. He was within your easy grasp, and to have closed upon him would, in connection with our other late successes, have ended the war. As it is, the war will be prolonged indefinitely. If you could not safely attack Lee last Monday, how can you possibly do so south of the river, when you can take with you very few more than two-thirds of the force you then had in hand? I would be unreasonable to expect, and I do not expect (that) you can now effect much. Your golden opportunity is gone, and I am distressed immeasurably because of it."

Before the mails left that night Lincoln's wrath was spent, his amiability was restored, and this letter was never sent.

It is impossible in the limits of this volume to relate the details of the war, but from the detached incidents that have been given, and the narrative of his relations with Scott, McClellan, Frémont, Grant, and other generals referred to in this chapter, the reader may form a clear and accurate conception of Abraham Lincoln's military genius and the unselfish and often ill-advised consideration with which he invariably treated his commanders. During the last year of the war the right men seem to have found the right places, and in all the voluminous correspondence of the President from the White House and the War Department with Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, and Thomas there appears to have been a perfect understanding and complete unity of opinion and purpose between them. He allowed them greater liberty than other commanders had enjoyed, evidently because they had his confidence to a higher degree; he never was compelled to repeat the entreaties, admonitions, and rebukes with which the pages of his correspondence during the earlier part of the war were filled. His relations with Sherman cannot better be defined than by the following brief letter:

"My dear General Sherman: Many, many thanks for your Christmas gift, the capture of Savannah. When you were about leaving Atlanta for the Atlantic coast I was anxious, if not fearful; but feeling that you were the better judge, and remembering that 'nothing risked, nothing gained,' I did not interfere. Now, the undertaking being a success, the honor is all yours, for I believe none of us went farther than to acquiesce. And taking the work of General Thomas into the count, as it should be taken, it is, indeed, a great success. Not only does it afford the obvious and immediate military advantages, but in showing to the world that your army could be divided, putting the stronger part to an important new service, and yet leaving enough to vanquish the old opposing force of the whole—Hood's army—it brings those who sat in darkness to see a great light. But what next? I suppose it will be safe if I leave General Grant and yourself to decide. Please make my grateful acknowledgments to your whole army, officers and men."

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

GRAND REVIEW OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC BY PRESIDENT LINCOLN AT FALMOUTH, VIRGINIA, IN APRIL, 1863

Lincoln's relations with Sheridan were limited. They never met but twice, and there was very little correspondence between them, the most notable being the laconic despatch after Sheridan's fight with Ewell at Sailor's Creek, near the Appomattox. That was one of the last blows struck at the Confederacy, and Sheridan, realizing the situation, made a hasty report, ending with the words,—

"If the thing is pressed I think Lee will surrender."

Grant forwarded the despatch to President Lincoln, who instantly replied,—

"Let the thing be pressed."

When he had read the telegram describing Sheridan's last fight with Early in the Shenandoah Valley, he remarked that he once knew a man who loaded a piece of punk with powder, lighted it, clapped it inside a biscuit, and tossed it to a savage dog that was snarling at him. In an instant the dog snapped it up and swallowed it. Presently the fire touched the powder and away went the dog, his head in one place, a leg here and another there, and the different parts scattered all over the country. "And," said the man, "as for the dog, as a dog, I was never able to find him." "And that," remarked the President, "is very much the condition of Early's army, as an army."

President Lincoln's appearance in Richmond after the Confederacy fell to pieces was one of the most dramatic scenes in all history because of its extreme simplicity and the entire absence of rejoicing or parade. There was no triumphant entrance, as the world might have expected when a conqueror occupies the capital of the conquered. Never before or since has an event of such transcendent significance occurred with so little ostentation or ceremony. Lincoln was at City Point, the head-quarters of General Grant, and was lodged upon a little steamer called the "River Queen" when he heard of the capture of Richmond and the fire that consumed a large part of that city. The same day he went up the river without escort of any kind, landed at a wharf near Libby Prison, found a guide among the colored people that were hanging around the place, and walked a mile or more to the centre of the city. The loafers at the wharf soon identified the President and surrounded him, striving to touch the hem of his garment. To protect the President and open a passage for him, Admiral Porter called sailors from his boat, who marched in front and behind him to the town. Lincoln did not realize the danger that surrounded him; he did not remember that he was in the midst of a community with whom he was still at war, or that they held him responsible for the sorrows they had suffered, the distress they had endured, and the destruction of their property. But, although within an hour from the time he landed every man, woman, and child knew of his presence, not a hand was lifted against him, not an unkind word was said; and, after visiting the head-quarters of General Weitzel, who was in command of the Union troops, the Capitol of the State which had been the seat of the Confederate government, the mansion which Jefferson Davis had occupied, Libby Prison, where so many officers had starved and died, and holding two important interviews with John A. Campbell, the Confederate Secretary of War, who had remained in Richmond when the rest of the government fled, he went leisurely back to his boat, returned to the steamer, and sailed for Washington, where, only a few days later, surrounded by his loyal friends and in the midst of an ovation, he was stricken by the bullet of an assassin.

Lincoln's personal courage was demonstrated early in life. He never showed a sense of fear. He never refused a challenge for a trial of strength, nor avoided an adventure that was attended by danger; and while President he had no fear of assassination, although he had many warnings and was quite superstitious. He was accustomed to ridicule the anxiety of his friends, and when the threats of his enemies were repeated to him he changed the subject of conversation. Senator Sumner was one of those who believed that he was in continual danger of assassination, and frequently cautioned him about going out at night. When the Senator's anxiety was referred to by friends one evening, the President said, "Sumner declined to stand up with me, back to back, to see which was the tallest man, and made a fine speech about this being the time for uniting our fronts against the enemy and not our backs. But I guess he was afraid to measure, though he is a good piece of a man. I have never had much to do with bishops where I live, but, do you know? Sumner is my idea of a bishop."

In his reminiscences, General Butler says, "He was personally a very brave man and gave me the worst fright of my life. He came to my head-quarters and said,—

"'General, I should like to ride along your lines and see them, and see the boys and how they are situated in camp.'

"I said, 'Very well, we will go after breakfast.'

"I happened to have a very tall, easy-riding, pacing horse, and, as the President was rather long-legged, I tendered him the use of him while I rode beside him on a pony. He was dressed, as was his custom, in a black suit, a swallow-tail coat, and tall silk hat. As there rode on the other side of him at first Mr. Fox, the Secretary of the Navy, who was not more than five feet six inches in height, he stood out as a central figure of the group. Of course the staff-officers and orderly were behind. When we got to the line of intrenchment, from which the line of rebel pickets was not more than three hundred yards, he towered high above the works, and as we came to the several encampments the boys cheered him lustily. Of course the enemy's attention was wholly directed to this performance, and with the glass it could be plainly seen that the eyes of their officers were fastened upon Lincoln; and a personage riding down the lines cheered by the soldiers was a very unusual thing, so that the enemy must have known that he was there. Both Mr. Fox and myself said to him,—

"'Let us ride on the side next to the enemy, Mr. President. You are in fair rifle-shot of them, and they may open fire; and they must know you, being the only person not in uniform, and the cheering of the troops directs their attention to you.'

"'Oh, no,' he said, laughing; 'the commander-in-chief of the army must not show any cowardice in the presence of his soldiers, whatever he may feel.' And he insisted upon riding the whole six miles, which was about the length of my intrenchments, in that position, amusing himself at intervals, where there was nothing more attractive, in a sort of competitive examination of the commanding general in the science of engineering, much to the amusement of my engineer-in-chief, General Weitzel, who rode on my left, and who was kindly disposed to prompt me while the examination was going on, which attracted the attention of Mr. Lincoln, who said,—

"'Hold on, Weitzel, I can't beat you, but I think I can beat Butler.'

"In the later summer (1863)," continues General Butler, "I was invited by the President to ride with him in the evening out to the Soldiers' Home, some two miles, a portion of the way being quite lonely. He had no guard—not even an orderly on the box. I said to him,—

"'Is it known that you ride thus alone at night out to the Soldiers' Home?'

"'Oh, yes,' he answered, 'when business detains me until night. I do go out earlier, as a rule.'

"I said, 'I think you peril too much. We have passed a half-dozen places where a well-directed bullet might have taken you off.'

"'Oh,' he replied, 'assassination of public officers is not an American crime.'

"When he handed me the commission (as major-general), with some kindly words of compliment, I replied, 'I do not know whether I ought to accept this. I received my orders to prepare my brigade to march to Washington while trying a cause to a jury. I stated the fact to the court and asked that the case might be continued, which was at once consented to, and I left to come here the second morning after, my business in utter confusion.'

"He said, 'I guess we both wish we were back trying cases,' with a quizzical look upon his countenance.

"I said, 'Besides, Mr. President, you may not be aware that I was the Breckenridge candidate for Governor in my State in the last campaign, and did all I could to prevent your election.'

"'All the better,' said he; 'I hope your example will bring many of the same sort with you.'

"'But,' I answered, 'I do not know that I can support the measures of your administration, Mr. President.'

"'I do not care whether you do or not,' was his reply, 'if you will fight for the country.'

"'I will take the commission and loyally serve while I may, and bring it back to you when I can go with you no further.'

"'That is frank; but tell me wherein you think my administration wrong before you resign,' said he. 'Report to General Scott.'

"'Yes, Mr. President, the bounties which are now being paid to new recruits cause very large desertions. Men desert and go home, and get the bounties and enlist in other regiments.'

"'That is too true,' he replied, 'but how can we prevent it?'

"'By vigorously shooting every man who is caught as a deserter until it is found to be a dangerous business.'

"A saddened, weary look came over his face which I had never seen before, and he slowly replied,—

"'You may be right—probably are so; but, God help me! how can I have a butcher's day every Friday in the Army of the Potomac?'"

There was very little social life in the White House during the Lincoln administration. The President gave a few State dinners each year, such as were required of his official position, held a few public receptions to gratify the curiosity of the Washington people and strangers in the city, and gave one ball which excited much criticism from the religious press and from unfriendly sources. It was represented as a heartless exhibition of frivolity in the midst of dying soldiers and a grief-stricken country, and some people even went so far as to declare the death of Willie Lincoln, about two weeks later, to be a judgment of God upon the President and Mrs. Lincoln for indulging in worldly amusements. These thoughtless writers did not know that during the reception, which was in honor of the diplomatic corps, the President and Mrs. Lincoln both slipped away from their guests to spend a moment at the bedside of their child, who was so ill that the postponement of the entertainment was proposed, but vetoed by the President. The death of this lad was the greatest sorrow that ever fell upon the President's heart.

There was little opportunity for home life at the White House because of the confusion and distraction caused by the war. The President's labors were unceasing. He seldom took exercise or indulged in amusements. Occasionally he attended the theatre when distinguished performers happened to be in Washington, and usually invited them to his box to express his thanks for the pleasure they had afforded him and to ask questions about the play. He was particularly fond of Shakespeare, and attended the presentation of his plays as frequently as his official cares would permit; he found great diversion in their study, and could repeat many passages that he learned from the first copy he had ever seen while yet a clerk in Denton Offutt's store at New Salem. He had his own theories regarding Shakespeare, and when a prominent actor or Shakespearian scholar came his way, invariably discussed with him the Shakespearian mysteries and the original construction of the plays, with which he was very familiar.

He found diversion in comedies, and used to enjoy clever farces as much as any child. He often took his children to performances at the theatre, and their presence doubled his own enjoyment. This was practically his only recreation, except reading Burns, Petroleum V. Nasby, Artemas Ward, Josh Billings, and other comic writers who appealed to his keen sense of the ridiculous and diverted his attention from the cares of state when they were wearing upon him. He was not fond of games, although he sometimes played backgammon with his boys. For a time he practised basket-ball for exercise, but did not enjoy it. He had little out-door life; it was limited to a daily drive to and from the Soldiers' Home or to some military camp. He enjoyed the saddle and was a good rider, although in the long-tailed coat and tall silk hat which he always wore he made a grotesque figure on horseback. He had no taste for hunting or fishing, never smoked, and was very temperate in his habits. He yearned for rest, although his physical strength and endurance were beyond comparison with those of other public men. His labors and sleepless nights would have broken down any other constitution, and he was often weary. One day, during an especially trying period, he lifted his tired eyes from his desk and remarked to his secretary,—

"I wish George Washington or some other old patriot were here to take my place for a while, so that I could have a little rest."

If Lincoln had accepted the advice of his secretaries and his associates he might have spared himself a great deal of labor and annoyance. But he never excused himself from callers in the busiest period of the war; even when hundreds of important duties were pressing upon him, he never denied an attentive ear and a cheerful word. He was a genuine democrat in his feelings and practices, and, regardless of public affairs, listened patiently and considerately to the humblest citizen who called at the White House. One day, when his anteroom was crowded with men and women seeking admission to his presence and he was unusually perplexed by official problems, a friend remarked,—

"Mr. President, you had better send that throng away. You are too tired to see any more people this afternoon. Have them sent away, for you will wear yourself out listening to them."

"They don't want much and they get very little," he replied. "Each one considers his business of great importance, and I must gratify them. I know how I would feel if I were in their place."

At the opening of the administration he was overwhelmed with persistent office-seekers, and so much of his time was occupied in listening to their demands and trying to gratify them that he felt that he was not attending to military affairs and matters of public policy as closely as he should. He compared himself to a man who was so busy letting rooms at one end of his house that he had no time to put out a fire that was destroying the other end. And when he was attacked with the varioloid in 1861 he said to his usher,—

"Tell all the office-seekers to come and see me, for now I have something that I can give them."

He had a remarkable capacity for work and for despatching business. Although deliberation was one of his strongest characteristics, he knew when to act and acted quickly. His brain was as tough and as healthy as his body. His appetite was always good and healthful. He ate sparingly of plain, wholesome food, but had no taste for rich dishes. He was temperate in every way except as concerned his labor, and in that he was tireless. He had the rare and valuable faculty of laying out work for others and being able to give instructions clearly and concisely. He loaded his Cabinet and his secretaries to the limit of their strength, but was always considerate and thoughtful of their comfort. Three of his secretaries lived with him in the White House and usually worked far into the night, and, even after their labors for the day had closed, Lincoln would often wander around barefooted and in his night-shirt, too wakeful to seek his own bed, and read poems from Burns, jokes from Artemas Ward, and the letters of Petroleum V. Nasby to the members of his household.

His sense of humor was his salvation. It was the safety-valve by which his heart was relieved. He was melancholy by nature and inclined to be morbid, and it was this keen enjoyment of the ridiculous that enabled him to endure with patience his official trials and anxiety.

One of the visitors in the early days of the administration says, "He walked into the corridor with us; and, as he bade us good-by and thanked —— for what he had told him, he again brightened up for a moment and asked him in an abrupt kind of way, laying his hand, as he spoke, with a queer but not uncivil familiarity on his shoulder,—

"'You haven't such a thing as a postmaster in your pocket, have you?'

"—— stared at him in astonishment, and I thought a little in alarm, as if he suspected a sudden attack of insanity. Then Mr. Lincoln went on,—

"'You see, it seems to me kind of unnatural that you shouldn't have at least a postmaster in your pocket. Everybody I've seen for days past has had foreign ministers and collectors and all kinds, and I thought you couldn't have got in here without having at least a postmaster get into your pocket.'"

His stories were usually suggested by the conversation or by the situation in which he was placed; but often, in the company of congenial friends, he used to sit back in his chair and indulge in what he called "a good old time;" spinning yarns of his early experiences, describing the characteristics of odd people he had known, and relating amusing incidents that occurred daily, even under the shadows and among the sorrows of war. This habit was the result of his early associations, when the corner store was the club of the frontiersman and the forum for intellectual combats as well as the stage for entertainments. There Lincoln shone as the most brilliant planet that ever illuminated the communities in which he lived, and there he developed the gift which was to afford him so much pleasure and so great relief from oppressing care. He was a poet by nature. He had a deep sentiment and a high appreciation of the beautiful in literature as well as in life. His soul overflowed with sympathy, and his great nature was so comprehensive that it could touch every phase of human interest and meet every class and clan; but he was a restless listener, and when in the mood for talking it was difficult to interrupt him.

Chauncey M. Depew, relating his recollections of Lincoln says that once, while he was at the White House, "the President threw himself on a lounge and rattled off story after story. It was his method of relief, without which he might have gone out of his mind, and certainly would not have been able to have accomplished anything like the amount of work which he did. It is the popular supposition that most of Mr. Lincoln's stories were original, but he said, 'I have originated but two stories in my life, but I tell tolerably well other people's stories.' Riding the circuit for many years, and stopping at country taverns where were gathered the lawyers, jurymen, witnesses, and clients, they would sit up all night narrating to each other their life adventures; and the things which happened to an original people, in a new country, surrounded by novel conditions, and told with the descriptive power and exaggeration which characterized such men, supplied him with an exhaustless fund of anecdote which could be made applicable for enforcing or refuting an argument better than all the invented stories of the world."

The humorous aspect of an appeal or an argument never failed to strike him, and he enjoyed turning the point as much as telling a story. Once, in the darkest days of the war, a delegation of prohibitionists came to him and insisted that the reason the North did not win was because the soldiers drank whiskey and thus brought down the curse of the Lord upon them. There was a mischievous twinkle in Lincoln's eye when he replied that he considered that very unfair on the part of the Lord, because the Southerners drank a great deal worse whiskey and a great deal more of it than the soldiers of the North.

After the internal revenue laws were enacted the United States marshals were often sued for false arrest, and Congress appropriated one hundred thousand dollars to pay the expenses of defending them. Previously the officials brought into court on such charges appealed to the Attorney-General to instruct the United States district attorneys to defend them; but when this appropriation was made, with one accord, they said that they would hire their own lawyers and applied for the cash; which reminded the President of a man in Illinois whose cabin was burned down, and, according to the kindly custom of early days in the West, his neighbors all contributed something to start him again. In this case they were so liberal that he soon found himself better off than he had been before the fire, and got proud. One day a neighbor brought him a bag of oats, but the fellow refused it with scorn. "No," said he, "I'm not taking oats now. I take nothing but money."

One day, just after Lincoln's second inauguration, a Massachusetts merchant, visiting Washington, noticed the great crowd of office-seekers waiting for an audience with the President, and decided that he, too, would like to see him. Writing his name on a card, he added the line, "Holds no office and wants none." The card was taken to President Lincoln, who, instantly jumping up, said to the attendant, "Show him up; he is a curiosity." Passing the long line of office-seekers, the merchant went up to the President, who said he was refreshed to meet a man who did not want an office, and urged his stay. A long and pleasant conversation followed.

Mrs. McCulloch went to the White House one Saturday afternoon to attend Mrs. Lincoln's reception, accompanied by Mrs. William P. Dole, whose husband was Commissioner of Indian Affairs. "There were crowds in and out of the White House," said Mrs. McCulloch, "and during the reception Mr. Lincoln slipped quietly into the room and stood back alone, looking on as the people passed through. I suggested to Mrs. Dole that we should go over and speak to him, which we did. Mr. Lincoln said, laughingly,—

"'I am always glad to see you, ladies, for I know you don't want anything.'

"I replied, 'But, Mr. President, I do want something; I want you to do something very much.'

"'Well, what is it?' he asked, adding, 'I hope it isn't anything I can't do.'

"'I want you to suppress the Chicago Times, because it does nothing but abuse the administration,' I replied.

"'Oh, tut, tut! We must not abridge the liberties of the press or the people. But never mind the Chicago Times. The administration can stand it if the Times can.'"

On a certain occasion the President was induced by a committee of gentlemen to examine a newly invented "repeating" gun, the peculiarity of which was that it prevented the escape of gas. After due inspection, he said,—

"Well, I believe this really does what it is represented to do. Now, have any of you heard of any machine or invention for preventing the escape of gas from newspaper establishments?"

However, Lincoln had great respect for the press. He was one day complaining of the injustice of Mr. Greeley's criticisms and the false light in which they put him before the country, when a friend, with great earnestness, suggested,—

"Why don't you publish the facts in every newspaper in the United States? The people will then understand your position and your vindication will be complete."

"Yes, all the newspapers will publish my letter, and so will Greeley," Lincoln replied. "The next day he will comment upon it, and keep it up, in that way, until at the end of three weeks I will be convicted out of my own mouth of all the things he charges against me. No man, whether he be private citizen or President of the United States, can successfully carry on a controversy with a great newspaper and escape destruction, unless he owns a newspaper equally great with a circulation in the same neighborhood."

PRESIDENT LINCOLN AND HIS SON "TAD"

From a photograph by Brady, now in the War Department Collection, Washington, D. C.

Colonel John Hay, who resided in the White House during the entire administration of Lincoln, has given us this graphic picture of the President's home life and habits:

"The President rose early, as his sleep was light and capricious. In the summer, when he lived at the Soldiers' Home, he would take his frugal breakfast and ride into town in time to be at his desk at eight o'clock. He began to receive visits nominally at ten o'clock, but long before that hour struck the doors were besieged by anxious crowds, through whom the people of importance, Senators and members of Congress, elbowed their way after the fashion which still survives. On days when the Cabinet met—Tuesdays and Fridays—the hour of noon closed the interviews of the morning. On other days it was the President's custom, at about that hour, to order the doors to be opened and all who were waiting to be admitted. The crowd would rush in, throng in the narrow room, and one by one would make their wants known. Some came merely to shake hands, to wish him Godspeed; their errand was soon done. Others came asking help or mercy; they usually pressed forward, careless in their pain as to what ears should overhear their prayer. But there were many who lingered in the rear and leaned against the wall, hoping each to be the last, that they might in tête-à-tête unfold their schemes for their own advantage or their neighbor's hurt. These were often disconcerted by the President's loud and hearty, 'Well, friend, what can I do for you?' which compelled them to speak, or retire and wait for a more convenient season. The inventors were more a source of amusement than of annoyance. They were usually men of some originality of character, not infrequently carried to eccentricity. Lincoln had a quick comprehension of mechanical principles, and often detected a flaw in an invention which the contriver had overlooked. He would sometimes go out into the waste fields that then lay south of the Executive Mansion to test an experimental gun or torpedo. He used to quote with much merriment the solemn dictum of one rural inventor that 'a gun ought not to rekyle; if it rekyles at all, it ought to rekyle a little forrid.'

"At luncheon time he had literally to run the gauntlet through the crowds that filled the corridors between his office and the rooms at the west end of the house occupied by the family. The afternoon wore away in much the same manner as the morning; late in the day he usually drove out for an hour's airing; at six o'clock he dined. He was one of the most abstemious of men; the pleasures of the table had few attractions for him. His breakfast was an egg and a cup of coffee; at luncheon he rarely took more than a biscuit and a glass of milk, a plate of fruit in its season; at dinner he ate sparingly of one or two courses. He drank little or no wine; not that he remained on principle a total abstainer, as he was during a part of his early life in the fervor of the 'Washingtonian' reform; but he never cared for wine or liquors of any sort and never used tobacco.

"There was little gayety in the Executive House during his time. It was an epoch, if not of gloom, at least of a seriousness too intense to leave room for much mirth. There were the usual formal entertainments, the traditional state dinners and receptions, conducted very much as they have been ever since. The great public receptions, with their vast, rushing multitudes pouring past him to shake hands, he rather enjoyed; they were not a disagreeable task to him, and he seemed surprised when people commiserated him upon them. He would shake hands with thousands of people, seemingly unconscious of what he was doing, murmuring some monotonous salutation as they went by, his eye dim, his thoughts far withdrawn; then suddenly he would see some familiar face,—his memory for faces was very good,—and his eye would brighten and his whole form grow attentive; he would greet the visitor with a hearty grasp and a ringing word and dismiss him with a cheery laugh that filled the Blue Room with infectious good-nature. Many people armed themselves with an appropriate speech to be delivered on these occasions, but unless it was compressed into the smallest possible space, it never was uttered; the crowd would jostle the peroration out of shape. If it were brief enough, and hit the President's fancy, it generally received a swift answer. One night an elderly gentleman from Buffalo said, 'Up our way we believe in God and Abraham Lincoln,' to which the President replied, shoving him along the line, 'My friend, you are more than half right.'

"During the first year of the administration the house was made lively by the games and pranks of Mr. Lincoln's two younger children, William and Thomas: Robert, the eldest, was away at Harvard, only coming home for short vacations. The two little boys, aged eight and ten, with their Western independence and enterprise, kept the house in an uproar. They drove their tutor wild with their good-natured disobedience; they organized a minstrel show in the attic; they made acquaintance with the office-seekers and became the hot champions of the distressed. William was, with all his boyish frolic, a child of great promise, capable of close application and study. He had a fancy for drawing up railway time-tables, and would conduct an imaginary train from Chicago to New York with perfect precision. He wrote childish verses, which sometimes attained the unmerited honors of print. But this bright, gentle, and studious child sickened and died in February, 1862. His father was profoundly moved by his death, though he gave no outward sign of his trouble, but kept about his work the same as ever. His bereaved heart seemed afterwards to pour out its fulness on his youngest child. 'Tad' was a merry, warm-blooded, kindly little boy, perfectly lawless, and full of odd fancies and inventions, the 'chartered libertine' of the Executive Mansion. He ran continually in and out of his father's cabinet, interrupting his gravest labors and conversations with his bright, rapid, and very imperfect speech,—for he had an impediment which made his articulation almost unintelligible until he was nearly grown. He would perch upon his father's knee, and sometimes even on his shoulder, while the most weighty conferences were going on. Sometimes, escaping from the domestic authorities, he would take refuge in that sanctuary for the whole evening, dropping to sleep at last on the floor, when the President would pick him up and carry him tenderly to bed.

"Mr. Lincoln spent most of his evenings in his office, though occasionally he remained in the drawing-room after dinner, conversing with visitors or listening to music, for which he had an especial liking, though he was not versed in the science, and preferred simple ballads to more elaborate compositions. In his office he was not often suffered to be alone; he frequently passed the evening there with a few friends in frank and free conversation. If the company was all of one sort he was at his best; his wit and rich humor had full play; he was once more the Lincoln of the Eighth Circuit, the cheeriest of talkers, the riskiest of story-tellers; but if a stranger came in he put on in an instant his whole armor of dignity and reserve. He had a singular discernment of men; he would talk of the most important political and military concerns with a freedom which often amazed his intimates, but we do not recall an instance in which this confidence was misplaced.

"Where only one or two were present he was fond of reading aloud. He passed many of the summer evenings in this way when occupying his cottage at the Soldiers' Home.

"He read Shakespeare more than all other writers together. He made no attempt to keep pace with the ordinary literature of the day. Sometimes he read a scientific work with keen appreciation, but he pursued no systematic course. He owed less to reading than most men. He delighted in Burns; of Thomas Hood he was also excessively fond. He often read aloud 'The Haunted House.' He would go to bed with a volume of Hood in his hands, and would sometimes rise at midnight and, traversing the long halls of the Executive Mansion in his night-clothes, would come to his secretary's room and read aloud something that especially pleased him. He wanted to share his enjoyment of the writer; it was dull pleasure for him to laugh alone. He read Bryant and Whittier with appreciation; there were many poems of Holmes that he read with intense relish. 'The Last Leaf' was one of his favorites; he knew it by heart, and used often to repeat it with deep feeling."

Ben: Perley Poore, in his reminiscences, says, "The White House, while Mr. Lincoln occupied it, was a fertile field for news, which he was always ready to give those correspondents in whom he had confidence, but the surveillance of the press—first by Secretary Seward and then by Secretary Stanton—was as annoying as it was inefficient. A censorship of all matter filed at the Washington office of the telegraph, for transmission to different Northern cities, was exercised by a succession of ignorant individuals, some of whom had to be hunted up at whiskey shops when their signature of approval was desired. A Congressional investigation showed how stupidly the censors performed their duty. Innocent sentences which were supposed to have a hidden meaning were stricken from paragraphs, which were thus rendered nonsensical, and information was rejected that was clipped in print from the Washington papers, which it was known regularly found their way into 'Dixie.'

"When irate correspondents appealed to Mr. Lincoln, he would good-naturedly declare that he had no control over his secretaries, and would endeavor to mollify their wrath by telling them a story. One morning in the winter of 1862, when two angry journalists had undertaken to explain the annoyances of the censorship, Mr. Lincoln, who had listened in his dreamy way, finally said,—

"'I don't know much about this censorship, but come downstairs and I will show you the origin of one of the pet phrases of you newspaper fellows.'

"Leading the way down into the basement, he opened the door of a larder and solemnly pointed to the hanging carcass of a gigantic sheep.

"'There,' said he; 'now you know what "Revenons à nos moutons" means. It was raised by Deacon Buffum at Manchester, up in New Hampshire. Who can say, after looking at it, that New Hampshire's only product is granite?'"

When William Lloyd Garrison came to Washington to thank the President for issuing the Emancipation Proclamation, he visited Baltimore expressly for the purpose of inspecting the old jail in which he was confined for several weeks for being an abolitionist, but, much to his disappointment, the police in charge would not admit him. During his interview with the President he complained of this, and Lincoln remarked,—

"You have had hard luck in Baltimore, haven't you, Garrison? The first time you couldn't get out of prison and the second time you couldn't get in."

A woman called at the White House one day to ask the release from prison of a relative whom she declared was suffering from great injustice. She was very handsome and attractive and endeavored to use her attractions upon the President. After listening to her a little while, he concluded, as he afterwards explained, that he was "too soft" to deal with her, and sent her over to the War Department with a sealed envelope containing a card upon which he had written,—

"This woman, dear Stanton, is smarter than she looks to be."

Another woman came to the White House one day on an unusual errand which the President suspected was a pretext, but he took her at her word and gave her the following note to Major Ramsey, of the Quartermaster's Department.

"My Dear Sir:—The lady—bearer of this—says she has two sons who want to work. Set them at it if possible. Wanting to work is so rare a merit that it should be encouraged.

A. Lincoln."

A member of Congress from Ohio, and a famous man, by the way, once entered the Executive Chamber in a state of intoxication,—just drunk enough to be solemn,—and, as he dropped into a chair, exclaimed in dramatic tones the first line of the President's favorite poem:

"'Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?'"

"I see no reason whatever," retorted the President, in disgust.

A delegation of clergymen once called to recommend one of their number for appointment as consul at the Hawaiian Islands, and, in addition to urging his fitness for the place, appealed to the President's sympathy on the ground that the candidate was in bad health, and a residence in that climate would be of great benefit to him. Lincoln questioned the man closely as to his symptoms, and then remarked,—

"I am sorry to disappoint you, but there are eight other men after this place, and every one of them is sicker than you are."

A party of friends from Springfield called upon him one day and, as a matter of gossip, told him of the death and burial of a certain prominent Illinois politician who was noted for his vanity and love of praise. After listening to the description of his funeral, the President remarked,—

"If Jim had known he was to have that kind of a funeral, he would have died long ago."

One of the telegraph operators at the War Department relates that the President came over there at night during the war and remarked that he had just been reading a little book which some one had given to his son Tad. It was a story of a motherly hen who was struggling to raise her brood and teach them to lead honest and useful lives, but in her efforts she was greatly annoyed by a mischievous fox who made sad havoc with her offspring. "I thought I would turn over to the finis and see how it came out," said the President. "This is what it said: 'And the fox became a good fox, and was appointed paymaster in the army.' I wonder who he is?"

To a deputation that waited upon him to criticise certain acts of his administration, he made the following response:

"Gentlemen, suppose all the property you were worth was in gold, and you had put it in the hands of Blondin to carry across the Niagara River on a rope; would you shake the cable and keep shouting out to him, 'Blondin, stand up a little straighter—Blondin, stoop a little more—go a little faster—lean a little more to the north—lean a little more to the south?' No, you would hold your breath as well as your tongue, and keep your hands off until he was safe over. The government is carrying an immense weight. Untold treasures are in our hands. We are doing the very best we can. Don't badger us. Keep quiet, and we will get you safe across."

A multitude of authentic anecdotes are told to show Lincoln's kindness of heart and his disposition to relieve the distress of those who came to him with stories of wrong or sorrow. His readiness to pardon soldiers who had been convicted by court-martial and sentenced to death caused great dissatisfaction at the War Department and among the army officers, who complained that his interference was destroying the discipline of the service; but whenever an appeal was made to him he always endeavored to find some reason, near or remote, for Executive clemency, and if that was impossible, he invariably gave an order for the postponement of the penalty until a further investigation could be made. A very flagrant case was brought to him of a soldier who had demoralized his regiment by throwing down his gun and running away in battle, and by trying to shield his own cowardice by inducing others to imitate him. When tried by court-martial there was no defence. It was shown that he was an habitual thief, had robbed his comrades, and that he had no parents or wife or child to excite sympathy. When Judge-Advocate-General Holt laid the case before Lincoln, he expected him to approve the death-sentence without hesitation. There was not the slightest excuse for clemency; the record of the case did not contain a single item of evidence in the man's favor. The President looked through the documents carefully, but in vain, to find some reason why the coward should not die. Then, running his long fingers through his hair, as he often did when puzzled, he looked up and said,—

"The only thing I can do with this, judge, is to put it with my leg cases."

"Leg cases!" exclaimed Judge Holt, with a frown at this supposed levity of the President in a case of life and death. "What do you mean by leg cases, sir?"

"Do you see those papers stuffed into those pigeonholes?" replied Lincoln. "They are the cases that you call 'cowardice-in-the-face-of-the-enemy,' but I call them 'leg cases' for short; and I will put it to you; I leave it for you to decide for yourself. If Almighty God gives a man a cowardly pair of legs, how can he help their running away with him?"

One day an old man came to him with a sad tale of sorrow. His son had been convicted of unpardonable crimes and sentenced to death, but he was an only son, and Lincoln said, kindly,—

"I am sorry I can do nothing for you. Listen to this telegram I received from General Butler yesterday:

"'President Lincoln, I pray you not to interfere with the courts-martial of the army. You will destroy all discipline among our soldiers.

B. F. Butler.'"

Lincoln watched the old man's grief for a minute, and then exclaimed, "By jingo! Butler or no Butler, here goes!" Writing a few words he handed the paper to the old man, reading,—

"Job Smith is not to be shot until further orders from me.

Abraham Lincoln."

"Why," said the old man, sadly, "I thought it was a pardon. You may order him to be shot next week."

"My old friend," replied the President, "I see you are not very well acquainted with me. If your son never dies till orders come from me to shoot him, he will live to be a great deal older than Methuselah."

One of the most famous cases of pardon was that of William Scott, a young boy from a Vermont farm, who, after marching forty-eight hours without sleep, volunteered to stand guard duty for a sick comrade in addition to his own. Nature overcame him, he was found asleep at his post within gunshot of the enemy, tried, convicted, and sentenced to be shot. A day or two before the execution Lincoln happened to visit that division of the army, and, learning of the case, asked permission to see the boy. He entered the tent that was used for a prison, talked to him kindly, inquired about his home, his parents, his schoolmates, and particularly about his mother, and how she looked. The boy had her photograph in his pocket and showed it to him, and Lincoln was very much affected. As he was leaving the tent, he put his hands on the lad's shoulders and said, with a trembling voice,—

"My boy, you are not going to be shot to-morrow. I believe you when you tell me that you could not keep awake. I am going to trust you and send you back to the regiment. But I have been put to a great deal of trouble on your account. I have had to come here from Washington when I had a great deal to do. Now, what I want to know is, how are you going to pay my bill?"

In relating the story afterwards, Scott said, "I could scarcely speak. I had expected to die, you see, and had got kind of used to thinking that way. To have it all changed in a minute! But I got it crowded down and managed to say, 'I am grateful, Mr. Lincoln! I hope I am as grateful as ever a man can be to you for saving my life. But it comes upon me sudden and unexpected like. I didn't lay out for it at all; but there is something to pay you, and I will find it after a little. There is the bounty in the savings bank, and I guess we could borrow some money by a mortgage on the farm. Then my pay is something, and if you would wait until pay day I am sure the boys would help; so we could make it up if it isn't more than five or six hundred dollars.' 'But it is a great deal more than that,' he said. 'My bill is a very large one. Your friends cannot pay it, nor your bounty, nor the farm, nor all your comrades! There is only one man in all the world who can pay it, and his name is William Scott! If from this day William Scott does his duty, so that, when he comes to die, he can look me in the face as he does now, and say, I have kept my promise, and I have done my duty as a soldier, then my debt will be paid. Will you make that promise and try to keep it?'"

The promise was gratefully given. It is too long a story to tell of the effect of this sympathetic kindness on Private William Scott. After one of the battles of the Peninsula he was found shot to pieces. He said, "Boys, I have tried to do the right thing! If any of you have the chance, I wish you would tell President Lincoln that I have never forgotten the kind words he said to me at the Chain Bridge; that I have tried to be a good soldier and true to the flag; that I should have paid my whole debt to him if I had lived; and that now, when I know I am dying, I think of his kind face, and thank him again, because he gave me the chance to fall like a soldier in battle and not like a coward by the hands of my comrades."

When Francis Kernan was a member of Congress during the war, a woman came to him one day and said that her husband had been captured as a deserter. The next morning he called at the White House and gave the President the facts. The man had been absent a year from his family, and, without leave, had gone home to see them. On his way back to the army he was arrested as a deserter and sentenced to be shot. The sentence was to be carried out that very day.

The President listened attentively, becoming more and more interested in the story. Finally he said, "Why, Kernan, of course this man wanted to see his family, and they ought not to shoot him for that." So he called his secretary and sent a telegram suspending the sentence. He exclaimed, "Get off that just as soon as you can, or they will shoot the man in spite of me!" The result was the man got his pardon and took his place again in the army.

A Congressman who had failed to move Secretary Stanton to grant a pardon, went to the White House late at night, after the President had retired, forced the way to his bedroom, and earnestly besought his interference, exclaiming, earnestly,—

"This man must not be shot, Mr. Lincoln."

"Well," said the President, coolly, "I do not believe shooting will do him any good," and the pardon was granted.

The late Governor Rice, of Massachusetts, says, "It happened at one time that Senator Henry Wilson and myself called to see President Lincoln on a joint errand. As the door to Mr. Lincoln's room opened, a small boy, perhaps twelve years old, slipped in between the Senator and myself. The President appeared to be attracted to the lad, and asked, 'And who is the little boy?' an inquiry which neither the Senator nor myself could answer. The lad, however, immediately replied that he had come to Washington in the hope of obtaining a situation as page in the House of Representatives. The President began to say that he must go to Captain Goodnow, the head door-keeper of the House, as he had nothing to do with such an appointment; upon which the lad pulled from his pockets a recommendation from the supervisors of the town, the minister of the parish, and others, stating also that his mother was a widow, and pleading the necessities of the family. The President called the boy nearer to him, took his recommendation, and wrote upon the back as follows:

"'If Captain Goodnow can give this good little boy a place he will oblige

A. Lincoln.'"

Mr. Titian J. Coffey, who was Assistant Attorney-General, relates that "in the spring of 1863 a very handsome and attractive young lady from Philadelphia came to my office with a note from a friend, asking me to assist her in obtaining an interview with the President. Some time before she had been married to a young man who was a lieutenant in a Pennsylvania regiment. He had been compelled to leave her the day after the wedding to rejoin his command in the Army of the Potomac. After some time he obtained leave of absence, returned to Philadelphia, and started on a brief honeymoon journey with his bride. A movement of the army being imminent, the War Department issued a peremptory order requiring all absent officers to rejoin their regiments by a certain day, on penalty of dismissal in case of disobedience. The bride and groom, away on their hurried wedding-tour, failed to see the order, and on their return he was met by a notice of his dismissal from the service. The young fellow was completely prostrated by the disgrace, and his wife hurried to Washington to get him restored. I obtained for her an interview with the President. She told her story with simple and pathetic eloquence, and wound up by saying,—

"'Mr. Lincoln, won't you help us? I promise you, if you will restore him, he will be faithful to his duty.'

"The President had listened to her with evident sympathy and a half-amused smile at her earnestness, and as she closed her appeal he said, with parental kindness,—

"'And you say, my child, that Fred was compelled to leave you the day after the wedding? Poor fellow, I don't wonder at his anxiety to get back, and if he stayed a little longer than he ought to have done we'll have to overlook his fault this time. Take this card to the Secretary of War and he will restore your husband.'

"She went to the War Department, saw the Secretary, who rebuked her for troubling the President and dismissed her somewhat curtly. As it happened, on her way down the War Department stairs, her hopes chilled by the Secretary's abrupt manner, she met the President ascending. He recognized her, and, with a pleasant smile, said,—

"'Well, my dear, have you seen the Secretary?'

"'Yes, Mr. Lincoln,' she replied, 'and he seemed very angry with me for going to you. Won't you speak to him for me?'

"'Give yourself no trouble,' said he. 'I will see that the order is issued.'

"And in a few days her husband was remanded to his regiment. I am sorry to add that, not long after, he was killed at the battle of Gettysburg, thus sealing with his blood her pledge that he should be faithful to his duty."

Attorney-General Bates, a Virginian by birth, who had many relatives in that State, one day heard that the son of one of his old friends was a prisoner of war and not in good health. Knowing the boy's father to be a Union man, Mr. Bates conceived the idea of having the son paroled and sent home, of course under promise not to return to the army. He went to see the President and said,—

"I have a personal favor to ask. I want you to give me a prisoner." And he told him of the case. The President said, "Bates, I have an almost parallel case. The son of an old friend of mine in Illinois ran off and entered the rebel army. The young fool has been captured, is a prisoner of war, and his old broken-hearted father has asked me to send him home, promising, of course, to keep him there. I have not seen my way clear to do it, but if you and I unite our influence with this administration I believe we can manage it together and make two loyal fathers happy. Let us make them our prisoners."

Lincoln's reputation for kindness of heart extended even among the officials of the Confederacy. Mr. Usher, Secretary of the Interior, says that when he returned from the Peace Conference on the James, in 1864, where he met Messrs. Stephens, Campbell, and Hunter, he related some of his conversations with them. He said that at the conclusion of one of his discourses, detailing what he considered to be the position in which the insurgents were placed by the law, they replied,—

"Well, according to your view of the case, we are all guilty of treason and liable to be hanged."

Lincoln replied, "Yes, that is so." And Mr. Stephens retorted,—

"Well, we supposed that would necessarily be your view of our case, but we never had much fear of being hanged while you are President."

From his manner in repeating this scene he seemed to appreciate the compliment highly. There is no evidence that he ever contemplated executing any of the insurgents for their treason. There is no evidence that he desired any of them to leave the country, with the exception of Mr. Davis. His great, and apparently his only, object was to have a restored Union.

A short time before the capitulation of General Lee, General Grant had told him that the war must necessarily soon come to an end, and wanted to know whether he should try to capture Jeff Davis or let him escape from the country if he would. Mr. Lincoln said,—

"About that, I told him the story of an Irishman who had taken the pledge of Father Mathew. He became terribly thirsty, applied to a bar-tender for a lemonade, and while it was being prepared whispered to him, 'And couldn't ye put a little brandy in it all unbeknown to meself?' I told Grant if he could let Jeff Davis escape all unbeknown to himself, to let him go. I didn't want him."

Near the close of the war his old friend, Thomas Gillespie, asked him what was to be done with the rebels. He answered, after referring to the vehement demand prevalent in certain quarters for exemplary punishment, by quoting the words of David to his nephews, who were asking for vengeance on Shimei because "he cursed the Lord's anointed:" "What have I to do with you, ye sons of Zeruiah, that ye should this day be adversaries unto me? shall there any man be put to death this day in Israel?"

But the President could be very stern and determined when he considered it necessary, although, when compelled by his sense of duty to withhold a pardon, he usually gave reasons which could not be set aside and accompanied them by a lesson of value. An officer once complained to him, with great indignation, that General Sherman was a tyrant and a bully and unfit to command troops. Lincoln listened attentively until he had exhausted his wrath, and then inquired quietly if he had any personal grievance against General Sherman.

The officer replied that General Sherman had accused him of some misconduct and threatened to shoot him if it occurred again.

"If I were in your place," remarked the President, in a confidential whisper, "I wouldn't repeat that offence, because Sherman is a man of his word."

One day Mr. Nicolay brought the President a telegram from Philadelphia, stating that a man had been arrested in that city for an attempt to obtain fifteen hundred dollars on Lincoln's draft.

"I have given no authority for such a draft; and if I had," he added, humorously, "it is surprising that any man could get the money."

After a moment's reflection, Mr. Nicolay thought he knew the accused party.

"Do you remember, Mr. President, a request from a stranger a few days since for your autograph? You gave it to him upon a half-sheet of note-paper. The scoundrel doubtless forged an order above your signature, and has attempted to swindle somebody."

"Oh, that's the trick, is it?" said the President.

"What shall be done with him?" inquired Mr. Nicolay. "Have you any orders?"

"Well," replied Mr. Lincoln, pausing between the words, "I don't see but that he will have to sit upon the blister bench."

In 1861 E. Delafield Smith was United States District Attorney for the Southern District of New York. One of the first and most important of his trials was that of William Gordon for slave-trading. Gordon was convicted—the first conviction under the slave law that was ever had in the United States either North or South—and sentenced to be hanged. An extraordinary effort was made to have Lincoln pardon him. Mr. Smith deemed it his duty to go to Washington and protest against clemency. Lincoln took from his desk a reprieve already prepared and laid it before him. He picked up a pen, and held it in his hand while he listened to the argument of Mr. Smith on the imperative necessity of making an example of Gordon, in order to terrorize those who were engaged in the slave-trade. Then he threw down the pen and remarked,—

"Mr. Smith, you do not know how hard it is to have a human being die when you feel that a stroke of your pen will save him."

Gordon was executed in New York.

A volunteer major who had been wounded at Petersburg found himself mustered out of his regiment on that account, nolens volens, and appealed to the President for an appointment on staff duty, so that he could still continue to perform service regardless of his physical incapacity.

The President took down a large volume of the laws of Congress, opened to the page and section of the act, put his finger on the line, and read aloud the words which authorized him to make staff appointments only on the request of a general commanding a brigade, division, or corps. The major admitted that he had not brought such an application, for he had not thought it necessary. "It cannot be done," said the President, "without such a request. I have no more power to appoint you, in the absence of such a request, than I would have to marry a woman to any man she might want for her husband without his consent. Bring me such an application and I will make it at once, for I see you deserve it."

The late Governor Rice, of Massachusetts, said, "A mercantile firm in Boston had an office boy whose duty, among other things, was to take the mail to and from the post-office. This boy was fresh from the country, and, seeing his opportunity to get money from the letters intrusted to him, yielded to the temptation, was detected, convicted, and imprisoned; but the employers and the jury joined with the boy's father to obtain his pardon. The father appeared in Washington with a petition numerously signed. I introduced him to the President, to whom I also handed the petition. Mr. Lincoln put on his spectacles, threw himself back in his chair and stretched his long legs and read the document. When finished, he turned to me and asked if I met a man on the stairs. 'Well,' said Mr. Lincoln, 'his errand was to get a man pardoned, and now you come to get a boy out of jail. But I am a little encouraged by your visit. They are after me on the men, but appear to be roping you in on the boys. The trouble appears to come from the courts. It seems as if the courts ought to be abolished, anyway; for they appear to pick out the very best men in the community and send them to the penitentiary, and now they are after the same kind of boys.'"

Once he received a message from a zealous Irish soldier with more courage than brains (or he would not have telegraphed direct to the President), who had been left behind in the retreat of the army across the Potomac before the advancing columns of Lee's army, with one gun of his battery on the bank of the river below Edwards Ferry. It read about thus: "I have the whole rebel army in my front. Send me another gun and I assure your honor they shall not come over." This pleased the President greatly, and he sent him an encouraging reply, suggesting that he report his situation to his superior officer.

A rebel raid on Falls Church, a little hamlet a dozen miles from Washington, had resulted in the surprise and capture of a brigadier-general and twelve army mules. When Lincoln heard of it he exclaimed,—

"How unfortunate! I can fill that general's place in five minutes, but those mules cost us two hundred dollars apiece."

Captain Knight, who was in charge of the guard at the War Department, said, "Mr. Lincoln's favorite time for visiting the War Department was between eleven and twelve o'clock at night. His tall, ungainly form wrapped in an old gray shawl, wearing usually a shockingly bad hat, and carrying a worse umbrella, came up the steps into the building. Secretary Stanton, who knew Mr. Lincoln's midnight habits, gave a standing order that, although Mr. Lincoln might come from the White House alone (and he seldom came in any other way), he should never be permitted to return alone, but should be escorted by a file of four soldiers and a non-commissioned officer.

"On the way to the White House, Mr. Lincoln would converse with us on various topics. I remember one night, when it was raining very hard, as he saw us at the door, ready to escort him, he addressed us in these words: 'Don't come out in this storm with me to-night, boys; I have my umbrella, and can get home safely without you.'

"'But,' I replied, 'Mr. President, we have positive orders from Mr. Stanton not to allow you to return alone, and you know we dare not disobey his orders.'

"'No,' replied Mr. Lincoln, 'I suppose not; for if Mr. Stanton should learn that you had let me return alone, he would have you court-martialed and shot inside of twenty-four hours.'

"I was detailed upon one occasion to escort the President to the Soldiers' Home," continued Captain Knight. "As we approached the front gate, I noticed what seemed to be a young man groping his way, as if he were blind, across the road. Hearing the carriage and horses approaching, he became frightened, and walked in the direction of the approaching danger. Mr. Lincoln quickly observed this, and shouted to the coachman to rein in his horses, which he did as they were about to run over the unfortunate youth. He had been shot through the left side of the upper part of the face, and the ball, passing from one side to the other, had put out both his eyes. He could not have been over sixteen or seventeen years of age, and, aside from his blindness, he had a very beautiful face. Mr. Lincoln extended his hand to him, and while he held it he asked him, with a voice trembling with emotion, his name, his regiment, and where he lived. The young man answered these questions and stated that he lived in Michigan; and then Mr. Lincoln made himself known to the blind soldier, and with a look that was a benediction in itself, spoke to him a few words of sympathy and bade him good-by. The following day after his interview with the President he received a commission as a first lieutenant in the regular army of the United States, accompanied by an order of retirement upon full pay; and, if he is living to-day, he is doubtless drawing the salary of a first lieutenant in the United States army on the retired list."

The most important battle of the war was fought at the polls in the Northern States in November, 1864, and from the hour that the result was announced the Southern Confederacy was doomed. It lost the confidence and respect of the people within its own jurisdiction and of the nations of Europe. Several attempts were made by the Southern leaders to open negotiations for peace, but President Lincoln gave them plainly to understand that he could not recognize the Confederacy as anything but a rebellion against the government. Then General Lee undertook "to meet General Grant with the hope that ... it may be found practicable to submit the subjects of controversy ... to a convention," etc. Grant immediately wired Lee's letter to Mr. Stanton, who received it at the Capitol on the last night of the session of Congress, where the President, attended by his Cabinet, had gone, as usual, to sign bills. Having read the telegram, Mr. Stanton handed it to the President without comment. By this time Lincoln felt himself completely master of the situation. He knew the people were behind him and would approve whatever he thought best for the welfare of the country. He had full confidence in the commanders of his armies and knew that they were crowding the Confederates into the last ditch. Therefore, for the first time since the beginning of the war, he could act promptly upon his individual judgment. Without consulting any one, he wrote the following despatch, which, without a word, he passed over the table for Stanton to sign and send:

"The President directs me to say that he wishes you to have no conference with General Lee, unless it be for capitulation of General Lee's army or on some minor or purely military matter. He instructs me to say that you are not to decide, discuss, or confer upon any political questions. Such questions the President holds in his own hand and will submit them to no military conferences or conventions. Meanwhile you are to press to the utmost your military advantages."

This little despatch crushed the last hope of the Confederate authorities; but, before the end could come, Lee resolved to make one more desperate attempt to escape from the toils in which he was involved. His assault was made with great spirit on March 25, and from that day until April 7 there was fighting all along the line. In the mean time Lincoln went down to City Point, where Grant had his head-quarters, on the James River a few miles below Richmond, and there had a conference with the three great heroes of the war, Sherman having come from North Carolina and Sheridan from the other side of Richmond. It was a remarkable meeting,—the first and last time these four men were ever together.

After the conference, at which Lincoln expressed his sympathy with the desperate situation in which the Confederates were placed, Grant sent a note through the lines to Lee, saying, "The results of the last week must have convinced you of the hopelessness of further resistance," and added that he regarded it a duty "to shift from myself the responsibility of any further effusion of blood" by asking Lee's surrender. Lee replied that he reciprocated the desire to avoid further bloodshed, and asked for terms. Grant answered that there was only one condition, that the officers and men surrendered should be disqualified from taking up arms again. Lee replied the next day that he did not think the emergency had arisen for the surrender of his army, but offered to meet Grant at ten o'clock the next morning on the old stage line to Richmond between the pickets of the two armies. Grant answered that "the terms upon which peace can be had are well understood. By the South laying down their arms they will hasten that most desirable event, save thousands of human lives and hundreds of millions of property." Lee had hoped to arrest the movement of the Union troops by entering into negotiations, but found that Grant understood his purpose and was drawing more closely around him, so he accepted the inevitable and asked an interview for the surrender of his army.

The meeting at the McLean mansion at Appomattox has been too often described to require reference in these pages, except to call attention to the fact that General Grant's letter accepting the surrender of Lee's army was in direct violation of the amnesty proclamation of December 8, 1863, and President Lincoln's order sent from the Capital on the night of March 3. No one knows whether Lincoln ever called his attention to that fact. There is no record of a reprimand or even a comment from the President, and it is probable that his joy and gratitude were so overwhelming that he did not even question the terms. General Grant, however, in his "Memoirs," says that he was overcome by feelings of sympathy for his heroic antagonist, and that the closing sentence of his letter, which practically pardoned the entire army, was written without a thought of its far-reaching significance.

President Lincoln was the same man in triumph that he had been in distress. Neither joy nor grief could disconcert him, but no one witnessed the enthusiasm of the public over the news from Appomattox with greater gratification. The story of his visit to Richmond is told in Chapter VI. Upon his return to Washington he took up at once the important work of restoring order in the South with as much zeal and energy as he had shown in the prosecution of the war.

On April 11, from one of the windows of the White House, in response to a serenade, he delivered his last speech, in which he departed from the habit of reticence he had practised throughout the war and expressed more of his views and purposes than he had ever previously done on a similar occasion.

April 14, the anniversary of the evacuation of Fort Sumter, was celebrated by restoring the identical flag to the staff from which it had been lowered four years before. General Robert Anderson performed that thankful duty; the Rev. Matthias Harris, the former chaplain of Fort Sumter, offered prayer; General E. D. Townsend read the original despatch announcing the evacuation; and Henry Ward Beecher delivered a brilliant oration, which concluded with these words:

"We offer to the President of these United States our solemn congratulations that God has sustained his life and health under the unparalleled burdens and sufferings of four bloody years, and permitted him to behold this auspicious confirmation of that national unity for which he has waited with so much patience and fortitude, and for which he has labored with such disinterested wisdom."

General Grant, who arrived in Washington on the morning of the 14th, expressed anxiety concerning the situation of General Sherman, because he had heard nothing from him for several days. The President assured him that he need have no concern, because the night before he had dreamed that he was on board a curious vessel sailing rapidly towards a dark and indefinite shore, and awoke before landing. He said he had had exactly the same dream before the battles of Antietam, Murfreesborough, Gettysburg, Vicksburg, and other great victories. Although the members of the Cabinet were accustomed to similar revelations of that mysticism which was one of Lincoln's characteristics, they were greatly impressed; but Grant dismissed it with the comment that there was no victory at Murfreesborough, and that the battle there had no important results. The President did not seem to notice this matter-of-fact remark, and continued to describe his dream and the sensations which followed it, insisting that Sherman would soon report an important victory, because he could think of no other possible event to which his dream might refer. Twelve days later, April 26, came the news of the surrender of Johnston's army to Sherman and the end of the war.

In the presence of General Grant, the Cabinet discussed the subject of reconstruction. As there was a difference of opinion and lack of information concerning the proposed regulations for governing trade between the States, the President appointed Mr. Stanton, Mr. Welles, and Mr. McCulloch a committee to submit recommendations.

At the previous Cabinet meeting Secretary Stanton had submitted a plan for the re-establishment of civil government, which was discussed at length. It was providential, the President said, that Congress would not sit again for at least seven months, which would allow him time to restore order and civil authority without interference. He expressed sympathy with the people of the South and a desire to avoid further bloodshed and exhibitions of resentment or vindictiveness. He believed that they needed charity more than censure. He said that he would not permit the severe punishment of the Southern leaders, notwithstanding the clamor from the North. No one need expect to take any part in hanging or killing these men, even the worst of them.

"Frighten them out of the country!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around as if he were driving sheep; "let down the bars; scare them off! Enough lives have been sacrificed; we must extinguish our resentment if we expect harmony and union!"

Secretary Welles records in his diary this extraordinary scene at the last meeting of the Lincoln Cabinet, and adds that, as the President dismissed his advisers, he urged them to give the most earnest consideration to the problem that had been presented by the restoration of peace.

The President spent the rest of the day with his son Robert and other personal friends, violating his rule and refusing to admit any one on official business. During the afternoon he went with Mrs. Lincoln for a long drive, and seemed to be in an unusually happy and contented mood. She said that he talked of going back to Springfield to practise law. His heart was overflowing with gratitude to the Heavenly Father, he said, for all His goodness, and particularly for the close of the war and the triumph of the Union arms, for there would be no further bloodshed or distress. The members of his family and his secretaries agree that they never had known him to be in such a satisfied and contented state of mind. The clouds that had hung over him for four years had cleared away; the war was over, peace was restored, and the only duty left to him was extremely grateful to his nature,—the task of restoring happiness and prosperity.

JOHN WILKES BOOTH

From a photograph by Brady

After dinner that evening Mr. Colfax and Mr. Ashmun, of the House of Representatives, who were about to leave Washington for the summer, came to inquire if the President intended to call an extra session of Congress. He assured them that he did not; and, as they were leaving the White House, Ward Lamon, the United States Marshal of the District of Columbia, and one of his oldest friends, called to ask a pardon for an old soldier who had been convicted of violating the army regulations. According to the recollection of Mr. Pendel, one of the President's messengers, Lincoln told his last story at that time. As he was about to sign the pardon, he turned to Lamon, saying,—

"Lamon, do you know how the Patagonians eat oysters?"

"No, I do not, Mr. Lincoln," was the reply.

"It is their habit to open them as fast as they can and throw the shells out of the window, and when the pile of shells grows to be higher than the house, why, they pick up stakes and move. Now, Lamon, I felt like beginning a new pile of pardons, and I guess this is a good one to begin on."

The President, Mrs. Lincoln, and General and Mrs. Grant had accepted a box at Ford's Theatre that evening, and, the fact having been announced in the newspapers, there was a large attendance. Providentially General Grant changed his mind at the last moment and took a train for New York instead. Mrs. Lincoln invited Miss Harris and Major Rathbone, the daughter and step-son of Senator Ira Harris, of New York, to take the vacant places, and the party arrived at the theatre shortly after the curtain rose. About ten o'clock John Wilkes Booth, a dissipated young actor and fanatical sympathizer of the South, pushed his way through the crowd to the President's box, showed a card to the usher who had been placed at the door to keep out inquisitive people, and was allowed to enter. The eyes of the President and his companions were fixed upon the stage, so that his entrance was unnoticed. Carrying a knife in his left hand, Booth approached within arm's length of the President and fired a pistol; dropping that weapon, he took the knife in his right hand and struck savagely at Major Rathbone, who caught the blow upon his left arm, receiving a deep wound. Booth then vaulted over the railing of the box upon the stage, but his spur caught in the folds of the drapery and he fell, breaking his leg. Staggering to the footlights, he brandished his dripping knife, shouted in a tragic manner "Sic semper tyrannis," the State motto of Virginia, and disappeared between the flies.

Major Rathbone shouted "Stop him!" The actors upon the stage were stupefied by fright and surprise, and it was several seconds before the audience realized what had happened. They were brought to their senses by some one who shouted, "He has shot the President!" Several men jumped upon the stage in pursuit of the assassin, while three army surgeons who happened to be present forced their way through the crowd to the President's box. As soon as a passage could be cleared, the President was carried across the street and laid upon a bed in a small house, where Mrs. Lincoln followed him almost overcome by the shock from which she never recovered. Major Rathbone, exhausted by the loss of blood, was carried home. Messengers were sent for the Cabinet, for the President's family physician, and for the Surgeon-General of the army. Robert Lincoln and John Hay learned the news from the shouts of a frantic crowd which soon poured through the gates of the White House, and hurried at once to the little house on Tenth Street. On their way they were told that most of the Cabinet had been murdered.

The physicians who surrounded the President's bed pronounced the wound fatal. The assassin's bullet entered the back of his head on the left side, passed through the brain, and lodged behind the left ear. But for his powerful physique and his abundant vitality, it would have brought instant death. He never recovered consciousness, but lingered through the night and died at twenty-two minutes past seven in the morning. Dr. Gurley, pastor of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, which the President attended, was kneeling in prayer by his bedside; Surgeon-General Barnes, of the army, had his finger upon the President's pulse; Robert Lincoln, Senator Sumner, and one of the assistant secretaries leaned upon the foot of the bed. Colonel Hay describes the scene as follows:

"As the dawn came and the lamplight grew pale in the fresher beams, his pulse began to fail; but his face even then was scarcely more haggard than those of the sorrowing group of statesmen and generals around him. His automatic moaning, which had continued through the night, ceased; a look of unspeakable peace came upon his worn features. At twenty-two minutes after seven he died. Stanton broke the silence by saying, 'Now he belongs to the ages.' Dr. Gurley kneeled by the bedside and prayed fervently. The widow came in from the adjoining room, supported by her son, and cast herself with loud outcry on the dead body."

Abraham Lincoln's hatred of slavery was inborn, but its development began when he saw human beings sold at auction on the levee at New Orleans and chained and beaten upon the decks of Mississippi River steamboats on their way to market. These horrors were first witnessed by him when he made his voyage on the flat-boat from Gentryville, and the impression was deepened upon his second journey four years later from New Salem. Even to the day of his death the recollection was vivid. He alluded to it frequently while the slave problem was perplexing him and his advisers during the war, and the picture was before his eyes when he wrote the Emancipation Proclamation. As one of his companions said, "Slavery ran the iron into him then and there."

However, the mind of the boy had been prepared for this impression by the teachings of his mother. In 1804 a crusade against slavery in Kentucky was started by the itinerant preachers of the Baptist Church, and the Rev. Jesse Head, the minister who married Thomas Lincoln and Nancy Hanks, was a bold abolitionist and boldly proclaimed the doctrine of human liberty wherever he went. Lincoln's father and mother were among his most devoted disciples, and when he was a mere child Abraham Lincoln inherited their hatred of human servitude. "If slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong," he once said in a speech. "I cannot remember when I did not think so and feel so."

Down in a corner of Indiana where the Lincolns lived there were slaves for years after the admission of the State to the Union, in spite of the ordinance of 1787 and the statutes which Lincoln read in his youth. Nor was the fact a secret. The census of 1820 showed one hundred and ninety slaves, but during the next year the State Supreme Court declared them free.

In the following year (1822) occurred a great moral revolution on the frontier. Then commenced the struggle between the friends and opponents of slavery which lasted until the Emancipation Proclamation was signed. Abraham Lincoln, with the preparation I have described, was from the beginning an active participant, and gradually became a leader in one of the greatest controversies that has ever engaged the intellectual and moral forces of the world.

In 1822, eight years before the Lincoln family left Indiana, an attempt was made to introduce slavery into Illinois, and was defeated by Edward Coles, of Virginia, the Governor, who gave his entire salary for four years to pay the expense of the contest. The antislavery members of the Legislature contributed a thousand dollars to the fund, which was spent in the distribution of literature on the subject. For a time the storm subsided, but the deep hatred of the iniquity was spreading through the North, and abolition societies were being organized in every city and village where the friends of human freedom existed in sufficient numbers to sustain themselves against the powerful proslavery sentiment. Occasionally there was a public discussion, but the controversy raged most fiercely at the corner groceries, at the county court-house, and at other places where thinking men were in the habit of assembling, and Lincoln was always ready and eager to enter the debates. His convictions were formed and grew firmer as he studied the question, and his moral courage developed with them. It was a good deal of an ordeal for an ambitious young man just beginning his career to attack a popular institution, in the midst of a community many of whom had been born and educated in slave States and considered what he believed a curse to be a divine institution. Nevertheless, the sense of justice and humanity stimulated Abraham Lincoln to take his place upon the side of freedom, and he never lost an opportunity to denounce slavery as founded on injustice and wrong.

His first opportunity to make a public avowal of his views occurred in 1838, when the Illinois Legislature passed a series of resolutions declaring that the right of property in slaves is sacred to the slave-holding States by the Federal Constitution, and "that we highly disapprove of the formation of abolition societies and of the doctrines promulgated by them." Lincoln and five other members of the Legislature voted against these resolutions; and in order to make his position more fully understood by his constituents and the members of the Whig party throughout the State, he prepared a protest, which he persuaded Dan Stone, one of his colleagues from Sangamon County, to sign with him, and, at their request, it was spread upon the journal of the House, as follows:

"Resolutions upon the subject of domestic slavery having passed both branches of the General Assembly at its present session, the undersigned hereby protest against the passage of the same.

"They believe that the institution of slavery is founded on both injustice and bad policy, but that the promulgation of abolition doctrines tends rather to increase than abate its evils.

"They believe that the Congress of the United States has no power under the Constitution to interfere with the institution of slavery in the different States.

"They believe that the Congress of the United States has the power, under the Constitution, to abolish slavery in the District of Columbia, but that the power ought not to be exercised, unless at the request of the people of the District.

"The difference between these opinions and those contained in the said resolutions is their reasons for entering this protest."

This, I am confident, is the first formal declaration against the system of slavery that was made in any legislative body in the United States, at least west of the Hudson River.

A few months after this event occurred the tragic death of the Rev. Elijah P. Lovejoy, editor of a religious newspaper at Alton, whose antislavery editorials enraged the proslavery mob, which murdered him and threw his press and type into the Mississippi River. In this case, as in many others, the blood of a martyr was the seed of the faith. The mob that murdered Elijah P. Lovejoy did more to crystallize public opinion and stimulate the movement than all the arguments and appeals uttered up to that date.

After his bold action in the Legislature Lincoln was recognized as the antislavery leader in the central part of Illinois, but was frequently the object of criticism because of his conservative views. He argued, then, as he did twenty-five years later, that the Constitution of the United States was sacred, and as long as it existed must be obeyed. It recognized the right to hold slaves in certain States, and therefore that right could not be denied until the Constitution was appropriately amended. The friends of freedom were at liberty to denounce the great wrong, but they must proceed legally in securing its removal. This position was taken by Lincoln when he was only twenty-eight years old, and he held it until the abolition of slavery became a military necessity. At the same time he was patiently and confidently trying to educate public sentiment and lead the abolition movement in the right direction.

Lincoln's second opportunity to place himself formally on record occurred when he was a member of the House of Representatives, where the controversy had been carried long before, and had been revived and vitalized by the treaty with Mexico at the close of the war of 1848, which added to the United States a territory as large as half of Europe. The slave-holders immediately demanded it for their own, but in the previous Congress the Whig and antislavery Democrats had succeeded in attaching to an appropriation bill an amendment known as the Wilmot Proviso, which prohibited the extension of slavery into the territory recently acquired. This had been followed up by the adoption of similar provisions wherever the Whigs could get an opportunity to attach them to other legislation. Lincoln used to say that during his two years in Congress he voted for the Wilmot Proviso in one form or another more than fifty times.

Upon his arrival in Washington his horror of the slavery system and the impressions received during his voyages to New Orleans were revived by witnessing the proceedings and the distress in the slave-markets of the national capital, and he determined to devote his best efforts to a removal of that scandal and reproach. Fifteen years later, in one of his speeches during the debate with Douglas, he described the slave-shambles of Washington, and said, "In view from the windows of the Capitol a sort of negro livery stable where droves of negroes were collected, temporarily kept, and finally taken to Southern markets, precisely like droves of horses, has been openly maintained for more than fifty years."

He believed that Congress had power under the Constitution to regulate all affairs in the Territories and the District of Columbia, and, after consulting with several of the leading citizens of Washington, he introduced a bill for the gradual abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia. The first two sections prohibit the introduction of slaves within the limits of the District or the selling of them out of it, exception being made to the servants of officials of the government from the slave-holding States. The third section provides for the apprenticeship and gradual emancipation of children born of slave mothers after January 1, 1850. The fourth provides full compensation for all slaves voluntarily made free by their owners. The fifth recognizes the fugitive-slave law, and the sixth submits the proposition to a popular vote, and provides that it shall not go into force until ratified by a majority of the voters of the District.

This bill met with more violent opposition from other parts of the country than from the slave-holders who were directly affected. The people of the South feared that it might serve as a precedent for similar actions in other parts of the country and stimulate the antislavery sentiment of the North. On the other hand, the abolitionists, with that unreasonable spirit which usually governs men of radical views, condemned the measure as a compromise with wrong, and declared that they would never permit money from the public treasury to be expended for the purchase of human beings. No action was taken in Congress. The bill was referred to the appropriate committee and was stuffed into a pigeonhole, where it was never disturbed; but it is a remarkable coincidence that less than fifteen years later it was Lincoln's privilege to approve an act of Congress for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia.

It is interesting to watch the development of Lincoln's views on the slavery question, as revealed by his public utterances and private letters during the great struggle between 1850 and 1860, until the people of the republic named him as umpire to decide the greatest question that ever engaged the moral and intellectual attention of a people. Here and there appear curious phrases, startling predictions, vivid epigrams, and unanswerable arguments. For example, in 1855 he declared that "the autocrat of all the Russias will resign his crown and proclaim free republicans sooner than will our American masters voluntarily give up their slaves." A reference to the dates will show that Alexander II., by imperial decree, emancipated the serfs of Russia almost upon the same day, at the same hour, that the Southern States began the greatest war of modern times to protect and extend the institution of slavery.

At Rochester, in the summer of 1859, Mr. Seward furnished the Republican party a watch-cry when he called it "the irrepressible conflict," but two years before and repeatedly after Lincoln uttered the same idea in almost the same phrase. In three Presidential campaigns, in two contests for the Senate, and in almost every local political contest after 1840 slavery was the principal theme of his speeches, until the Douglas debate of 1858 caused him to be recognized as the most powerful advocate and defender of antislavery doctrines.

Senator Douglas found great amusement in accusing Lincoln of a desire to establish social equality between the whites and the blacks, and in his speeches seldom failed to evoke a roar of laughter by declaring that "Abe Lincoln" and other abolitionists "wanted to marry niggers." Lincoln paid no attention to this vulgar joke until he saw that it was becoming serious, and that many people actually believed that the abolitionists were proposing to do what Douglas had said. He attempted to remove this impression by a serious discussion of the doctrine of equality, and in one of his speeches declared, "I protest against the counterfeit logic which concludes that because I do not want a black woman for a slave I must necessarily want her for a wife." In another speech he said, "I shall never marry a negress, but I have no objection to any one else doing so. If a white man wants to marry a negro woman, let him do it,—if the negro woman can stand it."

ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN 1864

From a photograph in the War Department Collection

At another time he said, "If I saw a venomous snake crawling in the road, any man would say I might seize the nearest stick and kill it; but if I found that snake in bed with my children, that would be another question. I might hurt the children more than the snake, and it might bite them. Much more, it I found it in bed with my neighbor's children, and I had bound myself by a solemn compact not to meddle with his children under any circumstances, it would become me to let that particular mode of getting rid of that gentleman alone. But if there was a bed newly made up, to which the children were to be taken, and it was proposed to take a batch of young snakes and put them there with them, I take it that no man would question how I ought to decide."

In his Cooper Union speech may be found his strongest argument. "If slavery is right, all words, acts, laws, and constitutions against it are themselves wrong, and should be silenced and swept away. If it is right, we cannot justly object to its nationality,—its universality. If it is wrong, they cannot justly insist upon its extension,—its enlargement. All they ask we could readily grant, if we thought slavery right; all we ask they could as readily grant, if they thought it wrong. Their thinking it right, and our thinking it wrong, is the precise fact upon which depends the whole controversy.... Wrong as we think slavery is, we can yet afford to let it alone where it is, because that much is due to the necessity arising from its actual presence in the nation; but can we, while our votes will prevent it, allow it to spread into the national Territories, and to overrun us here in the free States? If our sense of duty forbids this, then let us stand by our duty fearlessly and effectively. Let us be diverted by none of those sophistical contrivances wherewith we are so industriously plied and belabored, contrivances such as groping for some middle ground between the right and the wrong, vain as the search for a man who should be neither a living man nor a dead man; such as a policy of 'don't care,' on a question about which all true men do care; such as Union appeals beseeching true Union men to yield to disunionists; reversing the divine rule, and calling, not the sinners, but the righteous to repentance; such as invocations to Washington, imploring men to unsay what Washington said, and undo what Washington did. Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against us, nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction to the government nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it."

In a letter dated July 28, 1859, he wrote, "There is another thing our friends are doing which gives me some uneasiness.... Douglas's popular sovereignty, accepted by the public mind as a just principle, nationalizes slavery, and revives the African slave-trade inevitably. Taking slaves into new Territories, and buying slaves in Africa, are identical things, identical rights or identical wrongs, and the argument which establishes one will establish the other. Try a thousand years for a sound reason why Congress shall not hinder the people of Kansas from having slaves, and when you have found it, it will be an equally good one why Congress should not hinder the people of Georgia from importing slaves from Africa."

While he was campaigning in Ohio, in 1859, occurred the John Brown episode at Harper's Ferry, which created intense excitement throughout the entire country and particularly in the South, where it was interpreted as an organized attempt of the abolitionists to arouse an insurrection among the slaves. In his speeches Lincoln did much to allay public sentiment in Illinois, for he construed the attack upon Harper's Ferry with his habitual common sense. He argued that it was not a slave insurrection, but an attempt to organize one in which the slaves refused to participate, and he compared it with many attempts related in history to assassinate kings and emperors. "An enthusiast broods over the oppression of a people until he fancies himself commissioned by heaven to liberate them. He ventures the attempt, which ends in little else than his own execution. Orsini's attempt on Louis Napoleon and John Brown's attempt at Harper's Ferry were, in their philosophy, precisely the same. The eagerness to cast blame on Old England in one case and on New England in the other does not disprove the sameness of the two things."

It was not long after the inauguration that President Lincoln was compelled to treat the slavery problem in a practical manner. To him it ceased to be a question of morals and became an actual, perplexing problem continually appearing in every direction and in various forms. The first movement of troops dislodged from the plantations of their owners a multitude of slaves, who found their way to the camps of the Union army and were employed as servants, teamsters, and often as guides. The Northern soldier took a sympathetic interest in the escaped slave, and as fast as he advanced into slave territory the greater that sympathy became. A Virginia planter looking for a fugitive slave in a Union camp was a familiar object of ridicule and derision, and he seldom found any satisfaction.

One day the representative of Colonel Mallory, a Virginia planter, came into the Union lines at Fortress Monroe and demanded three field-hands who, he asserted, were at that time in the camp. General B. F. Butler, who was in command, replied that, as Virginia claimed to be a foreign country, the fugitive-slave law could not possibly be in operation there, and declined to surrender the negroes unless the owner would take the oath of allegiance to the United States. A newspaper correspondent, in reporting this incident, took the ground that, as the Confederate commanders were using negroes as laborers upon fortifications, under international law they were clearly contraband of war. A new word was coined. From that moment, and until the struggle was over, escaped negroes were known as "contrabands," and public opinion in the North decided that they were subject to release or confiscation by military right and usage. General Butler always assumed the credit of formulating that doctrine, and insisted that the correspondent had adopted a suggestion overheard at the mess-table; but, however it originated, it had more influence upon the solution of the problem than volumes of argument might have had. When it became known among the negroes in Virginia that the Union troops would not send them back to slavery, the plantations were deserted and the Northern camps were crowded with men, women, and children of all ages, who had to be clothed and fed. General Butler relieved the embarrassment by sending the able-bodied men to work upon the fortifications, by utilizing the women as cooks and laundresses, and by permitting his officers to employ them as servants.

After a time the exodus spread to Washington, and the slaves in that city began to find their way across the Potomac into the military camps, which caused a great deal of dissatisfaction and seemed to have an unfavorable effect upon the political action of Maryland, West Virginia, Kentucky, and Missouri; so that President Lincoln was appealed to from all sides to order the execution of the fugitive-slave law in States which he was trying to keep in the Union. He believed that public sentiment was growing and would ultimately furnish a solution. He quoted the Methodist presiding elder, riding about his circuit at the time of the spring freshets, whose young companion showed great anxiety as to how they should cross Fox River, then very much swollen. The elder replied that he had made it the rule of his life never to cross Fox River until he came to it.

With the same philosophical spirit, Lincoln made the negro question "a local issue," to be treated by each commander and the police of each place as circumstances suggested, and, under his instructions, the commandant at Washington issued an order that "fugitive slaves will under no pretext whatever be permitted to reside, or be in any way harbored, in the quarters and camps of the troops serving in this department." This served to satisfy the complaints of the Maryland planters and the slave-holders of the District of Columbia until Congress passed the confiscation act, which forfeited the property rights of disloyal owners. That was the first step towards emancipation.

President Lincoln's plan to invest military commanders with practical authority to solve the negro problem according to their individual judgment soon got him into trouble, especially with his Secretary of War, for the latter, in his report to Congress, without the knowledge of the President and without consulting him, explained the policy of the government as follows:

"If it shall be found that the men who have been held by the rebels as slaves are capable of bearing arms and performing efficient military service, it is right, and may become the duty, of the government to arm and equip them, and employ their services against the rebels, under proper military regulation, discipline, and command."

The report did not reach the public; it was suppressed and modified before being printed in the newspapers; but that paragraph made Mr. Cameron's resignation necessary. As amended, the report contained a simple declaration that fugitive and abandoned slaves, being an important factor in the military situation, would not be returned to disloyal masters, but would be employed so far as possible in the services of the Union army, and withheld from the enemy until Congress should make some permanent disposition of them.

Lincoln was severely criticised by the antislavery newspapers of the North. But he did not lose his patience, and in his message to Congress declared his intention to keep the integrity of the Union prominent "as the primary object of the contest on our part, leaving all questions which are not of vital military importance to the more deliberate action of the Legislature." But while he was writing these guarded and ambiguous phrases he had already decided to propose a plan of voluntary abolition for the District of Columbia similar to that he had offered in Congress thirteen years before. It was a measure of expediency and delay. He evidently had no expectation that such a proposition would be adopted. He undoubtedly realized that it was impossible; but his political sagacity and knowledge of human nature taught him that the public, to use a homely but significant expression which was familiar to his childhood, "must have something to chaw on," and further illustrated his point by reminding a caller how easily an angry dog might be diverted by throwing him a bone.

He soon followed this up by proposing to Delaware a scheme for the purchase by the government of the seventeen hundred and ninety-eight slaves shown by the census of 1860 to be still held in that State, at the rate of four hundred dollars per capita. A majority of the Lower House of the Legislature of Delaware accepted the idea, but the Senate rejected it and the subject was dropped. But Lincoln did not allow the minds of his antislavery critics to rest. He kept them busy discussing new propositions, and on March 6, 1862, sent a special message to the two Houses of Congress recommending the gradual abolishment of slavery by furnishing to the several States from the public treasury sufficient funds "to compensate for the inconveniences, public and private, produced by such change of system." By this proposition he avoided the objections to the general government interfering with the domestic affairs of the States, and left the people of each State to arrange for emancipation in their own way. "It is proposed as a matter of perfectly free choice with them," he said in his message, and again called attention to the probable effects of the war upon the slave situation. The representatives of the border States in Congress took no heed of the warning, but the Northern papers devoted a great deal of space to a discussion of the proposition, and Lincoln's purpose of giving them something to talk about was accomplished. The most serious objection was based upon the enormous expenses. As early as 1839 Henry Clay estimated the value of the slaves at one billion two hundred and fifty million dollars, and upon the same basis of calculation it must have exceeded two billion dollars in 1860; but Lincoln answered that one-half day's cost of the war would pay for all the slaves in Delaware at four hundred dollars a head, and that eighty-seven days' cost would pay for all the slaves in the border States.

He called together the Congressional delegates from the border States and made an earnest effort to convince them of the expediency of his plan. The House of Representatives adopted it by a two-thirds vote, although few of the members from Maryland, Kentucky, and Missouri voted with the affirmative. A month later the resolution was concurred in by the Senate, and what Thaddeus Stevens, the radical leader of the House, described as "the most diluted milk-and-water-gruel proposition ever given to the American people" became a law.

It is not necessary to say that the Legislatures of the border States never had an opportunity to take advantage of the proposition; history moved too fast for them. But Lincoln at once began a systematic campaign in Congress to secure legislation for the purchase of all the slaves belonging to loyal owners in the District of Columbia, and that became a law on April 16, 1862.

Public opinion was being rapidly educated; the Republican majority in Congress was pledged to the doctrine of emancipation; the slave-holders in the border States were being led gradually to realize the inevitable, and if they had been wise they would promptly have accepted the generosity of the President's proposition and thus have escaped the enormous pecuniary losses which they suffered by the Emancipation Proclamation a little later.

Before Congress adjourned, laws were passed which materially altered the situation. The army was prohibited from surrendering fugitive slaves; the confiscation act was greatly enlarged; all slaves actually employed in military service by the Confederacy were declared free; the President was authorized to enlist negro regiments for the war; the Missouri Compromise was restored; slavery was forbidden in all Territories of the United States; appropriations were made for carrying into effect the treaty with Great Britain to suppress the slave-trade; the independence and sovereignty of Hayti and Liberia, two black republics, were formally recognized, and two nations of negroes, with negro Presidents, negro officials, and negro ambassadors, were admitted on an equality into the sisterhood of civilized nations. Any one who would have predicted such legislation a year previous would have been considered insane, even six months previous it would have been declared impossible.

The next sensation was an emancipation proclamation issued by General David Hunter, who commanded the Department of the South, which declared free all persons held as slaves in the States of Georgia, Florida, and South Carolina. Lincoln promptly vetoed Hunter's order and declared it unauthorized and void, saying that he reserved to himself, "as Commander-in-Chief of the army and navy, to declare the slaves of any State or States free" when "it shall have become a necessity indispensable to the maintenance of the government."

This announcement should have satisfied the North and have been a sufficient warning to the South, because as we read it now we can see Lincoln's purposes between the lines.

The President could not permit the Congressional delegations from the border States to return to their constituents without one more admonition and one more appeal to their patriotism and their sense of justice and wisdom. He called them to the White House and read to them a carefully prepared argument in support of his plan to sell their slaves to the government. Two-thirds of them united in an explanation of their reasons for rejecting the scheme on account of its impracticability, and the remainder promised to submit it to their constituents. The reception of this last appeal convinced Lincoln that he could do nothing by moral suasion, and he immediately determined to try the use of force.

"It has got to be," he told a friend afterwards. "We had played our last card and must change our tactics or lose the game; and I now determined upon the adoption of the emancipation policy, and, without consultation with or the knowledge of the Cabinet, I prepared the original draft of the proclamation."

On July 22, 1862, he read to his Cabinet the first draft of a proclamation, not for the purpose of asking their advice, he told them, but for their information. But every man was pledged to confidence, and the secret was so well kept that the public had no suspicion of his intention, and the radical newspapers and abolitionists continued to criticise and attack him in a most abusive manner. A committee of clergymen from Chicago came to Washington to urge him to issue an emancipation proclamation. He received them respectfully, but did not tell them that their wishes would have been anticipated but for the defeat of the Union army at the second battle of Bull Run. He made them an eloquent but evasive speech, and appealed to their good sense. "Now, gentlemen," he said, "if I cannot enforce the Constitution down South, how can I enforce a mere Presidential proclamation? I do not want to issue a document that the whole world will see must necessarily be inoperative like the Pope's Bull against the comet."

Mr. Colfax, who accompanied the delegation, says that "one of these ministers felt it his duty to make a more searching appeal to the President's conscience. Just as they were retiring, he turned and said to Mr. Lincoln,—

"'What you have said to us, Mr. President, compels me to say, in reply, that it is a message to you from our Divine Master, through me, commanding you, sir, to open the doors of bondage that the slave may go free!'

"Mr. Lincoln replied instantly, 'That may be, sir, for I have studied this question by night and by day for weeks and for months; but if it is, as you say, a message from your Divine Master, is it not odd that the only channel he could send it by was that roundabout route by that awfully wicked city of Chicago?'

"In discussing the question, he used to liken the case to that of the boy who, when asked how many legs his calf would have if he called his tail a leg, replied, 'Five.' To which the prompt response was made that calling the tail a leg would not make it a leg.

"He sought to measure so accurately, so precisely, the public sentiment that, whenever he advanced, the loyal hosts of the nation would keep step with him. In regard to the policy of arming the slaves against the Rebellion, never, until the tide of patriotic volunteering had ebbed and our soldiers saw their ranks rapidly melting away, could our colored troops have been added to their brigades without perilous discontent, if not open revolt. Against all appeals, all demands, against even threats of some members of his party, Lincoln stood like a rock on this question until he felt that the opportune moment had arrived."

Not only was he denounced by the abolitionists, but by the foremost leaders of the Republican party, such as Benjamin F. Wade and Horace Greeley, and received appeals from loyal people of the South, to whom he replied, with his usual patience, "What is done and omitted about the slaves is done and omitted on the same military necessity. I shall not do more than I can, and shall do all that I can, to save the government."

In his view, military necessity was the only justification for the violation of the Constitution, which protected the slaves. In the second place, his delay was due to a doubt whether public sentiment in the North was prepared for a measure so radical and far-reaching; by his hope that the people of the border States would soon be willing to accept the act as a friendly as well as a necessary solution of a dilemma; and, finally, because of his profound respect for the Constitution which he had sworn to maintain. He would not free the negro because the Constitution stood in his way, and only for the sake of the Union was he willing to override that sacred instrument. This purpose was tersely expressed when, under great provocation, he allowed himself to violate his own rule and reply to Horace Greeley, who had attacked him in an open letter of unjust censure, accusing him of neglecting his duty.

"I would save the Union," he said, frankly. "I would save it in the shortest way under the Constitution. If there be those who would not save the Union unless they could at the same time save slavery, I do not agree with them. If there be those who would not save the Union unless they could, at the same time, destroy slavery, I do not agree with them. My paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save or to destroy slavery. If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that. What I do about slavery and the colored race, I do because I believe it helps to save the Union; and what I forbear, I forbear because I do not believe it would help to save the Union. I shall do less whenever I believe what I am doing hurts the cause, and I shall do more whenever I believe doing more will help the cause. I shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors, and I shall adopt new views so fast as they shall appear to be true views."

Contemplating the events in the history of emancipation in a perspective of forty years, it is difficult to say whether we admire more the skill with which President Lincoln led public sentiment along with him or the reticence and dignity with which he restrained his own desire to yield to the influence of the good people of the North and protect himself from the clamor of his critics. His letter to Mr. Greeley was not an argument in a controversy, nor an apology for or defence of his policy; but he intended it to be a warning to prepare the slave-holders of the border States and the South for an event which only he and his Cabinet knew was about to happen, and, at the same time, to divert the attention of the Union people of the North until a favorable opportunity arrived for proclaiming freedom.

Mr. Greeley was not satisfied with the assurances contained in the letter, and continued to attack the President in a persistent manner. He was invited to come to Washington and "fight it out in private," but sent his managing editor instead, who spent an interesting evening and had an animated argument with the President; but the latter could not trust him with the momentous secret, and was compelled to wait until a Union victory offered a favorable opportunity to take the step he contemplated. As he told the Chicago pastors, he had not decided against a proclamation of liberty for the slaves, but held the matter under advisement. "And I can assure you," he added, "that the subject is on my mind by day and by night; more than any other. Whatever shall appear to be God's will I will do."

Accordingly, on September 22, 1862, after the battle of Antietam, he called his Cabinet together and announced his intention to issue a proclamation of emancipation. "I have gotten you together to hear what I have written down," he said. "I do not want your advice about the main matter, because I have determined that myself. This I say without intending anything but respect for all of you. I alone must bear the responsibility for taking the course which I feel I ought to take."

The preliminary proclamation was issued, and in his annual message to Congress on December 1, 1862, Lincoln recommended the passage of a joint resolution proposing a constitutional amendment providing compensation for every State which would abolish slavery before the year 1900, another guaranteeing freedom to all slaves that had been released by the chances of war, and a third authorizing Congress to provide a plan of colonization for them. His idea was to send them either to Africa, to the West Indies, or to Central America, and he encouraged several extensive plans of colonization, which, however, were not carried into practical operation. In this connection it is interesting to recall the reminiscences of General Butler, who says that shortly before the assassination the President sent for him and said,—

"'General Butler, I am troubled about the negroes. We are soon to have peace. We have got some one hundred and odd thousand negroes who have been trained to arms. When peace shall come I fear lest these colored men shall organize themselves in the South, especially in the States where the negroes are in preponderance in numbers, into guerilla parties, and we shall have down there a warfare between the whites and the negroes. In the course of the reconstruction of the government it will become a question of how the negro is to be disposed of. Would it not be possible to export them to some place, say Liberia or South America, and organize them into communities to support themselves?'

"General Butler replied, 'We have large quantities of clothing to clothe them, and arms and everything necessary for them, even to spades and shovels, mules, and wagons. Our war has shown that an army organization is the very best for digging up the soil and making intrenchments. Witness the very many miles of intrenchments that our soldiers have dug out. I know of a concession of the United States of Colombia for a tract of thirty miles wide across the Isthmus of Panama for opening a ship canal. The enlistments of the negroes have all of them from two or three years to run. Why not send them all down there to dig the canal? They will withstand the climate, and the work can be done with less cost to the United States in that way than in any other. If you choose, I will take command of the expedition. We will take our arms with us, and I need not suggest to you that we will need nobody sent down to guard us from the interference of any nation. We will proceed to cultivate the land and supply ourselves with all the fresh food that can be raised in the tropics, which will be all that will be needed, and your stores of provisions and supplies of clothing will furnish all the rest. Shall I work out the details of such an expedition for you, Mr. President?'

"He reflected for some time, and then said, 'There is meat in that suggestion, General Butler; there is meat in that suggestion. Go and talk to Seward and see what foreign complications there will be about it.'

"But that evening Secretary Seward, in his drive before dinner, was thrown from his carriage and severely injured, his jaw being broken, and he was confined to his bed until the assassination of Lincoln and the attempted murder of himself by one of the confederates of Booth, so that the subject could never be again mentioned to Mr. Lincoln."

The final proclamation was issued on January 1, 1863. On the afternoon of December 31, after the Cabinet meeting was over Lincoln rewrote the document with great care, embodying in it several suggestions which had been made by his Cabinet, but rigidly adhering to the spirit of the original. In his judgment, the time had now come for adopting this extreme measure, and "upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of Almighty God."

The morning of New Year's day was occupied by the official reception, and the President was kept busy until about three o'clock in the afternoon, when he went to the Executive Chamber, took the manuscript from a drawer in his desk, wrote his name, and closed a controversy that had raged for half a century. He carefully laid away the pen he had used for Mr. Sumner, who had promised to obtain it for George Livermore, of Cambridge, Massachusetts, an old abolitionist and the author of a work on slavery which had greatly interested Lincoln. It was a steel pen with an ordinary wooden handle, such as is used by school-children and can be bought for a penny at any stationery store. The end of the holder showed the marks of Lincoln's teeth, for he had a habit of putting his pen-holder into his mouth whenever he was puzzled in composition.

Lincoln's own commentary and explanation of the step which led to this edict of freedom was written little more than a year later, to a friend, and should be carefully studied before forming a judgment upon the reasons for and the consequences of that act:

"I am naturally antislavery," he said. "If slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong. I cannot remember when I did not so think and feel, and yet I have never understood that the Presidency conferred upon me an unrestricted right to act officially upon this judgment and feeling. It was in the oath I took that I would, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. I could not take the office without taking the oath. Nor was it my view that I might take an oath to get power, and break the oath in using the power. I understood, too, that in ordinary civil administration this oath even forbade me to practically indulge my primary abstract judgment on the moral question of slavery. I had publicly declared this many times, and in many ways. And I aver that, to this day, I have done no official act in mere deference to my abstract judgment and feeling on slavery. I did understand, however, that my oath to preserve the Constitution to the best of my ability imposed upon me the duty of preserving, by every indispensable means, that government, that nation, of which that Constitution was the organic law. Was it possible to lose the nation and yet preserve the Constitution? By general law, life and limb must be protected, yet often a limb must be amputated to save a life; but a life is never wisely given to save a limb. I felt that measures otherwise unconstitutional might become lawful by becoming indispensable to the preservation of the Constitution, through the preservation of the nation. Right or wrong, I assumed this ground, and now avow it. I could not feel that, to the best of my ability, I had even tried to preserve the Constitution if, to save slavery or any minor matter, I should permit the wreck of government, country, and Constitution all together. When, early in the war, General Frémont attempted military emancipation, I forbade it, because I did not then think it an indispensable necessity. When, a little later, General Cameron, then Secretary of War, suggested the arming of the blacks, I objected, because I did not yet think it an indispensable necessity. When, still later, General Hunter attempted military emancipation, I again forbade it, because I did not yet think the indispensable necessity had come. When in March and May and July, 1862, I made earnest and successive appeals to the border States to favor compensated emancipation, I believed the indispensable necessity for military emancipation and arming the blacks would come unless averted by that measure. They declined the proposition, and I was, in my best judgment, driven to the alternative of either surrendering the Union, and with it the Constitution, or of laying strong hand upon the colored element. I chose the latter."

Lincoln did not live to witness the consummation or the consequences of the edict. The preliminary resolution for a constitutional amendment was not secured until after a long struggle in Congress and against the most determined opposition. Were it not for Lincoln's political skill and tact, it might never have been adopted. The work of ratification by the loyal States was not completed until December, 1865, when Mr. Seward, still Secretary of State, issued a proclamation announcing that the thirteenth amendment had been ratified by twenty-seven of the thirty-six States then composing the Union, and that slavery and involuntary servitude were from that time and forever impossible within the limits of the United States.

Some one has arranged the Emancipation Proclamation so that its words form an accurate profile of Abraham Lincoln's face. The picture is perfect and not a letter of the document is wanting.

Lincoln's ideas concerning the enfranchisement of the negroes were expressed in a letter to Governor Hahn congratulating him upon having his name fixed in history as the first free Governor of the State of Louisiana, and saying, "Now, you are about to have a convention which, among other things, will probably define the elective franchise. I barely suggest for your private consideration whether some of the colored people may not be let in,—as, for instance, the very intelligent, and especially those who have fought gallantly in our ranks. They would probably help, in some trying time to come, to keep the jewel of liberty safe within the family of freedom. But this is only a suggestion—not to the public, but to you alone."

A LETTER TO HON. MICHAEL HAHN, FIRST FREE STATE GOVERNOR OF LOUISIANA

By special permission of John M. Crampton, Esq., New Haven, Connecticut

On April 11, 1865, he made his last speech. It was delivered from the portico of the White House in response to an invitation from the managers of a jubilee celebration over the surrender of Lee's army. Twice before was he called out by serenading parties, and on both occasions declined to give more than a few informal expressions of congratulation and gratitude; but, being pressed by the committee, he consented to deliver a formal address, and with great care prepared a manuscript upon the reconstruction problem. It was undoubtedly intended as a "feeler" to test public sentiment in the North, and that portion of it which relates to negro suffrage is as follows:

"We all agree that the seceded States, so called, are out of their proper relations to the Union, and that the sole object of the government, civil and military, in regard to those States, is to again get them into their proper practical relation. I believe it is not only possible, but in fact easier to do this without deciding, or even considering, whether those States have ever been out of the Union, than with it. Finding themselves safely at home, it would be utterly immaterial whether they had ever been abroad. Let us join in doing the acts necessary to restoring the proper practical relations between those States and the Union, and each forever after innocently indulge his own opinion whether, in doing the acts, he brought the States from without the Union, or only gave them proper assistance, they never having been out of it.

"It is also unsatisfactory to some that the elective franchise is not given to the colored man. I would myself prefer that it were now conferred on the very intelligent and those who have served our cause as soldiers. Still, the question is not whether the Louisiana government, as it stands, is quite all that is desirable. The question is, Will it be wiser to take it as it is, and help to improve it, or to reject and disperse it?

"Some twelve thousand voters in the heretofore slave State of Louisiana have sworn allegiance to the Union, assumed to be the rightful political power of the State, held elections, organized a State government, adopted a free State Constitution, giving the benefit of public schools equally to black and white, and empowering the Legislature to confer the elective franchise upon the colored man. The Legislature has already voted to ratify the constitutional amendment passed by Congress, abolishing slavery throughout the nation. These twelve thousand persons are thus fully committed to the Union and to perpetual freedom in the States—committed to the very things, and nearly all the things the nation wants—and they ask the nation's recognition and its assistance to make good the committal.... We encourage the hearts and nerve the arms of twelve thousand to adhere to their work, and argue for it, and proselyte for it, fight for it, and feed it, and grow it, and ripen it to a complete success. The colored man, too, seeing all united for him, is inspired with vigilance, and energy, and daring to the same end. Grant that he desires the elective franchise, will he not obtain it sooner by saving the already advanced steps towards it than by running backward over them? Concede that the new government of Louisiana is only as what it should be as the egg is to the fowl, we shall sooner have the fowl by hatching the egg than by smashing it."

We have the testimony of members of the Cabinet that the question of suffrage was several times discussed, and that Lincoln and Mr. Chase differed as to constitutional authority and limitations in that matter. Mr. Chase held that Congress had the right and power to enact such laws for the government of the people of the States lately in rebellion as might be deemed expedient to the public safety, including the bestowal of suffrage upon the negroes; but Lincoln held that the latter right rested exclusively with the States. In his amnesty proclamation of December 8, 1863, he said that any provision by which the States shall provide for the education and for the welfare of "the laboring landless and homeless class will not be objected to by the national Executive;" and Mr. Usher, his Secretary of the Interior, says, "From all that could be gathered by those who observed his conduct in those times, it seemed his hope that the people in the insurgent States, upon exercising authority under the Constitution and laws of the United States, would find it necessary to make suitable provision, not only for the education of the freedmen, but also for their acquisition of property and security in its possession, and to secure that would find it necessary and expedient to bestow suffrage upon them, in some degree at least."

Mr. Hugh McCulloch, who succeeded Mr. Chase as Secretary of the Treasury, says, "There is nothing in his record to indicate that he would have favored the immediate and full enfranchisement of those who, having been always in servitude, were unfit for an intelligent and independent use of the ballot. In the plan for the rehabilitation of the South which he and his Cabinet had partially agreed upon, and which Mr. Johnson and the same Cabinet endeavored to perfect and carry out, no provision was made for negro suffrage. This question was purposely left open for further consideration and for Congressional action, under such amendments of the Constitution as the changed condition of the country might render necessary. From some of his incidental expressions, and from his well-known opinions upon the subject of suffrage and the States' right to regulate it, my opinion is that he would have been disposed to let that question remain as it was before the war; with, however, such amendments of the Constitution as would have prevented any but those who were permitted to vote in Federal elections from being included in the enumeration for representatives in Congress, thus inducing the recent Slave States, for the purpose of increasing their Congressional influence and power, to give the ballot to black men as well as white."

That rare gift which in the every-day affairs of life is called tact and in statecraft is known as diplomacy was possessed by Abraham Lincoln to a degree that was remarkable for a man of his meagre education and limited experience. Before his nomination to the Presidency his fame and activity had been almost exclusively provincial, and in a province which had not yet grown out of the formative period; but he was a profound student of human nature, and possessed a quality called sagacity, which is the nearest approach to wisdom and is a gift of nature. This knowledge and quality were developed during his political life. A successful politician must be a diplomatist and a statesman. The English language lacks terms to describe men of Lincoln's attainments. The French, Spaniards, and Germans have definitions for different grades of politicians, while the English are limited to that single word, and apply it to every person who participates in political affairs, from a ward-worker in the slums of the cities to an occupant of the Executive chair of the nation. William McKinley, like Abraham Lincoln, was a consummate politician and at the same time a statesman and a diplomatist. The dictionary definition of the latter is "a man who has dexterity or skill in managing negotiations of any kind;" and diplomacy, by the same authority, is "artful management with a view of securing advantages."

According to this definition, Lincoln, as a diplomatist, was unsurpassed in his generation either at home or abroad, as the history of the foreign relations of our government during his administration will show. He guided the foreign policy of the United States from 1861 to 1865 as closely as he directed its military campaigns until 1864, when he yielded the responsibility to General Grant; and, although the public gave the credit to Seward, the members of the Cabinet, the foreign committees of the Senate and the House of Representatives, and others intimately associated with that branch of the administration recognized his genius in all the larger attributes of diplomacy. The untrained lawyer from the prairies without hesitation assumed the responsibility of conducting the foreign policy of the government in the most critical period of its existence, and revised the diplomatic correspondence of his Secretary of State, who had the reputation of being one of the most subtle and far-sighted statesmen of his age. But the developments showed that Lincoln alone had a complete grasp of a situation unprecedented in our history.

He was a diplomatist by nature, and developed the talent early. When a boy, he was selected as umpire at wrestling-matches, cock-fights, horse- and foot-races, and other rude sports of the neighborhood because his associates had confidence in his judgment and honesty. Because he had tact, in addition to those qualities, he was the peacemaker and court of appeals in quarrels; the referee in disputes; the arbiter in controversies concerning literature, theology, woodcraft, and morals. His decisions were rarely, if ever, questioned. He had a rule for evading difficulties which was expressed in a homely remark to Mr. Seward, who jokingly remarked at a Cabinet meeting one day,—

"Mr. President, I hear that you turned out for a colored woman on a muddy crossing the other day."

"I don't remember," answered Lincoln, musingly; "but I think it very likely, for I have always made it a rule that if people won't turn out for me I will for them. If I didn't there would be a collision."

And he always avoided collisions. It was not because he lacked courage or confidence. Obstinacy is often mistaken for courage, and, as one of Lincoln's advisers remarked, "Political graveyards are filled with buried ambitions and crushed hopes because of that mistake, which Mr. Lincoln never made." He never allowed an antagonist to fathom his thoughts or to see the line along which he was working. He gave way in matters of small importance to secure a firmer position to fight a more important battle. He overcame obstacles and escaped entanglements by the exercise of this faculty called diplomacy, without surrendering a principle or making an important concession.

General Fry, who was Provost-Marshal of the War Department and received daily instructions from the President in regard to the draft for troops, which was one of the most embarrassing and perplexing questions that arose during the war, illustrates this peculiar trait by an anecdote. He says,—

"Upon one occasion the Governor of a State came to my office bristling with complaints in relation to the number of troops required from his State, the details for drafting the men, and the plan of compulsory service in general. I found it impossible to satisfy his demands, and accompanied him to the Secretary of War's office, whence, after a stormy interview with Stanton, he went alone to press his ultimatum upon the highest authority. After I had waited anxiously for some hours, expecting important orders or decisions from the President, or at least a summons to the White House for explanation, the Governor returned, and said, with a pleasant smile, that he was going home by the next train, and merely dropped in en route to say good-by. Neither the business he came upon nor his interview with the President was alluded to.

"As soon as I could see Lincoln, I said, 'Mr. President, I am very anxious to learn how you disposed of Governor ——. He went to your office from the War Department in a towering rage. I suppose you found it necessary to make large concessions to him, as he returned from you entirely satisfied.'

"'Oh, no,' he replied, 'I did not concede anything. You know how that Illinois farmer managed the big log that lay in the middle of his field? To the inquiries of his neighbors, one Sunday, he announced that he had got rid of the big log. "Got rid of it!" said they, "how did you do it? It was too big to haul out, too knotty to split, and too wet and soggy to burn; what did you do?" "Well, now, boys," replied the farmer, "if you won't divulge the secret, I'll tell you how I got rid of it. I ploughed around it." Now,' said Lincoln, 'don't tell anybody, but that's the way I got rid of Governor ——. I ploughed around him, but it took me three mortal hours to do it, and I was afraid every moment he'd see what I was at.'"

Those who were associated with Lincoln noticed the rapid development of his diplomatic talent. In meeting emergencies he constantly surprised them by the manifestation of a capacity to grapple with hidden and unknown difficulties that could have been possessed only by so strong and deep a nature. His secretaries testify that he could receive any kind of tidings without emotion or variation in face and manner. "He never seemed to hear anything with reference to itself," one of them described it, "but solely with a quick forward grasping for the consequences; for what must be done next. The announcement of a defeat or disaster did not bring to him the blow only, but rather the consideration of a counter-stroke. With a calm, sublime reliance upon God and the everlasting principles of right, he was able to conduct the nation through the most tremendous civil war ever waged and never committed a serious mistake."

Lincoln was pre-eminently a Democrat because he believed in a government of the people by the people for the people. His early training, his contact with "the plain people," as he loved to call them, his knowledge of their prejudices and preferences, their habits of thought and methods of judgment, enabled him to judge accurately of public opinion, and his deep sympathy with them gave him confidence that whatever met their approval was right and just. That explains his loyal obedience to the will of the majority, his refusal to adopt radical measures, and his strength of purpose when he believed that his plans would be approved by them. His critics asserted that his procrastination with McClellan, his postponement of the emancipation of the slaves, and his apparent reluctance to act upon measures which were considered necessary to the salvation of the country were signs of weakness and cowardice; but no man ever showed greater courage when he felt that he was right.

When Lincoln came to Washington he had no experience in diplomacy or statesmanship; as an attorney, he had dealt only with local and State statutes; as a legislator, his experience was limited to provincial affairs; his only knowledge of the operations of the general government was acquired during the two years he was in Congress and from books that he read. He had never argued a case before the Supreme Court, he had never studied international law, he knew nothing of the organization of armies, and he was unfamiliar with the relations between the Chief Executive and his Cabinet; but we have seen in Chapter V. how promptly, firmly, and conclusively, and at the same time with what tact and diplomacy, he rebuked Seward's suggestion that he should surrender the prerogatives of his office to the Secretary of State, how positive yet how gentle was his treatment of Frémont, and how thorough his knowledge of the laws of nations is disclosed by his correspondence concerning the movement of troops through Maryland and Virginia, regarding the suspension of the writ of habeas corpus, the arrest of Vallandigham, and especially in connection with the Emancipation Proclamation.

President Lincoln made it a rule never to deny or explain any charge against himself, nor to reply to an attack, except when the fortunes of his country seemed to be involved; and when he did make a reply it was always complete and satisfactory.

Almost the very moment that he crossed the threshold of the White House Lincoln was confronted with the gravest diplomatic problem of his experience, and its solution required not only knowledge of precedent but skill in argument. The claim of the Confederacy to be recognized as a nation by the powers of Europe had practically been waived by President Buchanan when he admitted that the Federal government had no authority to keep a State in the Union if it desired to secede. This admission had been confirmed by the apparent acquiescence in the withdrawal of South Carolina and other States; by the organization of the Confederacy at Montgomery without interference or protest; by the failure to reinforce Fort Sumter; and by Buchanan's practical abdication of executive power when, in his message of January 8, 1861, he threw the entire responsibility of the situation upon Congress.

All through these rapid and radical changes the foreign powers received no official explanation or information from the Department of State at Washington, and were left to draw their own inferences from the news which appeared in the public press, until February 28, when Jeremiah S. Black, for a few weeks Secretary of State, issued a circular instructing our representatives at foreign capitals that the government of the United States had not relinquished its constitutional jurisdiction anywhere within its territory and did not intend to do so. In the same circular he gave instructions that a recognition of the Confederacy must not be allowed. Upon assuming the duties of Secretary of State, Mr. Seward hastily confirmed these instructions and expressed the confidence of the President in the speedy suppression of the Rebellion and the restoration of the unity and harmony of the nation. From France and England came non-committal and unsatisfactory replies, and before Mr. Adams, who had been appointed minister to England, could arrive in London, an unfriendly ministry issued a proclamation of neutrality practically recognizing the Confederate States as an independent government and conceding it the privileges of a belligerent power. Thus, before it had a single ship afloat, its fleets were tendered the hospitality of the British ports on terms of equality with the fleets of the United States. France at once imitated this precipitate action, which was prompted by the desire of the British manufacturers to secure free trade and cheap cotton. The Emperor of the French was actuated by confidence that a division of the American Union would aid in the advancement of his plans to erect an empire in Mexico.

Exasperated by the injustice of this action, Mr. Seward wrote Mr. Adams a despatch which would have imperilled our relations with Great Britain had it been delivered in its original form. Fortunately, the President had enjoined the Secretary of State not to send anything of importance without first submitting it to him; hence Lincoln was able to modify what Mr. Seward's inflammable temper had suggested and at the same time add to the force and the dignity of the despatch. A comparison of the text of the original with the final copy as sent to the American legation at London demonstrates the superiority of Lincoln's judgment as well as his mastery of the language of diplomacy. It is remarkable that a mind untrained to consider the consequences of international discourtesy and a hand unaccustomed to frame the phrases of diplomacy should have been so apt and so skilful in removing the sting from the indignant paragraphs of an experienced statesman without diminishing their tone, or force, or dignity.

If the letter, as it came from the hands of Mr. Seward, had been delivered at the British Foreign Office according to instructions, Mr. Adams would have burned his bridges behind him. He would have placed himself in the attitude of breaking off intercourse, and thus made it impossible for him to use any further influence or even to ascertain the disposition and intention of the British government. The only thing left for him would have been to close the legation and return to the United States. Lincoln's modifications left him free to manage a delicate situation as circumstances and his own judgment indicated. He was not only left within the range of personal and diplomatic courtesy, but by Lincoln's clever phrasing the burden of proof was thrown upon the British government.

This skilful use of terms until that time unfamiliar to Lincoln has always excited the admiration of philologists and diplomatists because of the nice sense he displayed of the shades of meaning and the effect of adding emphasis and improving the courtesy of expression at the same time. The comprehensive knowledge of the situation and the appreciation of the results which might follow seem almost supernatural in a man who had been only three months in office, was entirely without experience in diplomacy, had never before prepared a diplomatic note, and whose mind was perplexed about home affairs. The highest authorities have pronounced it the work of a master, as showing a freedom of knowledge of and insight into foreign affairs, a skill in shaping phrases, a delicate sense of propriety, an appreciation of the methods of diplomatic dealings, and a penetration which entitled the President to the highest honors of statesmanship.

And thus was a misunderstanding and perhaps a war with England avoided by a simple change in terms and phrases. We can only conjecture what might have happened; but, had Seward's despatch been sent as originally written, it would probably have resulted in the formal recognition and the success of the Southern Confederacy.

During the first term of General Grant's administration, Mr. Fish, then Secretary of State, brought the original manuscript to a Cabinet meeting, and it excited so much interest that Mr. Boutwell proposed to have twelve fac-similes made by the photographer of the Treasury Department. Twelve copies were taken and the negative then destroyed.

It was not long before the government was again involved in a complication with Great Britain owing to the zeal of Captain Charles Wilkes, of the gunboat "San Jacinto," who overhauled the British mail steamer "Trent" and took from the passenger cabin ex-Senators J. M. Mason and John Slidell, who had been accredited by the Confederate government as envoys to the European courts, and had managed to elude the blockade and sail from Havana. The British government, people, and press regarded the act as a violation of international law and an outrage upon the British flag, and preparations for war were begun, while Lord Lyons, the British minister at Washington, was instructed to close his legation and return to England unless the prisoners were released and a satisfactory apology offered within seven days.

If it had not been for the kindly sympathy of Queen Victoria, President Lincoln would not have been allowed to apologize; but with her own hand she modified the instructions to Lord Lyons and gave our government an opportunity to withdraw from an untenable position. The situation was exceedingly embarrassing and critical, because the action of Captain Wilkes was not only applauded by the public, but it was officially approved by the Secretary of the Navy, and the House of Representatives unanimously passed a resolution commending him for his brave and patriotic conduct.

While the President and his Cabinet no doubt admired Captain Wilkes for the qualities he had displayed, they were placed in a serious dilemma because of the energetic and peremptory demands of the British government. The President took the matter into his own hands, and the most experienced diplomatist or the most skilful lawyer could not have prepared a clearer, stronger, more dignified, or courteous despatch than he wrote for Mr. Seward's signature, suggesting that the matter be submitted to friendly arbitration.

"The President is unwilling to believe," he wrote, "that Her Majesty's government will press for a categorical answer upon what appears to him to be only a partial record in the making up of which he has been allowed no part. He is reluctant to volunteer his view of the case, with no assurance that Her Majesty's government will consent to hear him; yet this much he directs me to say, that this government has intended no affront to the British flag or to the British nation; nor has it intended to force into discussion an embarrassing question; all of which is evident by the fact hereby asserted, that the act complained of was done by the officer without orders from, or expectation of, the government. But, being done, it was no longer left to us to consider whether we might not, to avoid a controversy, waive an unimportant though a strict right; because we, too, as well as Great Britain, have a people justly jealous of their rights, and in whose presence our government could undo the act complained of only upon a fair showing that it was wrong, or at least very questionable. The United States government and people are still willing to make reparation upon such showing.

"Accordingly, I am instructed by the President to inquire whether Her Majesty's government will hear the United States upon the matter in question. The President desires, among other things, to bring into view, and have considered, the existing rebellion in the United States; the position Great Britain has assumed, including Her Majesty's proclamation in relation thereto; the relation the persons whose seizure is the subject of complaint bore to the United States, and the object of their voyage at the time they were seized; the knowledge which the master of the 'Trent' had of their relation to the United States, and of the object of their voyage, at the time he received them on board for the voyage; the place of the seizure; and the precedents and respective positions assumed in analogous cases between Great Britain and the United States.

"Upon a submission containing the foregoing facts, with those set forth in the before-mentioned despatch to your lordship, together with all other facts which either party may deem material, I am instructed to say the government of the United States will, if agreed to by Her Majesty's government, go to such friendly arbitration as is usual among nations, and will abide the award."

This despatch was not sent; nor was it ever submitted to the Cabinet. Before the opportunity arrived the President was convinced of the danger of temporizing. Eight thousand troops were despatched from London to Canada, a British fleet was ordered to American waters, and the export of arms and ammunition from Great Britain was forbidden. The President's cool judgment and common sense also taught him that the position of our government was untenable, and, with his keen perceptions as a lawyer, he saw how the United States could honorably withdraw and at the same time use the incident to its own advantage and get the better of the controversy.

"We must stick to American principles concerning the rights of neutrals," he said. "We fought Great Britain for insisting by theory and practice on the right to do precisely what Captain Wilkes has done. If Great Britain shall now protest against the act and demand their release, we must give them up and apologize for the act as a violation of our own doctrines, and thus forever bind her over to keep the peace in relation to neutrals, and so acknowledge that she has been wrong for sixty years."

Mr. Seward prepared a long and remarkable presentation of the case of the United States which is considered one of the ablest of his many state papers. He admitted that Captain Wilkes had done wrong and had exceeded his instructions, but asserted that "this government has neither meditated, nor practised, nor approved any deliberate wrong in the transaction to which they have called its attention, and, on the contrary, that what has happened has been simply an inadvertency, consisting in the departure by the naval officer, free from any wrongful motive, from a rule uncertainly established, and probably by the several parties concerned either imperfectly understood or entirely unknown. For this error the British government has a right to expect the same reparation that we, as an independent state, should expect from Great Britain or any other friendly nation in a similar case.... If I decide this case in favor of my own government, I must disavow its most cherished principles, and reverse and forever abandon its essential policy. The country cannot afford the sacrifice. If I maintain those principles and adhere to that policy, I must surrender the case itself.... The four persons in question are now held in military custody at Fort Warren, in the State of Massachusetts. They will be cheerfully liberated."

Thus, through Lincoln's penetration and judgment, a great international peril was not only averted, but Great Britain was forced to relinquish her own contentions and adopt the American doctrine respecting this class of neutral rights.

There were frequent matters of controversy between the British Foreign Office and the Department of State at Washington during the four years of war because of the systematic violation of the neutrality laws by English subjects, and they were aggravated by the unconcealed sympathy of the British people with the Confederate States. Our government was ably represented in London by Charles Francis Adams, in whom Lincoln had great confidence, and his voluminous instructions from time to time, although prepared by Secretary Seward, were always carefully revised by the President. Altogether, the diplomatic correspondence during that period, both in matters of controversy and particularly concerning offers of mediation in our affairs made by the European powers, shows a diplomatic penetration and skill which excite the admiration of students.

Among other perplexing questions with which he was compelled to deal was the invasion of Mexico and the attempt to establish an empire at the city of the Montezumas. The President took the most positive and determined ground in support of the Monroe doctrine—more advanced than had been attempted at that time. He expressed an unqualified disapproval of the French invasion; and, although he was not in a position to intervene with force, lost no opportunity of making known to the other powers of Europe, and through our minister in Paris to the Emperor of France himself, that the movement to erect a monarchy on American soil was repugnant to the United States. To strengthen his position he suggested that Governor Dennison, who was to be chairman of the Baltimore Convention in 1864, give a strong endorsement of the Monroe doctrine in his opening speech, and that the Convention adopt a resolution declaring that the people of the United States would not permit the overthrow of a republican government or the establishment of a monarchy upon the Western continent.

Early in 1865 Lincoln and Secretary Seward received three peace commissioners from the Confederacy—Stephens, Hunter, and Campbell,—who wanted the President to recognize the Southern Confederacy as a foreign government. Mr. Hunter urged this very strongly, declaring that the recognition of Jefferson Davis's official authority to make a treaty was an indispensable step to peace, and referred to the correspondence between King Charles I. and his Parliament as a trustworthy precedent. When Mr. Hunter made this point, Lincoln looked up quickly and remarked,—

"Upon questions of history I must refer you to Mr. Seward, for he is posted on such things and I do not profess to be; but it is my distinct recollection that, as a result of that correspondence, Charles lost his head."

One of the most remarkable examples of Lincoln's tact and diplomacy is found in his treatment of a Cabinet crisis in December, 1862, when the danger of a permanent division of the Republican party into two hostile factions seemed imminent and unavoidable. As the reader has already learned from this narrative, the Cabinet was never harmonious or united. It was divided by personal jealousies and rivalries as well as by differences concerning matters of policy from the day of the inauguration. Gradually Mr. Seward became the leader of the conservative and Mr. Chase of the radical element of the Republican party, and while both conducted the business of their departments with patriotism, ability, and skill, they were not only mutually hostile, but suspected each other's motives. From a very early day Mr. Chase became an outspoken candidate for the Presidential nomination against Lincoln, and his criticism, as we have learned in Chapter V., included his fellow-members of the Cabinet. Mr. Seward, on the other hand, was loyal to the President, but had given great offence to the radical element of his party by some of his published despatches and private utterances, particularly one diplomatic note in which he had included the antislavery men with the secessionists as responsible for bringing on the war. The dissatisfaction was aggravated by other offences to such a degree that the Republicans of the Senate called a caucus to consider the matter and passed a resolution demanding the dismissal of Mr. Seward from the Cabinet. The cooler members of the Senate succeeded in having this action reconsidered and a substitute resolution adopted requesting a reconstruction of the official family. The meaning and intention of the caucus, however, could not be concealed by this indefinite resolution, and as soon as Mr. Seward learned of the proceeding, he and his son, who was Assistant Secretary of State, tendered their resignations. The President tucked them into a pigeonhole of his desk without comment.

The following morning a caucus committee waited upon the President and presented the resolution, each Senator, in turn, submitting his personal views as to the unfitness of the Secretary of State to remain in the administration, chiefly because of his lack of interest in antislavery measures under consideration which they considered essential to a successful prosecution of the war. Lincoln listened to them with respectful attention, asked an opportunity for reflection, and invited them to return to the White House in the evening for his reply. He called the Cabinet, except Mr. Seward, together at the same hour, and when the committee and the ministers met each was greatly surprised to see the others.

SALMON P. CHASE, SECRETARY OF THE TREASURY

From a photograph by Brady

The President remarked that he thought it best to fight it out and have it over, and was determined that every point of difference between them should be exposed and explained before his guests separated. He read the resolution of the caucus and then called upon the Senators to explain themselves, which they did with earnestness. The Cabinet replied with equal candor,—all except Secretary Chase, who found himself in a very embarrassing position, because he had been chiefly instrumental in creating the dissatisfaction by misrepresenting the opinions of Seward and the rest of his colleagues to his friends in the Senate. He could not deny it, for the witnesses were present; nor could he defend himself for doing so. He could only protest against being entrapped in a mortifying predicament and express his regret that he had attended the meeting. Without malice, but with the hope of correcting the bad habits of his Secretary of the Treasury, the President had made sure that he should be present.

When everybody had said all that he had to say, Lincoln astonished them by announcing that he intended to take a vote, and he put the question directly whether, after the explanations which had been heard, Mr. Seward should be excused. Senators Grimes, Trumbull, Sumner, and Pomeroy voted "Yes," Senator Harris "No," and Senators Collamer, Fessenden, and Howard declined to vote. Mr. Wade, the other member of the committee, was absent.

The President decided that the vote had been in favor of Mr. Seward. While the Senators realized that the President had outwitted them, they, nevertheless, left the White House satisfied that Seward's position was untenable, and that after this incident he would be compelled voluntarily to retire from the Cabinet. As the committee was leaving the President's room, Senator Trumbull, with great vehemence, accused Mr. Chase of double-dealing, and the latter, having no defence to the charge, tendered his resignation the following morning, and was very much surprised at the alacrity with which the President received it.

When the Cabinet retired, Lincoln took the resignation of Mr. Seward from his desk and, holding it up beside that of Mr. Chase, remarked to a personal friend to whom he had briefly sketched the situation,—

"Now I can ride. I have got a pumpkin in each end of my bag."

A few moments after he sat down at his desk, with his own hand made two copies of the following note, and sent one to Mr. Seward and the other to Mr. Chase by messenger:

"You have respectively tendered me your resignation as Secretary of State and Secretary of the Treasury of the United States. I am apprized of the circumstances which render this course personally desirable to each of you; but, after the most anxious consideration, my deliberate judgment is that the public interest does not admit of it. I therefore have to request that you will resume the duties of your departments respectively."

Mr. Seward at once recognized the situation and wrote the President, saying, "I have cheerfully resumed the functions of this department in obedience to your command," and sent a copy of the note to the Secretary of the Treasury.

Mr. Chase, however, was not so frank. He realized that he had made a serious mistake, and by his duplicity had lost the confidence of the Republican leaders of the Senate as well as that of his colleagues in the Cabinet. He suspected that Mr. Seward had somehow obtained an advantage of him, and he was not sure which way he had better turn; so he asked time for reflection, and finally wrote a long letter to the President explaining his situation and his views, and concluded by saying that he thought both Mr. Seward and himself had better retire. He did not send the letter at once, but held it until the following day; and when he learned that Seward's resignation was withdrawn, enclosed it in another note stating that, while he had not changed his views, he was ready to resume his post or to retire from it if, in the judgment of the President, the success of the administration might be promoted thereby.

This was the end of the episode. The President had cleared up the misunderstanding between the Cabinet and the Senate and the members of his own official family by a novel expedient which is often adopted to reconcile quarrels between children, but was altogether new in diplomacy and statesmanship. Both sides to the controversy were conscious that they had placed themselves in the wrong, and, even under their chagrin, must have recognized the humor of the situation and the diplomatic skill with which Lincoln had handled it. The President himself was very proud of his triumph.

"I do not see how it could have been better," he said afterwards. "If I had yielded to the storm and dismissed Seward, the thing would all have slumped over one way, and we should have been left with a scanty handful of supporters. When Chase gave in his resignation I saw that the game was in my hands, and I put it through."

In this case and frequently throughout his administration the President resorted to the old-fashioned and homely but sensible methods that were commonly resorted to on the frontier to settle controversies between neighbors when the courts were scattered and litigation was considered disreputable. They were new in the administration of a government, but were none the less effective.

Lincoln frequently showed that he could easily avoid a direct answer and evade inquisitive visitors when he thought it was impolitic to make known his opinions. One of the latter wanted to know his opinion of Sheridan, who had just come from the West to take command of the cavalry under Grant. Said Lincoln,—

"I will tell you just what kind of a chap he is. He is one of those long-armed fellows with short legs that can scratch his shins without having to stoop over to do so."

One day, when the vain boasting of a certain general was the subject of discussion, Lincoln was "reminded" of a farmer out in Illinois who was in the habit of bragging about everything he did and had and saw, and particularly about his crops. While driving along the road during the haying season, he noticed one of his neighbors hauling a load of hay into his barn. He could not resist the opportunity, and commenced to brag about the size of his hay crop, which, as usual, he asserted to be larger and better than any ever before known in the county. After he had finished he asked what kind of a crop his neighbor had put in.

"The biggest crop you ever see!" was the prompt reply. "I've got so much hay I don't know what to do with it. I've piled up all I can out-doors and am going to put the rest of it in the barn."

Robert Dale Owen, the spiritualist, once read the President a long manuscript on an abstruse subject with which that rather erratic person loved to deal. Lincoln listened patiently until the author asked for his opinion, when he replied, with a yawn,—

"Well, for those who like that sort of thing, I should think it is just about the sort of thing they would like."

While Lincoln was always very patient, he often adopted droll methods for getting rid of bores. The late Justice Cartter of the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia used to relate an incident of a Philadelphia man who called at the White House so frequently and took up so much of the President's time that the latter finally lost his patience. One day when the gentleman was particularly verbose and persistent, and refused to leave, although he knew that important delegations were waiting, Lincoln arose, walked over to a wardrobe in the corner of the cabinet chamber, and took a bottle from a shelf. Looking gravely at his visitor, whose head was very bald, he remarked,—

"Did you ever try this stuff for your hair?"

"No, sir, I never did."

"Well," remarked Lincoln, "I advise you to try it, and I will give you this bottle. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Keep it up. They say it will make hair grow on a pumpkin. Now take it and come back in eight or ten months and tell me how it works."

The astonished Philadelphian left the room instantly without a word, carrying the bottle in his hand, and Judge Cartter, coming in with the next delegation, found the President doubled up with laughter at the success of his strategy. Before he could proceed to business the story had to be told.

"His skill in parrying troublesome questions was wonderful," said Mr. Chauncey M. Depew. "I was in Washington at a critical period of the war, when the late John Ganson, of Buffalo, one of the ablest lawyers in our State, and who, though elected as a Democrat, supported all Mr. Lincoln's war measures, called on him for explanations. Mr. Ganson was very bald, with a perfectly smooth face, and had a most direct and aggressive way of stating his views or of demanding what he thought he was entitled to. He said,—

"'Mr. Lincoln, I have supported all of your measures and think I am entitled to your confidence. We are voting and acting in the dark in Congress, and I demand to know—I think I have the right to ask and to know—what is the present situation and what are the prospects and conditions of the several campaigns and armies.'

"Mr. Lincoln looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then said, 'Ganson, how clean you shave!'

"Most men would have been offended, but Ganson was too broad and intelligent a man not to see the point and retire at once, satisfied, from the field."

Senator Fessenden came from the Capitol, one day, in a terrible rage because Mr. Lincoln had made certain promises, in matters of patronage, which he considered unjust to himself, and reproached and denounced the President in intemperate language. Mr. Lincoln made no explanation or reply, but listened calmly until the fury of the storm was spent, when, in his droll way, he inquired,—

"You are an Episcopalian, aren't you, Fessenden?"

"Yes, sir. I belong to that church."

"I thought so. You Episcopalians all swear alike. Seward is an Episcopalian; Stanton is a Presbyterian. You ought to hear him swear." And he continued to describe the several varieties of swearing and the nice distinctions between different kinds of profanity in the most philosophical manner, until Fessenden's fury was extinguished and he could discuss the reasons for the offensive appointment in a rational manner.

A visitor once asked Lincoln how many men the rebels had in the field.

He replied, very seriously, "Twelve hundred thousand, according to the best authority."

"Good heavens!"

"Yes, sir, twelve hundred thousand—no doubt of it. You see, all of our generals, when they get whipped, say the enemy outnumbers them from three or five to one, and I must believe them. We have four hundred thousand men in the field, and three times four make twelve. Don't you see it?"

When the Sherman expedition which captured Port Royal went out there was a great curiosity to know where it had gone. A person with ungovernable curiosity asked the President the destination.

"Will you keep it entirely secret?" asked the President.

"Oh, yes, upon my honor."

"Well," said the President, "I will tell you." Assuming an air of great mystery, and drawing the man close to him, he kept him waiting the revelation with great anxiety, and then said in a loud whisper, which was heard all over the room, "The expedition has gone to—sea."

A gentleman asked Lincoln to give him a pass through the Federal lines in order to visit Richmond. "I should be very happy to oblige you," said the President, "if my passes were respected; but the fact is, within the past two years I have given passes to Richmond to two hundred and fifty thousand men and not one has got there yet."

A New York firm applied to Lincoln some years before he became President for information as to the financial standing of one of his neighbors. This was the answer:

"Yours of the 10th received. First of all, he has a wife and baby; together they ought to be worth $500,000 to any man. Secondly, he has an office in which there is a table worth $1.50 and three chairs worth, say, $1. Last of all there is in one corner a large rat hole, which will bear looking into. Respectfully,

"A. Lincoln."

A certain Senator once called at the White House to persuade Lincoln to issue an order to the Secretary of War to pay a constituent of his a considerable sum of money for services which clearly he had not rendered, the amount being claimed on the ground that he would have rendered them if he had been permitted to do so. Lincoln heard the statement of facts and the argument with his usual patience and rendered his decision as follows:

"Years ago when imprisonment for debt was legal in some States a poor fellow was sent to jail by his creditors and compelled to serve out his debt at the rate of a dollar and a half per day. Knowing the exact amount of the debt, he carefully calculated the time he would be required to serve. When the sentence had expired he informed his jailer of the fact, and asked to be released. The jailer insisted upon keeping him four days longer. Upon making up his statement, however, he found that the man was right, and that he had served four days longer than his sentence required. The prisoner then demanded not only a receipt in full of his debt, but also payment for four days' extra service, amounting to six dollars, which he declared the county owed him.

"Now," said Lincoln, "I think your client has just about as good a claim for the money as he had."

"I am very much of your opinion, Mr. President," said the Senator, soberly, as he retired.

Mr. Charles A. Dana, Assistant Secretary of War, says, "A spy whom we employed to report to us the proceedings of the Confederate government and its agents, and who passed continually between Richmond and St. Catherines, reporting at the War Department upon the way, had come in from Canada and had put into my hands an important despatch from Mr. Clement C. Clay, Jr., addressed to Mr. Benjamin. Of course the seal was broken and the paper read immediately. It showed unequivocally that the Confederate agents in Canada were making use of that country as a starting-point for warlike raids which were to be directed against frontier towns like St. Albans in Vermont. Mr. Stanton thought it important that this despatch should be retained as a ground of reclamation to be addressed to the British government. It was on a Sunday that it arrived, and he was confined to his house by a cold. At his direction I went over to the President and made an appointment with him to be at the Secretary's office after church. At the appointed time he was there, and I read the despatch to them. Mr. Stanton stated the reasons why it should be retained, and before deciding the question Mr. Lincoln turned to me, saying,—

"'Well, Dana?'

"I observed to them that this was a very important channel of communication, and that if we stopped such a despatch as this it was at the risk of never obtaining any more information through that means.

"'Oh,' said the President, 'I think you can manage that. Capture the messenger, take the despatch from him by force, put him in prison, and then let him escape. If he has made Benjamin and Clay believe his lies so far, he won't have any difficulty in telling them new ones that will answer for this case.'

"This direction was obeyed. The paper was sealed up again and was delivered to its bearer. General Augur, who commanded the District, was directed to look for a Confederate messenger at such a place on the road that evening. The man was arrested, brought to the War Department, searched, the paper found upon him and identified, and he was committed to the Old Capitol Prison. He made his escape about a week later, being fired upon by the guard. A large reward for his capture was advertised in various papers East and West, and when he reached St. Catherines with his arm in a sling, wounded by a bullet which had passed through it, his story was believed by Messrs. Clay and Jacob Thompson, or, at any rate, if they had any doubts upon the subject, they were not strong enough to prevent his carrying their messages afterward.

"The last time I saw Mr. Lincoln to speak with him," continued Mr. Dana, "was in the afternoon of the day of his murder. The same Jacob Thompson was the subject of our conversation. I had received a report from the Provost-Marshal of Portland, Maine, saying that Jacob Thompson was to be in that town that night for the purpose of taking the steamer for Liverpool, and what orders had the Department to give? I carried the telegram to Mr. Stanton. He said promptly, 'Arrest him;' but as I was leaving his room he called me back, adding, 'You had better take it over to the President.' It was now between four and five o'clock in the afternoon and business at the White House was completed for the day. I found Mr. Lincoln with his coat off, in a closet attached to his office, washing his hands. 'Halloo, Dana,' said he, as I opened the door, 'what is it now?' 'Well, sir,' I said, 'here is the Provost-Marshal of Portland, who reports that Jacob Thompson is to be in that town to-night, and inquires what orders we have to give.' 'What does Stanton say?' he asked.

'Arrest him,' I replied. 'Well,' he continued, drawling his words, 'I rather guess not. When you have an elephant on hand, and he wants to run away, better let him run.'"

When a friend brought to his attention the fact that Secretary Chase was seeking the nomination for President, the President accepted the announcement with the utmost good-humor, and said,—

"My half-brother was once ploughing corn on a Kentucky farm. I was driving the horse and he holding the plough. The horse was lazy, but on one occasion rushed across the field so fast that I, even with my long legs, could hardly keep pace with him. On reaching the end of the furrow, I found an enormous chin-fly fastened upon him, and knocked him off. My brother asked me what I did that for. I told him I didn't want the old horse bitten in that way. 'Why,' said he, 'that's what makes him go.' If Mr. Chase has a Presidential chin-fly biting him, I'm not going to knock him off, if it will only make his department go."

Coming into the President's room one day, Mr. Stanton said that he had received a telegram from General Mitchell, in Alabama, asking instructions. He did not quite understand the situation down there, but, having full confidence in Mitchell's judgment, had answered, "All right; go ahead."

"Now, Mr. President," he added, "if I have made an error, I shall have to get you to countermand the order."

"Once at the cross-roads down in Kentucky, when I was a boy, a particularly fine horse was to be sold," replied Lincoln. "They had a small boy to ride him up and down. One man whispered to the boy as he went by, 'Look here, boy, hain't that horse got splints?' The boy replied, 'Mister, I don't know what splints is; but if it's good for him he's got it, and if it ain't good for him he ain't got it.' Now," added Lincoln, "I understand that if this is good for Mitchell it's all right, but if it's not I have got to countermand it."

To a deputation who urged that his Cabinet should be reconstructed after the retirement of Secretary Cameron, the President told this story: "Gentlemen, when I was a young man I used to know very well one Joe Wilson, who built himself a log cabin not far from where I lived. Joe was very fond of eggs and chickens, and he took a very great deal of pains in fitting up a poultry shed. Having at length got together a choice lot of young fowls,—of which he was very proud,—he began to be much annoyed by the depredations of those little black-and-white-spotted animals which it is not necessary to name. One night Joe was awakened by an unusual cackling and fluttering among his chickens. Getting up, he crept out to see what was going on. It was a bright moonlight night, and he soon caught sight of half a dozen of the little pests, which, with their dam, were running in and out of the shadow of the shed. Very wrathy, Joe put a double charge into his old musket and thought he would 'clean Out' the whole tribe at one shot. Somehow he only killed one, and the balance scampered off across the field. In telling the story Joe would always pause here and hold his nose. 'Why didn't you follow them up and kill the rest?' inquired his neighbors. 'Blast it,' said Joe, 'it was eleven weeks before I got over killin' one. If you want any more skirmishing in that line you can do it yourselves!'"

On one occasion some of Lincoln's friends were talking of the diminutive stature of Stephen A. Douglas, and an argument as to the proper length of a man's legs. During the discussion Lincoln came in, and it was agreed that the question should be referred to him for decision.

"Well," said he, reflectively, "I should think a man's legs ought to be long enough to reach from his body to the ground."

A day or two before his inauguration a delegation of merchants and bankers who had been sent to the Peace Congress called upon Lincoln to remonstrate against the use of force to restrain the South, and to plead for a conciliatory policy towards the slave-holders. Mr. William E. Dodge declared that the whole world was anxiously awaiting the inaugural address, and added, "It is for you, sir, to say whether the nation shall be plunged into bankruptcy, and whether the grass shall grow in the streets of our commercial cities."

"Then I say it shall not," Lincoln answered coolly, with a twinkle in his eye. "If it depends upon me, the grass will not grow anywhere except in the fields and meadows."

"Then you must yield to the just demands of the South," declared Mr. Dodge." You must leave her to control her own institutions. You will admit slave States into the Union on the same conditions as free States. You will not go to war on account of slavery."

A sad but stern expression swept over Lincoln's face. "I do not know that I understand your meaning, Mr. Dodge," he answered, without raising his voice; "nor do I know what my acts or my opinions may be in the future, beyond this. If I ever come to the great office of the President of the United States, I shall take an oath. I shall swear that I will faithfully execute the office of the President of the United States, and that I will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. That is a great and solemn duty. With the support of the people and the assistance of the Almighty I shall undertake to perform it. It is not the Constitution as I should like to have it, but as it is, that is to be defended. The Constitution will be preserved and defended until it is enforced and obeyed in every part of every one of the United States. It must be so respected, obeyed, and enforced and defended, let the grass grow where it may."

In 1862 the people of New York City feared bombardment by Confederate cruisers, and public meetings were held to consider the gravity of the situation. Finally a delegation of fifty gentlemen, representing hundreds of millions of dollars, was selected to go to Washington and persuade the President to detail a gunboat to protect their property. David Davis, while on the Supreme Bench, went to the White House and presented them to the President.

Mr. Lincoln heard them attentively, much impressed, apparently, by the "hundreds of millions." When they had concluded, he said,—

"Gentlemen, I am, by the Constitution, Commander-in-Chief of the Army and the Navy of the United States, and as a matter of law I can order anything to be done that is practicable to be done. I am in command of the gunboats and ships of war; but, as a matter of fact, I do not know exactly where they are. I presume they are actively engaged, and it therefore is impossible for me to furnish you a gunboat. The credit of the government is at a very low ebb; greenbacks are not worth more than forty or fifty cents on the dollar, and in this condition of things, if I were worth half as much as you gentlemen are represented to be, and as badly frightened as you seem to be, I would build a gunboat and give it to the government."

Judge Davis said he never saw one hundred millions sink to such insignificant proportions as it did when the delegation left the White House.

Abraham Lincoln has left us abundant testimony in words and works of his code of morals and religious creed. He was a man of keen perception of right and wrong, of acute conscience and deep religious sentiment, although he was not "orthodox." He declined to join a church because of conscientious scruples. He would not confess a faith that was not in him. His reason forbade him to accept some of the doctrines taught by the Baptist and Christian churches, to which his parents belonged, and the Presbyterian denomination, of which his wife was a member. Nevertheless, he was regular and reverential in his attendance upon worship. Shortly after his marriage he rented a pew in the First Presbyterian Church of Springfield, and occupied it with his wife and children at the service each Sunday morning unless detained by illness. In Washington he was an habitual attendant of the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, and his pastor, the Reverend Dr. Gurley, who was also his intimate friend, tells us that he was "a true believer" and "entirely without guile." One of Lincoln's mental traits was his inability to accept or put aside a proposition until he understood it. His conscience required him to see his way clearly before making a start, and his honesty of soul would not allow him to make a pretence that was not well founded. No consideration or argument would induce him to abandon a line of conduct or accept a theory which his analytical powers or sense of caution taught him to doubt.

From his mother he inherited a rigid honesty which was demanded by public opinion in early days and was the safeguard of the frontier. There were no locks upon the cabin doors nor upon the stables. A man who committed a theft would not be tolerated in a community, and if he took a horse or a cow or any article which was necessary for the sustenance of a family he was outlawed, if he escaped with his life. Merchants never thought of locking up their stores, and often left them entirely unprotected for days at a time while they went to the nearest source of supply to replenish their stock or were absent for other reasons. If their patrons found no one to serve them, they helped themselves, and, as prices varied little from year to year, they were able to judge for themselves of the value of the goods, and reported the purchase and paid the bill the next time they found the merchant at home.

When Abraham Lincoln was clerking for Denton Offutt, he walked three miles one evening after the store was closed to return a sixpence which had been overpaid. On another occasion he gave four ounces for half a pound of tea and delivered the difference before he slept. For this and other acts of the same sort he became known as "Honest Old Abe," but he was no more conspicuous for that quality than many of his neighbors. He was the type and representative of a community which not only respected but required honesty, and were extremely critical and intolerant towards moral delinquencies. Accustomed all their lives to face danger and grapple with the mysterious forces of nature, their personal and moral courage were qualities without which no man could be a leader or have influence. A liar, a coward, a swindler, and an insincere man were detected and branded with public contempt. Courage and truth were commonplace and recognized as essential to manhood.

Abraham Lincoln's originality, fearlessness, and self-confidence, his unerring perceptions of right and wrong, made him a leader and gave him an influence which other men did not have. He was born in the same poverty and ignorance, he grew up in the same environment, and his muscles were developed by the same labor as his neighbors', but his mental powers were much keener and acute, his ambition was much higher, and a consciousness of intellectual superiority sustained him in his efforts to rise above his surroundings and take the place his genius warranted. Throughout his entire life he adhered to the code of the frontier. As a lawyer he would not undertake a case unless it was a good one. He often said he was a very poor man on a poor case. His sense of justice had to be aroused before he could do his best. If his client were wrong, he endeavored to settle the dispute the best way he could without going into court; if the evidence had been misrepresented to him, he would throw up the case in the midst of the trial and return the fee. The public knowledge of that fact gave him great influence with the courts and kept bad clients away from him.

To a man who once offered him a case the merits of which he did not appreciate, he made, according to his partner, Mr. Herndon, the following response:

"Yes, there is no reasonable doubt that I can gain your case for you. I can set a whole neighborhood at loggerheads; I can distress a widowed mother and her six fatherless children, and thereby get for you six hundred dollars which rightly belong, it appears to me, as much to them as it does to you. I shall not take your case, but I will give you a little advice for nothing. You seem a sprightly, energetic man. I would advise you to try your hand at making six hundred dollars in some other way."

He carried this code of morals into the Legislature, and there are several current anecdotes of his refusal to engage in schemes that were not creditable. On one occasion a caucus was held for consultation over a proposition Lincoln did not approve. The discussion lasted until midnight, but he took no part in it. Finally, an appeal was made to him by his colleagues, who argued that the end would justify the means. Lincoln closed the debate and defined his own position by saying,—

"You may burn my body to ashes and scatter them to the winds of heaven; you may drag my soul down to the regions of darkness and despair to be tormented forever; but you will never get me to support a measure which I believe to be wrong, although by doing so I may accomplish that which I believe to be right."

Lincoln did not often indulge in hysterical declamation, but that sentence is worth quoting because it contains his moral code.

As President he was called upon to deliver a reprimand to an officer who had been tried by court-martial for quarrelling. It was probably the "gentlest," say his biographers, Nicolay and Hay, "ever recorded in the annals of penal discourses." It was as follows:

"The advice of a father to his son, 'Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but, being in, bear it that the opposed may beware of thee!' is good, but not the best. Quarrel not at all. No man resolved to make the most of himself can spare time for personal contention. Still less can he afford to take all the consequences, including the vitiating of his temper and the loss of self-control. Yield larger things to which you can show no more than equal right, and yield lesser ones, though clearly your own. Better give your path to a dog than be bitten by him in contesting for the right. Even killing the dog would not cure the bite."

Even as a boy in Indiana he acquired a reputation for gentleness, kindness, and good-nature. He was appealed to by people in trouble, and his great physical strength and quick intelligence made him a valuable aid on all occasions. Once he saved the life of the town drunkard, whom he found freezing by the roadside on a winter night. Picking him up in his arms, he carried him to the nearest tavern and worked over him until he revived. The people who lived in the neighborhood of Gentryville, Indiana, and New Salem, Illinois, where his early life was spent, have many traditions of his unselfishness and helpful disposition. He chopped wood for poor widows and sat up all night with the sick; if a wagon stuck in the mud, he was always the first to offer assistance, and his powerful arms were equal to those of any three men in the town. When he was living at the Rutledge tavern at New Salem he was always willing to give up his bed to a traveller when the house was full, and to sleep on a counter in his store. He never failed to be present at a "moving," and would neglect his own business to help a neighbor out of difficulty. His sympathetic disposition and tender tact enabled him to enter the lives of the people and give them assistance without offence, and he was never so happy as when he was doing good.

His religious training was limited. His father and mother, while in Kentucky, belonged to the sect known as Free-will Baptists, and when they went to Indiana they became members of the Predestinarian Church, as it was called; not from any change in belief, but because it was the only denomination in the neighborhood. Public worship was very rare, being held only when an itinerant preacher visited that section. Notice of his approach would be sent throughout the neighborhood for twenty miles around, and the date would be fixed as far in advance as possible. When the preacher appeared he would find the entire population gathered in camp at the place of meeting, which was usually at cross-roads where there were fodder for the horses and water for man and beast. After morning preaching people from the same neighborhood or intimate acquaintances would gather in groups, open their lunch-baskets, and picnic together. At the afternoon service children and "confessors" would be baptized, and towards night the party would separate for their homes, refreshed in faith and uplifted in spirit.

When Thomas Lincoln removed to Illinois he united with the Christian church commonly called "Campbellites," and in that faith he died.

Abraham Lincoln's belief was clear and fixed so far as it went, but he rejected important dogmas which are considered essential to salvation by some of the evangelistic denominations. "Whenever any church will inscribe over its altar as a qualification for membership the Saviour's statement of the substance of the law and Gospel, 'Thou shall love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and thy neighbour as thyself,' that church will I join with all my heart and soul."

He was an habitual reader of the Bible. He was more familiar with its contents than most clergymen, and considered it the highest example of literature in existence as well as the highest code of morals. His study of the Bible and familiarity with its pages are shown in his literary style and frequent quotations. In 1864 he wrote his old friend, Joshua Speed, "I am profitably engaged reading the Bible. Take all of this book upon reason that you can and the balance upon faith and you will live and die a better man."

He had no sympathy with theologians. He frequently declared that it was blasphemy for a preacher to "twist the words of Christ around so as to sustain his own doctrine," and often remarked that "the more a man knew of theology the farther he got away from the true spirit of Christ."

"John," he one day said to a friend, "it depends a great deal how you state a case. When Daniel Webster did it, it was half argument. Now, you take the subject of predestination, for example. You may state it one way and you cannot make much out of it; you state it another and it seems quite reasonable."

When he was a young man at New Salem in 1834 Thomas Paine's "Age of Reason" and Volney's "Ruines" made a great impression upon him, and he prepared a review of these books, which it is supposed he intended to read before a literary society that had been organized in the neighborhood. His friend, Samuel Hill, with his old-fashioned notions of atheism, got hold of the manuscript and burned it. Lincoln was quite indignant at the time, but afterwards admitted that Hill had done him a service. This incident has often been cited as evidence that Lincoln was an agnostic, just as other incidents in his life have been used to prove that he was a spiritualist, and still others that he was a Freemason; but he was none of them. He commended Masonry, but never joined that order; his inquisitive mind led him to investigate certain spiritualistic phenomena, and his essay at New Salem was nothing more than a presentation of the views of two famous unbelievers without personal endorsement.

Like Napoleon, Wellington, Bismarck, and other famous men, Lincoln was very superstitious. That peculiarity appeared frequently during his life. Even to the very day of his death, as related in Chapter VII., he told his Cabinet and General Grant of a dream which he was accustomed to have before important events in the war. A curious incident is related in his own language:

"A very singular occurrence took place the day I was nominated at Chicago, four years ago, of which I am reminded to-night. In the afternoon of the day, returning home from down town, I went upstairs to Mrs. Lincoln's reading-room. Feeling somewhat tired, I lay down upon a couch in the room, directly opposite a bureau, upon which was a looking-glass. As I reclined, my eye fell upon the glass, and I saw distinctly two images of myself, exactly alike, except that one was a little paler than the other. I arose, and lay down again with the same result. It made me quite uncomfortable for a few moments, but, some friends coming in, the matter passed out of my mind. The next day, while walking on the street, I was suddenly reminded of the circumstance, and the disagreeable sensation produced by it returned. I had never seen anything of the kind before, and did not know what to make of it. I determined to go home and place myself in the same position, and if the same effect was produced, I would make up my mind that it was the natural result of some principle of refraction of optics which I did not understand, and dismiss it. I tried the experiment, with a like result; and, as I had said to myself, accounting for it on some principle unknown to me, it ceased to trouble me. But some time ago I tried to produce the same effect here by arranging a glass and couch in the same position, without success."

He did not say, at this time, that either he or Mrs. Lincoln attached any significance to the phenomenon, but it is known that Mrs. Lincoln regarded it as a sign that the President would be re-elected.

President Lincoln once invited a famous medium to display his alleged supernatural powers at the White House, several members of the Cabinet being present. For the first half-hour the demonstrations were of a physical character. At length rappings were heard beneath the President's feet, and the medium stated that an Indian desired to communicate with him.

"I shall be happy to hear what his Indian majesty has to say," replied the President, "for I have very recently received a deputation of our red brethren, and it was the only delegation, black, white, or blue, which did not volunteer some advice about the conduct of the war."

The medium then called for a pencil and paper, which were laid upon the table and afterwards covered with a handkerchief. Presently knocks were heard and the paper was uncovered. To the surprise of all present, it read as follows:

"Haste makes waste, but delays cause vexations. Give vitality by energy. Use every means to subdue. Proclamations are useless. Make a bold front and fight the enemy; leave traitors at home to the care of loyal men. Less note of preparation, less parade and policy talk, and more action.—Henry Knox."

"That is not Indian talk," said the President. "Who is Henry Knox?"

The medium, speaking in a strange voice, replied, "The first Secretary of War."

"Oh, yes; General Knox," said the President. "Stanton, that message is for you; it is from your predecessor. I should like to ask General Knox when this rebellion will be put down."

The answer was oracularly indefinite. The medium then called up Napoleon, who thought one thing, Lafayette another, and Franklin differed from both.

"Ah!" exclaimed the President; "opinions differ among the saints as well as among the sinners. Their talk is very much like the talk of my Cabinet. I should like, if possible, to hear what Judge Douglas says about this war," said the President.

After an interval, the medium rose from his chair and, resting his left hand on the back, his right into his bosom, spoke in a voice no one could mistake who had ever heard Mr. Douglas. He urged the President to throw aside all advisers who hesitated about the policy to be pursued, and said that, if victory were followed up by energetic action, all would be well.

"I believe that," said the President, "whether it comes from spirit or human. It needs not a ghost from the bourne from which no traveller returns to tell that."

His taint of superstition, like his tendency to melancholy, was doubtless inherited from his ancestors and was shared by all sensitive people whose lives were spent in the mysterious solitude and isolation of the Western frontier. It is manifested by the denizens of the forests, the mountains, and the plains, and wherever else sensitive natures are subjected to loneliness and the company of their own thoughts. Lincoln's mind was peculiarly sensitive to impressions; his nature was intensely sympathetic, his imagination was vivid, and his observation was keen and comprehensive. With all his candor, he was reticent and secretive in matters that concerned himself, and the struggle of his early life, his dismal and depressing surroundings, the death of his mother, and the physical conditions in which he was born and bred were just the influences to develop the morbid tendency which was manifested on several occasions in such a manner as to cause anxiety and even alarm among his friends. He realized the danger of submitting to it, and the cure invented and prescribed by himself was to seek for the humorous side of every event and incident and to read all the humorous books he could find.

His poetic temperament was developed early and frequently manifested while he was in the White House. He loved melancholy as well as humorous poems. He could repeat hymns by the hundreds, and quoted Dr. Watts' and John Wesley's verses as frequently as he did Shakespeare or Petroleum V. Nasby or Artemas Ward. His favorite poem was "Oh! Why should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud."

Judge Weldon, of the Court of Claims, remembers the first time he heard him repeat it. "It was during a term of court, in the same year, at Lincoln, a little town named for Mr. Lincoln. We were all stopping at the hotel, which had a very big room with four beds, called the lawyers' room. Some of us thin fellows doubled up; but I remember that Judge Davis, who was as large then as he was afterwards, when a Justice of the Supreme Bench, always had a bed to himself. Mr. Lincoln was an early riser, and one morning, when up early, as usual, and dressed, he sat before the big old-fashioned fireplace and repeated aloud from memory that whole hymn. Somebody asked him for the name of the author; but he said he had never been able to learn who wrote it, but wished he knew. There were a great many guesses, and some said that Shakespeare must have written it. But Mr. Lincoln, who was better read in Shakespeare than any of us, said that they were not Shakespeare's words. I made a persistent hunt for the author, and years after found the hymn was written by an Englishman, William Knox, who was born in 1789 and died in 1825."

All his life Lincoln was a temperance man. His first essay was a plea for temperance. His second was a eulogy of the Declaration of Independence. He belonged to the Sons of Temperance in Springfield, and frequently made temperance speeches. Judge Weldon remembers that he was once in Mr. Douglas's room at Springfield when Lincoln entered, and, following the custom, Mr. Douglas produced a bottle and some glasses and asked his callers to join him in a drink. Lincoln declined on the ground that for thirty years he had been a temperance man and was too old to change. Leonard Swett says,—

"He told me not more than a year before he was elected President that he had never tasted liquor in his life. 'What!' I said, 'Do you mean to say that you never tasted it?' 'Yes,' he replied, 'I never tasted it.'"

In one of his speeches is found this assertion: "Reasonable men have long since agreed that intemperance is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, of all evils of mankind."

Mr. C. C. Coffin, a famous newspaper writer of that time, who accompanied the notification committee from the Chicago Convention to Springfield, related in his newspaper a few days later an incident that occurred on that occasion. He says that after the exchange of formalities Lincoln said,—

"'Mrs. Lincoln will be pleased to see you, gentlemen. You will find her in the other room. You must be thirsty after your long ride. You will find a pitcher of water in the library.'

"I crossed the hall and entered the library. There were miscellaneous books on the shelves, two globes, celestial and terrestrial, in the corners of the room, a plain table with writing materials upon it, a pitcher of cold water, and glasses, but no wines or liquors. There was humor in the invitation to take a glass of water, which was explained to me by a citizen, who said that when it was known that the committee was coming, several citizens called upon Mr. Lincoln and informed him that some entertainment must be provided.

"'Yes, that is so. What ought to be done? Just let me know and I will attend to it,' he said.

"'Oh, we will supply the needful liquors,' said his friends.

"'Gentlemen,' said Mr. Lincoln, 'I thank you for your kind intentions, but must respectfully decline your offer. I have no liquors in my house, and have never been in the habit of entertaining my friends in that way. I cannot permit my friends to do for me what I will not myself do. I shall provide cold water—nothing else.'"

Colonel John Hay, one of his secretaries and biographers, says, "Mr. Lincoln was a man of extremely temperate habits. He made no use of either whiskey or tobacco during all the years I knew him."

Mr. John G. Nicolay, his private secretary, says, "During all the five years of my service as his private secretary I never saw him drink a glass of whiskey and I never knew or heard of his taking one."

There is not the slightest doubt that Lincoln believed in a special Providence. That conviction appears frequently in his speeches and in his private letters. In the correspondence which passed between him and Joshua Speed during a period of almost hopeless despondency and self-abasement, Lincoln frequently expressed the opinion that God had sent their sufferings for a special purpose. When Speed finally acknowledged his happiness after marriage, Lincoln wrote, "I always was superstitious. I believe God made me one of the instruments of bringing your Fanny and you together, and which union I have no doubt He had foreordained. Whatever He designs He will do for me yet. Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord is my text just now."

Later in life, writing to Thurlow Weed, he said, "Men are not flattered by being shown that there is a difference of purpose between the Almighty and themselves. To deny it, however, in this case, is to deny that there is a God governing the world."

In one of his speeches he said, "I know that the Lord is always on the side of the right; but it is my constant anxiety and prayer that I and this nation should be on the Lord's side."

When he learned that his father was very ill and likely to die, he wrote his step-brother, John Johnston, regretting his inability to come to his bedside because of illness in his own family, and added,—

"I sincerely hope that father may yet recover his health; but, at all events, tell him to remember to call upon and confide in our great and good and merciful Maker, who will not turn away from him in any extremity. He notes the fall of a sparrow, and numbers the hairs of our heads, and He will not forget the dying man who puts his trust in Him. Say to him that if we could meet now it is doubtful whether it would not be more painful than pleasant; but that if it be his lot to go now, he will soon have a joyous meeting with the many loved ones gone before, and where the rest of us, through the help of God, hope ere long to join them."

At Columbus, Ohio, he said to the Legislature of that State, convened in joint session in the hall of the Assembly, "I turn, then, and look to the American people, and to that God who has never forsaken them."

In the capital of New Jersey, to the Senate, he said, "I am exceedingly anxious that this Union, the Constitution, and the liberties of the people shall be perpetuated in accordance with the original idea for which the struggle was made, and I shall be most happy indeed if I shall be an humble instrument in the hands of the Almighty, and of this, His almost chosen people, for perpetuating the object of that great struggle."

That he believed in the efficacy of prayer there is no doubt. "I have been driven many times to my knees," he once remarked, "by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day."

A clergyman came to Washington from a little village in Central New York to recover the body of a gallant young captain who had been killed at the second battle of Bull Run. Having accomplished his errand, he was presented at the White House by the representative from his district. The Congressman at once retired, leaving him alone with Lincoln, who asked in a pleasant tone what he could do for his visitor.

"I have not come to ask any favors of you, Mr. President," the latter replied. "I have only come to say that the loyal people of the North are sustaining you and will continue to do so. We are giving you all that we have,—the lives of our sons as well as our confidence and our prayers. You must know that no pious father or mother ever kneels in prayer these days without asking God to give you strength and wisdom."

The tears filled Lincoln's eyes as he thanked his visitor and said, "But for those prayers I should have faltered and perhaps failed long ago. Tell every father and mother you know to keep on praying and I will keep on fighting, for I am sure that God is on our side."

As the clergyman started to leave the room, Lincoln held him by the hand and said, "I suppose I may consider this a sort of pastoral call."

"Yes," replied the clergyman.

"Out in our country," continued Lincoln, "when a parson made a pastoral call it was always the custom for the folks to ask him to lead in prayer, and I should like to ask you to pray with me to-day; pray that I may have strength and wisdom." The two men knelt side by side before a settee and the clergyman offered the most fervent appeal to the Almighty Power that ever fell from his lips. As they rose, Lincoln grasped his visitor's hand and remarked in a satisfied sort of way,—

"I feel better."

In July, 1863, in Washington, D. C., on the Sunday after the battle of Gettysburg, General Sickles, who had lost a leg, was brought to Washington. Lincoln called upon him at the hospital, with his son Tad, and remained an hour or more. He greeted Sickles heartily and complimented him on his stout fight at Gettysburg. Sickles asked whether he was not anxious during the Gettysburg campaign. Lincoln gravely replied that he was not; that some of his Cabinet and many others in Washington were, but that he himself had had no fears. General Sickles inquired his reasons. Lincoln hesitated, but finally replied,—

"Well, I will tell you how it was. In the pinch of your campaign up there, when everybody seemed panic-stricken and nobody could tell what was going to happen, I went into my room one day and locked the door, and got down on my knees before Almighty God and prayed to Him mightily for a victory at Gettysburg. I told God that if we were to win the battle He must do it, for I had done all I could. I told Him this was His war, and our cause was His cause, but that we couldn't stand another Fredericksburg or Chancellorsville. And then and there made a solemn vow to Almighty God that if He would stand by our boys at Gettysburg I would stand by Him. And He did, and I will. And after that—I don't know how it was, and I can't explain it, but soon—a sweet comfort crept into my soul that things would go all right at Gettysburg, and that is why I had no fears about you."

Presently General Sickles asked what news he had from Vicksburg. The President answered that he had none worth mentioning, but that Grant was still "pegging away" down there. He said he thought a good deal of him as a general and was not going to remove him, although urged to do so. "Besides," he added, "I have been praying over Vicksburg also, and believe our Heavenly Father is going to give us victory there, too, because we need it to bisect the Confederacy and have the Mississippi flow unvexed to the sea."

John G. Nicolay, who probably knew Lincoln as thoroughly and was as familiar with his opinions as any one, said,—

"I do not remember ever having discussed religion with Mr. Lincoln, nor do I know of any authorized statement of his views in existence. He sometimes talked freely, and never made any concealment of his belief or unbelief in any dogma or doctrine, but never provoked religious controversies. I speak more from his disposition and habits than from any positive declaration on his part. He frequently made remarks about sermons he had heard, books he had read, or doctrines that had been advanced, and my opinion as to his religious belief is based upon such casual evidences. There is not the slightest doubt that he believed in a Supreme Being of omnipotent power and omniscient watchfulness over the children of men, and that this great Being could be reached by prayer. Mr. Lincoln was a praying man; I know that to be a fact. And I have heard him request people to pray for him, which he would not have done had he not believed that prayer is answered. Many a time have I heard Mr. Lincoln ask ministers and Christian women to pray for him, and he did not do this for effect. He was no hypocrite, and had such reverence for sacred things that he would not trifle with them. I have heard him say that he prayed for this or that, and remember one occasion on which he remarked that if a certain thing did not occur he would lose his faith in prayer.

"It is a matter of history that he told the Cabinet he had promised his Maker to issue an emancipation proclamation, and it was not an idle remark. At the same time he did not believe in some of the dogmas of the orthodox churches. I have heard him argue against the doctrine of atonement, for example. He considered it illogical and unjust and a premium upon evil-doing if a man who had been wicked all his life could make up for it by a few words or prayers at the hour of death; and he had no faith in death-bed repentances. He did not believe in several other articles of the creeds of the orthodox churches. He believed in the Bible, however. He was a constant reader of the Bible and had great faith in it, but he did not believe that its entire contents were inspired. He used to consider it the greatest of all text-books of morals and ethics, and that there was nothing to compare with it in literature; but, at the same time, I have heard him say that God had too much to do and more important things to attend to than to inspire such insignificant writers as had written some passages in the good book.

"Nor did he believe in miracles. He believed in inexorable laws of nature, and I have heard him say that the wisdom and glory and greatness of the Almighty were demonstrated by order and method and not by the violation of nature's laws.

"It would be difficult for any one to define Mr. Lincoln's position or to classify him among the sects. I should say that he believed in a good many articles in the creeds of the orthodox churches and rejected a good many that did not appeal to his reason.

"He praised the simplicity of the Gospels. He often declared that the Sermon on the Mount contained the essence of all law and justice, and that the Lord's Prayer was the sublimest composition in human language. He was a constant reader of the Bible, but had no sympathy with theology, and often said that in matters affecting a man's relations with his Maker he couldn't give a power of attorney.

"Yes, there is a story, and it is probably true, that when he was very young and very ignorant he wrote an essay that might be called atheistical. It was after he had been reading a couple of atheistic books which made a great impression on his mind, and the essay is supposed to have expressed his views on those books,—a sort of review of them, containing both approval and disapproval,—and one of his friends burned it. He was very indignant at the time, but was afterwards glad of it.

"The opposition of the Springfield clergy to his election was chiefly due to remarks he made about them. One careless remark, I remember, was widely quoted. An eminent clergyman was delivering a series of doctrinal discourses that attracted considerable local attention. Although Lincoln was frequently invited, he would not be induced to attend them. He remarked that he wouldn't trust Brother —— to construe the statutes of Illinois and much less the laws of God; that people who knew him wouldn't trust his advice on an ordinary business transaction because they didn't consider him competent; hence he didn't see why they did so in the most important of all human affairs, the salvation of their souls.

"These remarks were quoted widely and misrepresented to Lincoln's injury. In those days people were not so liberal as now, and any one who criticised a parson was considered a sceptic."

The refusal of the Springfield clergy to support him for President, to which Mr. Nicolay refers, gave him great concern, and he expressed himself on that subject quite freely to Mr. Newton Bateman, Superintendent of Public Instruction for the State of Illinois, who occupied a room adjoining and opening into the Executive Chamber at Springfield, which Lincoln used as an office during the Presidential campaign.

"Here are twenty-three ministers of different denominations," he said to Mr. Bateman, showing a polling list, "and all of them are against me but three, and here are a great many prominent members of churches; a very large majority are against me. Mr. Bateman, I am not a Christian,—God knows I would be one,—but I have carefully read the Bible and I do not so understand this book," and he drew forth a pocket New Testament. "These men well know," he continued, "that I am for freedom in the Territories, freedom everywhere as free as the Constitution and the laws will permit, and that my opponents are for slavery. They know this, and yet, with this book in their hands, in the light of which human bondage cannot live a moment, they are going to vote against me; I do not understand it at all.

"I know there is a God, and that He hates injustice and slavery. I see the storm coming, and I know that His hand is in it. If He has a place and work for me, and I think He has, I believe I am ready. I am nothing, but Truth is everything; I know I am right, because I know that liberty is right, for Christ teaches it, and Christ is God. I have told them that a house divided against itself cannot stand, and Christ and reason say the same, and they will find it so.

"Douglas don't care whether slavery is voted up or down, but God cares, and humanity cares, and I care, and with God's help I shall not fail. I may not see the end; but it will come, and I shall be vindicated, and these men will find they have not read their Bible right."

The influence of the Springfield clergy was, however, scarcely noticeable. Here and there throughout the country some religious newspaper, minister, or bigoted layman opposed his election on that pretext, but the numerical strength of this class of his opponents was very small; and after the inauguration and the development of the secession conspiracy the Springfield preachers, like other Christian people from one end of the North to the other, displayed their patriotism. As the war progressed the influence of the entire church, Protestant and Catholic, was given to the support of the President, except occasionally when some extreme antislavery community would condemn what they considered the procrastination of the President concerning the emancipation of the slaves. Scarcely a religious body ever met without adopting resolutions of sympathy and support, and no manifestations of loyalty and approval throughout the entire war gave him greater gratification. His response in each case was a confession of human weakness and his reliance upon Divine Power.

In 1863, when the New School Presbyterians embodied their sentiments of loyalty to the Union in an eloquent memorial to the President, he replied, "From the beginning I saw that the issues of our great struggle depended upon Divine interposition and favor.... Relying as I do upon the Almighty power, and encouraged as I am by these resolutions that you have just read," etc.

To a committee of the General Conference of the Methodist Episcopal church in 1864 he said, "It is no fault in others that the Methodist Church sends more soldiers to the field, more nurses to the hospitals, more prayers to heaven than any other. God bless the Methodist Church! Bless all the churches; blessed be God who in this great trial giveth us the churches."

To the Quakers of Iowa, who had sent him an address through Senator Harlan, he wrote, "It is most cheering and encouraging for me to know that, in the efforts which I have made, and am making, for the restoration of a righteous peace to our country, I am upheld and sustained by the good wishes and prayers of God's people. No one is more deeply aware than myself that without His favor our highest wisdom is but as foolishness, and that our most strenuous efforts would avail nothing in the shadow of His displeasure."

One of the most significant of the President's letters, in which he expresses himself with less than his usual reserve, was written to Mrs. Gurney, wife of an eminent preacher of the English Society of Friends, in the autumn of 1864: "I am much indebted to the good Christian people of the country for their constant prayers and consolations, and to no one of them more than to yourself. The purposes of the Almighty are perfect, and must prevail, though we erring mortals may fail to accurately perceive them in advance. We hoped for a happy termination of this terrible war long before this; but God knows best, and has ruled otherwise. We shall yet acknowledge His wisdom and our own error therein. Meanwhile we must work earnestly in the best lights He gives us, trusting that so working still conduces to the great ends He ordains."

Being requested to preside at a meeting of the Christian Commission held in Washington on February 22, 1863, he wrote, "Whatever shall tend to turn our thoughts from the unreasoning and uncharitable passions, prejudices, and jealousies incident to a great national trouble such as ours, and to fix them on the vast and long-enduring consequences, for weal or for woe, which are to result from the struggle, and especially to strengthen our reliance on the Supreme Being for the final triumph of the right, cannot but be well for us all."

Mr. Herndon, his law partner, remembers that he often said that his creed was the same as that of an old man named Glenn, whom he heard speak at an experience meeting in Indiana: "When I do good, I feel good, and when I do bad, I feel bad; and that's my religion."

Hay and Nicolay, his secretaries, in their biography say, "Lincoln was a man of profound and intense religious feeling. We have no purpose of attempting to formulate his creed; we question if he himself ever did so. We only have to look at his authentic public and private utterances to see how deep and strong in all the latter part of his life was the current of his religious thought and emotion. He continually invited and appreciated at their highest value the prayers of good people. The pressure of the tremendous problems by which he was surrounded; the awful moral significance of the conflict in which he was the chief combatant; the overwhelming sense of personal responsibility, which never left him for an hour,—all contributed to produce, in a temperament naturally serious and predisposed to a spiritual view of life and conduct, a sense of reverent acceptance of the guidance of a Superior Power. From that morning when, standing amid the falling snow-flakes on the railway car at Springfield, he asked the prayers of his neighbors in those touching phrases whose echo rose that night in invocations from thousands of family altars, to the memorable hour when on the steps of the National Capitol he humbled himself before his Creator in the sublime words of the second inaugural, there is not an expression known to have come from his lips or his pen but proves that he held himself answerable in every act of his career to a more august tribunal than any on earth. The fact that he was not a communicant of any church, and that he was singularly reserved in regard to his personal religious life, gives only the greater force to these striking proofs of his profound reverence and faith.

"In final substantiation of this assertion we publish two papers from the hand of the President, one official and the other private, which bear within themselves the imprint of a sincere devotion and a steadfast reliance upon the power and benignity of an overruling Providence. The first is an order which he issued on the 16th of November, 1862, on the observance of Sunday:

"'The President, Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy, desires and enjoins the orderly observance of the Sabbath by the officers and men in the military and naval service. The importance for man and beast of the prescribed weekly rest, the sacred rights of Christian soldiers and sailors, a becoming deference to the best sentiment of a Christian people, and a due regard for the Divine will demand that Sunday labor in the army and navy be reduced to a measure of strict necessity. The discipline and character of the national forces should not suffer, nor the cause they defend be imperilled, by the profanation of the day or name of the Most High.'

"In September, 1862, while his mind was burdened with the weightiest question of his life, wearied with all the considerations of law and expediency with which he had been struggling for two years, he retired within himself and tried to bring some order into his thoughts by rising above the wrangling of men and of parties and pondering the relations of human government to the Divine. In this frame of mind, absolutely detached from any earthly considerations, he wrote this meditation. It has never been published. It was not written to be seen of men. It was penned in the awful sincerity of a perfectly honest soul trying to bring itself into closer communion with its Maker:

"'The will of God prevails. In great contests each party claims to act in accordance with the will of God. Both may be and one must be wrong. God cannot be for and against the same thing at the same time. In the present civil war it is quite possible that God's purpose is something different from the purpose of either party; and yet the human instrumentalities, working just as they do, are of the best adaptation to effect His purpose. I am almost ready to say that this is probably true; that God wills this contest, and wills that it shall not end yet. By His mere great power on the minds of the contestants, He could have either saved or destroyed the Union without a human contest. Yet the contest began, and, having begun, He could give the final victory to either side any day. Yet the contest proceeds.'"

On September 22, 1862, at a Cabinet meeting, Lincoln submitted his determination to issue a proclamation of emancipation of the slaves. He said that his mind was fixed, his decision made, and therefore he did not ask the opinion of his advisers as to the act, but he wished his paper announcing his course to be as correct in terms as it could be made without any change in his determination. That is the recollection of Mr. Welles, the Secretary of the Navy, who in his diary refers to Lincoln's "Covenant with God," as follows:

"In the course of the discussion on this paper, which was long, earnest, and, on the general principle involved, harmonious, he remarked that he had made a vow—a covenant—that if God gave us the victory in the approaching battle, he would consider it an indication of Divine will, and that it was his duty to move forward in the cause of emancipation. It might be thought strange, he said, that he had in this way submitted the disposal of matters when the way was not clear to his mind what he should do. God had decided this question in favor of the slaves. He was satisfied it was right,—was confirmed and strengthened in his action by the vow and the results."

The diary of Secretary Chase for the same day contains a similar account of the same discussion, and quotes the President as saying,—

"When the rebel army was at Frederick, I determined, as soon as it should be driven out of Maryland, to issue a proclamation of emancipation, such as I thought most likely to be useful. I said nothing to any one, but I made the promise to myself and [hesitating a little] to my Maker. The rebel army is now driven out, and I am going to fulfil that promise."

Mr. Usher, the Secretary of the Interior, says that when the draft of the Emancipation Proclamation was submitted to the Cabinet, Mr. Chase remarked,—

"This paper is one of the utmost importance, greater than any state paper ever made by this government. A paper of so much importance, and involving the liberties of so many people, ought, I think, to make some reference to the Deity. I do not observe anything of the kind in it."

Lincoln said, "No; I overlooked it. Some reference to the Deity must be inserted. Mr. Chase, won't you make a draft of what you think ought to be inserted?"

Mr. Chase promised to do so, and at the next meeting presented the following:

"And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of Almighty God."

When Lincoln read the paragraph, Mr. Chase said, "You may not approve it, but I thought this or something like it would be appropriate."

Lincoln replied, "I do approve it; it cannot be bettered, and I will adopt it in the very words you have written."

The reader has perceived from these pages the strength and the weakness of Abraham Lincoln. His errors were due to mercy and not to malice; to prudence and not to thoughtlessness or pride; to deliberation and not to recklessness. Perhaps he might have shortened the war by removing McClellan and placing in command of the armies before Richmond a commander of greater force and energy; perhaps he might have abolished human bondage by earlier action, as demanded by the antislavery element in the North; but who can tell what disasters might have been caused by impetuous action? If Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan had been at his side at the beginning of the war, history might have been different.

But who is so perfect or so wise as to judge Abraham Lincoln?

His greatest fault was his inability to suppress his sympathies. He once said, "If I have one vice, it is not being able to say 'No.' And I consider it a vice. Thank God for not making me a woman. I presume if He had He would have made me just as ugly as I am, and nobody would ever have tempted me."

On another occasion he said, "Some of our generals complain that I impair discipline and encourage insubordination in the army by my pardons and respites; but it rests me after a hard day's work if I can find some good cause for saving a man's life; and I go to bed happy as I think how joyous the signing of my name will make him and his family and his friends."

And with a happy smile beaming upon his careworn face, he again signed his name that saved another life. It was his theory that when a man is sincerely penitent for his misdeeds and gives satisfactory evidence of it, he can safely be pardoned.

An old lady came to him with tears in her eyes to express her gratitude for the pardon of her son, a truant soldier.

"Good-by, Mr. Lincoln," she said; "I shall probably never see you again until we meet in heaven."

He was deeply moved. He took her right hand in both of his and said, "I am afraid with all my troubles I shall never get to that resting-place you speak of; but if I do, I am sure I shall find you. That you wish me to get there is, I believe, the best wish you could make for me. Good-by."

To his oldest and most intimate friend he said, "Speed, die when I may, I want it said of me by those who know me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower when I thought a flower would grow."

His greatness consisted not in his eloquence as an orator, nor his shrewdness as a lawyer, nor his tact as a diplomatist, nor his genius in planning and directing military affairs, nor his executive ability, but in his absolute self-control, his unselfishness, the full maturity of his wisdom, the strength of his convictions, his sound judgment, his absolute integrity, his unwavering adherence to the principles of truth, justice, and honor, his humanity, his love of country, his sublime faith in the people and in Republican institutions. He was without malice or the spirit of resentment, without envy or jealousy, and he suppressed his passions to a degree beyond that of most men. He entered the Presidency with an inadequate conception of his own responsibilities, but when he saw his duty he did it with courage, endurance, magnanimity, and unselfish devotion. In his eulogy of Lincoln, uttered a few days after the assassination, Ralph Waldo Emerson said,—

"He grew according to the need; his mind mastered the problem of the day; and as the problem grew so did his comprehension of it. Rarely was a man so fitted to the event.

"In four years—four years of battle days—his endurance, his fertility and resources, his magnanimity, were sorely tried and never found wanting. There, by his courage, his justice, his even temper, his fertile counsel, his humanity, he stood a heroic figure in the centre of an heroic epoch."

The End

Simple typographical errors were corrected.

Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

"fugitive slave law" and "fugitive-slave law" both appear in the original book; regularized to "fugitive-slave law" in this eBook.

"proslavery" and "pro-slavery" both occur in the original book; unchanged here.

Letter facing page 168: in handwritten date "October 3, 1861", "3" (rather than "5") is based on examination of other samples of Lincoln's handwriting.

Page 289: "Ben: Perley Poore" did abbreviate his first name with a colon. His name also appears without a colon on page 98.