



Produced by David Widger





THE LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN;

FROM HIS BIRTH TO HIS INAUGURATION AS PRESIDENT.

By

Ward H. Lamon.

With Illustrations.

Boston:

James R. Osgood And Company,

(Late Ticknor & Fields, And Fields, Osgood, & Co.)

1872.


[Illustration: Frontispiece]

[Illustration: Titlepage]



PREFACE.

IN the following pages I have endeavored to give the life of Abraham
Lincoln, from his birth to his inauguration as President of the United
States. The reader will judge the character of the performance by the
work itself: for that reason I shall spare him the perusal of much
prefatory explanation.

At the time of Mr. Lincoln's death, I determined to write his history,
as I had in my possession much valuable material for such a purpose. I
did not then imagine that any person could have better or more extensive
materials than I possessed. I soon learned, however, that Mr. William H.
Herndon of Springfield, Ill., was similarly engaged. There could be no
rivalry between us; for the supreme object of both was to make the real
history and character of Mr. Lincoln as well known to the public as they
were to us. He deplored, as I did, the many publications pretending to
be biographies which came teeming from the press, so long as the public
interest about Mr. Lincoln excited the hope of gain. Out of the mass
of works which appeared, of one only--Dr. Holland's--is it possible to
speak with any degree of respect.

Early in 1869, Mr. Herndon placed at my disposal his remarkable
collection of materials,--the richest, rarest, and fullest collection
it was possible to conceive. Along with them came an offer of hearty
co-operation, of which I have availed myself so extensively, that no art
of mine would serve to conceal it. Added to my own collections, these
acquisitions have enabled me to do what could not have been done
before,--prepare an authentic biography of Mr. Lincoln.

Mr. Herndon had been the partner in business and the intimate personal
associate of Mr. Lincoln for something like a quarter of a century; and
Mr. Lincoln had lived familiarly with several members of his family long
before their individual acquaintance began. New Salem, Springfield, the
old judicial circuit, the habits and friends of Mr. Lincoln, were as
well known to Mr. Herndon as to himself. With these advantages, and from
the numberless facts and hints which had dropped from Mr. Lincoln during
the confidential intercourse of an ordinary lifetime, Mr. Herndon was
able to institute a thorough system of inquiry for every noteworthy
circumstance and every incident of value in Mr. Lincoln's career.

The fruits of Mr. Herndon's labors are garnered in three enormous
volumes of original manuscripts and a mass of unarranged letters
and papers. They comprise the recollections of Mr. Lincoln's
nearest friends; of the surviving members of his family and his
family-connections; of the men still living who knew him and his parents
in Kentucky; of his schoolfellows, neighbors, and acquaintances in
Indiana; of the better part of the whole population of New Salem; of
his associates and relatives at Springfield; and of lawyers, judges,
politicians, and statesmen everywhere, who had any thing of interest or
moment to relate. They were collected at vast expense of time, labor,
and money, involving the employment of many agents, long journeys,
tedious examinations, and voluminous correspondence. Upon the value of
these materials it would be impossible to place an estimate. That I have
used them conscientiously and justly is the only merit to which I lay
claim.

As a general thing, my text will be found to support itself; but whether
the particular authority be mentioned or not, it is proper to remark,
that each statement of fact is fully sustained by indisputable evidence
remaining in my possession. My original plan was to verify every
important statement by one or more appropriate citations; but it was
early abandoned, not because it involved unwelcome labor, but because
it encumbered my pages with a great array of obscure names, which the
reader would probably pass unnoticed.

I dismiss this volume into the world, with no claim for it of literary
excellence, but with the hope that it will prove what it purports to
be,--a faithful record of the life of Abraham Lincoln down to the 4th of
March, 1861.

Ward H. Lamon.

Washington City, May, 1872.




TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

Birth.--His father and mother.--History of Thomas Lincoln and his family
a necessary part of Abraham Lincoln's biography.--Thomas Lincoln's
ancestors.--Members of the family remaining in Virginia.--Birth of
Thomas Lincoln.--Removal to Kentucky.--Life in the Wilderness.--Lincolns
settle in Mercer County.--Thomas Lincoln's father shot by
Indians.--Widow and family remove to Washington County.--Thomas
poor.--Wanders into Breckinridge County.--Goes to Hardin County.--Works
at the carpenter's trade.--Cannot read or write.--Personal
appearance.--Called "Linckhom," or "Linckhera."--Thomas Lincoln as
a carpenter.--Marries Nancy Hanks.--Previously courted Sally
Bush.--Character of Sally Bush.--The person and character of Nancy
Hanks.--Thomas and Nancy Lincoln go to live in a shed.--Birth of a
daughter.--They remove to Nolin Creek.--Birth of Abraham.--Removal to
Knob Creek.--Little Abe initiated into wild sports.--His sadness.--Goes
to school.--Thomas Lincoln concludes to move.--Did not fly from the
taint of slavery.--Abraham Lincoln always reticent about the history and
character of his family.--Record in his Bible... 1

CHAPTER II.

Thomas Lincoln builds a boat.--Floats down to the Ohio.--Boat
capsizes.--Lands in Perry County, Indiana.--Selects a location.--Walks
back to Knob Creek for wife and children.--Makes his way through
the wilderness.--Settles between the two Pigeon Creeks.--Gentry
ville.--Selects a site.--Lincoln builds a half-faced camp.--Clears
ground and raises a small crop.--Dennis Hanks.--Lincoln builds a
cabin.--State of the country.--Indiana admitted to the Union.--Rise
of Gentryville.--Character of the people.--Lincoln's patent for his
land.--His farm, cabin, furniture.--The milk-sickness.--Death of Nancy
Hanks Lincoln.--Funeral discourse by David Elkin.--Grave.--Tom Lincoln
marries Sally Bush.--Her goods and chattels.--Her surprise at the
poverty of the Lincoln cabin.--Clothes and comforts Abe and his
sister.--Abe leads a new life.--Is sent to school.--Abe's appearance and
dress.--Learning "manners"--Abe's essays.--Tenderness for animals.--The
last of school.--Abe excelled the masters.--Studied privately.--Did not
like to work.--Wrote on wooden shovel and boards.--How Abe studied.--The
books he read.--The "Revised Statute of Indiana."--Did not read the
Bible.--No religious opinions.--How he behaved at home.--Touching
recital by Mrs. Lincoln.--Abe's memory.--Mimicks the preachers.--Makes
"stump-speeches" in the field.--Cruelly maltreated by his father.--Works
out cheerfully.--Universal favorite.--The kind of people he lived
amongst.--Mrs. Crawford's reminiscences.--Society about Gentryville.
--His step-mother.--His sister.--The Johnstons and Hankses.--Abe a
ferryman and farm-servant.--His work and habits.--Works for Josiah
Crawford.--Mrs. Crawford's account of him.--Crawford's books.--Becomes
a wit and a poet.--Abe the tallest and strongest man in the
settlement.--Hunting in the Pigeon Creek region.--His activity.--Love of
talking and reading.--Fond of rustic sports.--Furnishes the
literature.--Would not be slighted.--His satires.--Songs and
chronicles.--Gentryville as "a centre of business."--Abe and other
boys loiter about the village.--Very temperate.--"Clerks" for Col.
Jones.--Abe saves a drunken man's life.--Fond of music.--Marriage of his
sister Nancy.--Extracts from his copy-book.--His Chronicles.--Fight with
the Grigs-bys.--Abe "the big buck of the lick."--"Speaking meetings"
at Gentryville.--Dennis Hanks's account of the way he and Abe became so
learned.--Abe attends a court.--Abe expects to be President.--Going
to mill.--Kicked in the head by a horse.--Mr. Wood.--Piece on
temperance.--On national politics.--Abe tired of home.--Works for
Mr. Gentry.--Knowledge of astronomy and geography.--Goes to New
Orleans.--Counterfeit money.--Fight with <DW64>s.--Scar on his face.
--An apocryphal story...........19

CHAPTER III.

Abe's return from New Orleans.--Sawing planks for a new house.--The
milk-sickness.--Removal to Illinois.--Settles near Decatur.--Abe leaves
home.--Subsequent removals and death of Thomas Lincoln.--Abe's relations
to the family.--Works with John Hanks after leaving home.--Splitting
rails.--Makes a speech on the improvement of the Sangamon River.--Second
voyage to New Orleans.--Loading and departure of the boat.--"Sticks" on
New Salem dam.--Abe's contrivance to get her off.--Model in the Patent
Office.--Arrival at New Orleans.--<DW64>s chained.--Abe touched by the
sight.--Returns on a steamboat.--Wrestles with Daniel Needham.........73

CHAPTER IV.

The site of New Salem.--The village as it existed.--The
first store.--Number of inhabitants.--Their
houses.--Springfield.--Petersburg.--Mr. Lincoln appears a second time
at New Salem.--Clerks at an election.--Pilots a boat to
Beardstown.--Country store.--Abe as "first clerk."--"Clary's Grove
Boys."--Character of Jack Armstrong.--He and Abe become intimate
friends.--Abe's popularity.--Love of peace.--Habits of study.--Waylaying
strangers for information.--Pilots the steamer "Talisman" up and down
the Sangamon.......85

CHAPTER V.

Offutt's business gone to ruin.--The Black Hawk War.--Black Hawk crosses
the Mississippi.--Deceived by his allies.--The governor's call for
troops.--Abe enlists--Elected captain.--A speech.--Organization of the
army.--Captain Lincoln under arrest.--The march.--Captain Lincoln's
company declines to form.--Lincoln under arrest.--Stillman's
defeat.--Wasting rations.--Hunger.--Mutiny.--March to Dixon.--Attempt
to capture Black Hawk's pirogues.--Lincoln saves the life of
an Indian.--Mutiny.--Lincoln's novel method of quelling
it.--Wrestling.--His magnanimity.--Care of his men.--Dispute with a
regular officer.--Reach Dixon.--Move to Fox River.--A stampede.--Captain
Lincoln's efficiency as an officer.--Amusements of the camp.--Captain
Lincoln re-enlists as a private.--Independent spy company.--Progress of
the war.--Capture of Black Hawk.--Release.--Death.--Grave.--George
W. Harrison's recollections.--Duties of the spy company.--Company
disbanded.--Lincoln's horse stolen.--They start home on foot.--Buy
a canoe.--Feast on a raft.--Sell the boat.--Walk again.--Arrive at
Petersburg.--A sham battle........98

CHAPTER VI.

The volunteers from Sangamon return shortly before the State
election.--Abe a candidate for the Legislature.--Mode of bringing
forward candidates.--Parties and party names.--State and national
politics.--Mr. Lincoln's position.--Old way of conducting
elections.--Mr. Lincoln's first stump-speech.--"A general fight."--Mr.
Lincoln's part in it.--His dress and appearance.--Speech at Island
Grove.--His stories.--A third speech.--Agrees with the Whigs in the
policy of internal improvements.--His own hobby.--Prepares an address to
the people.--Mr. Lincoln defeated.--Received every vote but three cast
in his own precinct....121

CHAPTER VII.

Results of the canvass.--An opening in business.--The firm of Lincoln
& Berry.--How they sold liquor.--What Mr. Douglas said.--The store a
failure.--Berry's bad habits.--The credit system.--Lincoln's debts.--He
goes to board at the tavern.--Studies law.--Walks to Springfield for
books.--Progress in the law.--Does business for his neighbors.--Other
studies.--Reminiscences of J. Y. Ellis.--Shy of ladies.--His
apparel.--Fishing, and spouting Shakspeare and Burns.--Mr. Lincoln
annoyed by company.--Retires to the country.--Bowlin Greene.--Mr.
Lincoln's attempt to speak a funeral discourse.--John Calhoun.--Lincoln
studies surveying.--Gets employment.--Lincoln appointed postmaster.--How
he performed the duties.--Sale of Mr. Lincoln's personal property under
execution.--Bought by James Short.--Lincoln's visits.--Old Hannah.--Ah.
Trent.--Mr. Lincoln as a peacemaker.--His great strength.--The
judicial quality.--Acting second in fights.--A candidate for the
Legislature.--Elected.--Borrows two hundred dollars from Coleman
Smoot.--How they got acquainted.--Mr. Lincoln writes a little book on
infidelity.--It is burnt by Samuel Hill........135

CHAPTER VIII.

James Rutledge.--His family.--Ann Rutledge.--John McNeil.--Is engaged
to Ann.--His strange story.--The loveliness of Ann's person
and character.--Mr. Lincoln courts her.--They are engaged to be
married.--Await the return of McNeil.--Ann dies of a broken
heart.--Mr. Lincoln goes crazy.--Cared for by Bowlin Greene.--The poem
"Immortality."--Mr. Lincoln's melancholy broodings.--Interviews with
Isaac Cogdale after his election to the Presidency.--Mr. Herndon's
interview with McNamar.--Ann's grave.--The Concord cemetery...159

CHAPTER IX.

Bennett Able and family.--Mary Owens.--Mr. Lincoln falls in love with
her.--What she thought of him.--A misunderstanding.--Letters from Miss
Owens.--Mr. Lincoln's letters to her.--Humorous account of the affair in
a letter from Mr. Lincoln to another lady......172

CHAPTER X.

Mr. Lincoln takes his seat in the Legislature.--Schemes of internal
improvement.--Mr. Lincoln a silent member.--Meets Stephen A.
Douglas.--Log-rolling.--Mr. Lincoln a candidate for re-election.--The
canvass.--"The Long Nine."--Speech at Mechanicsburg.--Fight.--Reply to
Dr. Early.--Reply to George Forquer.--Trick on Dick Taylor.--Attempts
to create a third party.--Mr. Lincoln elected.--Federal and State
politics.--The Bank of the United States.--Suspension of specie
payments.--Mr. Lincoln wishes to be the De Witt Clinton of
Illinois.--The internal-improvement system.--Capital located
at Springfield.--Mr. Lincoln's conception of the duty of a
representative.--His part in passing the "system."--Begins
his antislavery record.--Public sentiment against the
Abolitionists.--History of antislavery in Illinois.--The
Covenanters.--Struggle to amend the Constitution.--The "black
code."--Death of Elijah P. Lovejoy.--Protest against proslavery
resolutions.--No sympathy with extremists.--Suspension of
specie payments.--Mr. Lincoln re-elected in 1838.--Candidate for
Speaker.--Finances.--Utter failure of the internal-improvement
"system."--Mr. Lincoln re-elected in 1840.--He introduces a bill.--His
speech.--Financial expedients.--Bitterness of feeling.--Democrats seek
to hold a quorum.--Mr. Lincoln jumps out of a window.--Speech by Mr.
Lincoln.--The alien question.--The Democrats undertake to "reform" the
judiciary.--Mr. Douglas a leader.--Protest of Mr. Lincoln and
other Whigs.--Reminiscences of a colleague.--Dinner to "The Long
Nine."--"Abraham Lincoln one of nature's noblemen."..........184

CHAPTER XI.

Capital removed to Springfield.--Mr. Lincoln settles there to practise
law.--First case.--Members of the bar.--Mr. Lincoln's partnership with
John T. Stuart.--Population and condition of Springfield.--Lawyers
and politicians.--Mr. Lincoln's intense ambition.--Lecture before the
Springfield Lyceum.--His style.--Political discussions run
high.--Joshua F. Speed his most intimate friend.--Scene in Speed's
store.--Debate.--Douglas, Calhoun, Lamborn, and Thomas, against Lincoln,
Logan, Baker, and Browning.--Presidential elector in 1840.--Stumping
for Harrison.--Scene between Lincoln and Douglas in the Court-House.--A
failure.--Redeems himself.--Meets Miss Mary Todd.--She takes Mr. Lincoln
captive.--She refuses Douglas.--Engaged.--Miss Matilda Edwards.--Mr.
Lincoln undergoes a change of heart.--Mr. Lincoln reveals to Mary the
state of his mind.--She releases him.--A reconciliation.--Every thing
prepared for the wedding.--Mr. Lincoln fails to appear.--Insane.--Speed
takes him to Kentucky.--Lines on "Suicide."--His gloom.--Return
to Springfield.--Secret meetings with Miss Todd.--Sudden
marriage.--Correspondence with Mr. Speed on delicate subjects.--Relics
of a great man and a great agony.--Miss Todd attacks James Shields in
certain witty and sarcastic letters.--Mr. Lincoln's name "given up"
as the author.--Challenged by Shields.--A meeting and an
explanation.--Correspondence.--Candidate for Congressional
nomination.--Letters to Speed and Morris.--Defeat.. 223

CHAPTER XII.

Mr. Lincoln a candidate for elector in 1844.--Debates with
Calhoun.--Speaks in Illinois and Indiana.--At Gentryville.--Lincoln,
Baker, Logan, Hardin, aspirants for Congress.--Supposed
bargain.--Canvass for Whig nomination in 1846.--Mr. Lincoln
nominated.--Opposed by Peter Cartwright.--Mr. Lincoln called a
deist.--Elected.--Takes his seat.--Distinguished members.--Opposed
to the Mexican War.--The "Spot Resolutions."--Speech of Mr.
Lincoln.--Murmurs of disapprobation.--Mr. Lincoln for "Old Rough" in
1848.--Defections at home.--Mr. Lincoln's campaign.--Speech.--Passage
not generally published.--Letter to his father.--Second session.--The
"Gott Resolution."--Mr. Lincoln's substitute..............274

CHAPTER XIII.

Mr. Lincoln in his character of country lawyer.--Public feeling at
the time of his death.--Judge Davis's address at a bar-meeting.--Judge
Drummond's address.--Mr. Lincoln's partnership with John T.
Stuart.--With Stephen. T. Logan.--With William H. Herndon.--Mr.
Lincoln "a case-lawyer."--Slow.--Conscientious.--Henry McHenry's
case.--Circumstantial evidence.--A startling case.--Mr. Lincoln's
account of it.--His first case in the Supreme Court.--Could not defend a
bad case.--Ignorance of technicalities.--The Eighth Circuit.--Happy
on the circuit.--Style of travelling.--His relations.--Young Johnson
indicted.--Mr. Lincoln's kindness.--Jack Armstrong's son tried
for murder.--Mr. Lincoln defends him.--Alleged use of a false
almanac.--Prisoner discharged.--Old Hannah's account of it.--Mr.
Lincoln's suit against Illinois Central Railway Company.--McCormick
Reaping Machine case.--Treatment by Edwin M. Stanton........311

CHAPTER XIV.

Mr. Lincoln not a candidate for re-election.--Judge Logan's defeat.--Mr.
Lincoln an applicant for Commissioner of the Land Office.--Offered the
Governorship of Oregon.--Views concerning the Missouri Compromise
and Compromise of 1850.--Declines to be a candidate for Congress in
1850.--Death of Thomas Lincoln.--Correspondence between Mr. Lincoln
and John Johnston.--Eulogy on Henry Clay.--In favor of voluntary
emancipation and colonization.--Answer to Mr. Douglas's Richmond
speech.--Passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Bill.--Mr. Lincoln's views
concerning slavery.--Opposed to conferring political privileges
upon <DW64>s.--Aroused by the repeal of the Missouri
Compromise.--Anti-Nebraska party.--Mr. Lincoln the leader.--Mr. Douglas
speaks at Chicago.--At Springfield.--Mr. Lincoln replies.--A
great speech.--Mr. Douglas rejoins.--The Abolitionists.--Mr.
Herndon.--Determined to make Mr. Lincoln an Abolitionist.--They refuse
to enter the Know-Nothing lodges.--The Abolitionists desire to force
Mr. Lincoln to take a stand.--He runs away from Springfield.--He
is requested to "follow up" Mr. Douglas.--Speech at
Peoria.--Extract.--Slavery and popular sovereignty.--Mr. Lincoln and
Mr. Douglas agree not to speak any more.--The election.--Mr. Lincoln
announced for the Legislature by Wm. Jayne.--Mrs. Lincoln withdraws his
name.--Jayne restores it.--He is elected.--A candidate for United-States
Senator.--Resigns his seat.--Is censured.--Anti-Nebraska majority in
the Legislature.--The balloting.--Danger of Governor Matteson's
election.--Mr. Lincoln advises his friends to vote for Judge
Trumbull.--Trumbull elected.--Charges of conspiracy and corrupt
bargain.--Mr. Lincoln's denial.--Mr. Douglas imputes to Mr. Lincoln
extreme Abolitionist views.--Mr. Lincoln's answer.............333

CHAPTER XV.

The struggle in Kansas.--The South begins the struggle.--The North meets
it.--The Missourians and other proslavery forces.--Andrew H. Reeder
appointed governor.--Election frauds.--Mr. Lincoln's views on
Kansas.--Gov. Shannon arrives in the Territory.--The Free State men
repudiate the Legislature.--Mr. Lincoln's "little speech" to the
Abolitionists of Illinois.--Mr. Lincoln's party relations.--Mr. Lincoln
agrees to meet the Abolitionists.--Convention at Bloomington.--Mr.
Lincoln considered a convert.--His great speech.--Conservative
resolutions.--Ludicrous failure of a ratification meeting at
Springfield.--Mr. Lincoln's remarks.--Plot to break up the Know-Nothing
party.--"National" Republican Convention.--Mr. Lincoln receives
a hundred and ten votes for Vice-President.--National Democratic
Convention.--Mr. Lincoln a candidate for elector.--His
canvass.--Confidential letter.--Imperfect fellowship with the
Abolitionists.--Mr. Douglas's speech on Kansas in June, 1857.--Mr.
Lincoln's reply.--Mr. Douglas committed to support of the Lecompton
Constitution.--The Dred Scott Decision discussed.--Mr. Lincoln
against <DW64> equality.--Affairs in Kansas.--Election of a new
Legislature.--Submission of the Lecompton Constitution to
the people.--Method of voting on it.--Constitution finally
rejected.--Conflict in Congress.--Mr. Douglas's defection.--Extract from
a speech by Mr. Lincoln........366

CHAPTER XVI.

Mr. Douglas opposes the Administration.--His course in
Congress.--Squatter sovereignty in full operation.--Mr. Lincoln's
definition of popular sovereignty and squatter sovereignty.--Mr.
Douglas's private conferences with Republicans.--"Judge Trumbull's
opinion.--Mr. Douglas nominated for senator by a Democratic
Convention.--Mr. Lincoln's idea of what Douglas might accomplish at
Charleston.--Mr. Lincoln writing a celebrated speech.--He is nominated
for senator.--A startling doctrine.--A council of friends.--Same
doctrine advanced at Bloomington.--The "house-divided" speech.--Mr.
Lincoln promises to explain.--What Mr. Lincoln thought of Mr.
Douglas.--What Mr. Douglas thought of Mr. Lincoln.--Popular canvass for
senator.--Mr. Lincoln determines to "kill Douglas" as a
Presidential aspirant.--Adroit plan to draw him out on squatter
sovereignty.--Absurdities of Mr. Douglas.--The election.--Success of Mr.
Douglas.--Reputation acquired by Mr. Lincoln..................389

CHAPTER XVII.

Mr. Lincoln writes and delivers a lecture.--The Presidency.--Mr.
Lincoln's "running qualities."--He thinks himself unfit.--Nominated by
"Illinois Gazette."--Letter to Dr. Canisius.--Letter to Dr. Wallace
on the protective tariff policy.--Mr. Lincoln in Ohio and Kansas.--A
private meeting of his friends.--Permitted to use his name for
the Presidency.--An invitation to speak in New York.--Choosing a
subject.--Arrives in New York.--His embarrassments.--Speech in Cooper
Institute.--Comments of the press.--He is charged with mercenary
conduct.--Letter concerning the charge.--Visits New England.--Style
and character of his speeches.--An amusing encounter with a clerical
politician...421

CHAPTER XVIII.

Meeting of the Republican State Convention.--Mr. Lincoln present.--John
Hanks and the rails.--Mr. Lincoln's speech.--Meeting of the Republican
National Convention at Chicago.--The platform.--Combinations to secure
Mr. Lincoln's nomination.--The balloting.--Mr. Lincoln nominated.--Mr.
Lincoln at Springfield waiting the results of the Convention.--How
he received the news.--Enthusiasm at Springfield.--Official
notification.--The "Constitutional Union" party.--The Democratic
Conventions at Charleston and Baltimore.--The election.--The
principle upon which Mr. Lincoln proposed to make appointments.--Mr.
Stephens.--Mr. Gilmore.--Mr. Guthrie.--Mr. Seward.--Mr. Chase.--Mr.
Bates.--The cases of Smith and Cameron.--Mr. Lincoln's visit
to Chicago.--Mr. Lincoln's visit to his relatives in Coles
County.--Apprehensions about assassination.--A visit from Hannah
Armstrong... 444

CHAPTER XIX.

Difficulties and peculiarities of Mr. Lincoln's position.--A general
review of his character.--His personal appearance and habits.--His house
and other property.--His domestic relations.--His morbid melancholy
and superstition.--Illustrated by his literary tastes.--His humor.--His
temperate habits and abstinence from sensual pleasures.--His
ambition.--Use of politics for personal advancement.--Love of power
and place.--Of justice.--Not a demagogue or a trimmer.--His religious
views.--Attempt of the Rev. Mr. Smith to convert him.--Mr. Bateman's
story as related by Dr. Holland.--Effect of his belief upon his mind and
character...........466

CHAPTER XX.

Departure of the Presidential party from Springfield.--Affecting address
by Mr. Lincoln to his friends and neighbors.--His opinions concerning
the approaching civil war.--Discovery of a supposed plot to murder
him at Baltimore.--Governor Hicks's proposal to "kill Lincoln and his
men."--The plan formed to defeat the conspiracy.--The midnight ride
from Harrisburg to Washington.--Arrival in Washington.--Before the
Inauguration.--Inauguration Day.--Inaugural Address.--Mr. Lincoln's
Oath.--Mr. Lincoln President of the United States.--Mr. Buchanan bids
him farewell............505




LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN.




CHAPTER I.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN was born on the twelfth day of February, 1809. His
father's name was Thomas Lincoln, and his mother's maiden name was Nancy
Hanks. At the time of his birth, they are supposed to have been married
about three years. Although there appears to have been but little
sympathy or affection between Thomas and Abraham Lincoln, they were
nevertheless connected by ties and associations which make the previous
history of Thomas Lincoln and his family a necessary part of any
reasonably full biography of the great man who immortalized the name by
wearing it.

Thomas Lincoln's ancestors were among the early settlers of Rockingham
County in Virginia; but exactly whence they came, or the precise time of
their settlement there, it is impossible to tell. They were manifestly
of English descent; but whether emigrants directly from England
to Virginia, or an offshoot of the historic Lincoln family in
Massachusetts, or of the highly-respectable Lincoln family in
Pennsylvania, are questions left entirely to conjecture. We have
absolutely no evidence by which to determine them, Thomas Lincoln
himself stoutly denied that his progenitors were either Quakers or
Puritans; but he furnished nothing except his own word to sustain his
denial: on the contrary, some of the family (distant relatives of Thomas
Lincoln) who remain in Virginia believe themselves to have sprung from
the New-England stock. They found their opinion solely on the fact that
the Christian names given to the sons of the two families were the same,
though only in a few cases, and at different times. But this might have
arisen merely from that common religious sentiment which induces parents
of a devotional turn to confer scriptural names on their children, or it
might have been purely accidental. Abrahams, Isaacs, and Jacobs abound
in many other families who claim no kindred on that account. In England,
during the ascendency of the Puritans, in times of fanatical religious
excitement, the children were almost universally baptized by the names
of the patriarchs and Old-Testament heroes, or by names of their own
pious invention, signifying what the infant was expected to do and to
suffer in the cause of the Lord. The progenitors of all the American
Lincolns were Englishmen, and they may have been Puritans. There is,
therefore, nothing unreasonable in the supposition that they began the
practice of conferring such names before the emigration of any of them;
and the names, becoming matters of family pride and family tradition,
have continued to be given ever since. But, if the fact that
Christian names of a particular class prevailed among the Lincolns of
Massachusetts and the Lincolns of Virginia at the same time is no proof
of consanguinity, the identity of the surname is entitled to even less
consideration. It is barely possible that they may have had a common
ancestor; but, if they had, he must have lived and died so obscurely,
and so long ago, that no trace of him can be discovered. It would be
as difficult to prove a blood relationship between all the American
Lincolns, as it would be to prove a general cousinship among all the
Smiths or all the Joneses.1

     1 At the end of this volume will be found a very interesting
     account of the family, given by Mr. Lincoln himself. The
     original is in his own handwriting, and is here reproduced
     in fac-simile.

A patronymic so common as Lincoln, derived from a large geographical
division of the old country, would almost certainly be taken by many who
had no claim to it by reason of descent from its original possessors.

Dr. Holland, who, of all Mr. Lincoln's biographers, has entered most
extensively into the genealogy of the family, says that the father of
Thomas was named Abraham; but he gives no authority for his statement,
and it is as likely to be wrong as to be right. The Hankses--John and
Dennis--who passed a great part of their lives in the company of Thomas
Lincoln, tell us that the name of his father was Mordecai; and so also
does Col. Chapman, who married Thomas Lincoln's step-daughter. The rest
of those who ought to know are unable to assign him any name at all.
Dr. Holland says further, that this Abraham (or Mordecai) had four
brothers,--Jacob, John, Isaac, and Thomas; that Isaac went to Tennessee,
where his descendants are now; that Thomas went to Kentucky after his
brother Abraham; but that Jacob and John "are supposed to have" remained
in Virginia.1 This is doubtless true, at least so far as it relates to
Jacob and John; for there are at this day numerous Lincolns residing
in Rockingham County,--the place from which the Kentucky Lincolns
emigrated. One of their ancestors, Jacob,--who seems to be the brother
referred to,--was a lieutenant in the army of the Revolution, and
present at the siege of Yorktown. His military services were made the
ground of a claim against the government, and Abraham Lincoln, whilst a
representative in Congress from Illinois, was applied to by the family
to assist them in prosecuting it. A correspondence of some length
ensued, by which the presumed relationship of the parties was fully
acknowledged on both sides. But, unfortunately, no copy of it is now
in existence. The one preserved by the Virginians was lost or destroyed
during the late war. The family, with perfect unanimity, espoused
the cause of the Confederate States, and suffered many losses in
consequence, of which these interesting papers may have been one.

     1 The Life of Abraham Lincoln, by J. G. Holland, p. 20.

Abraham (or Mordecai) the father of Thomas Lincoln, was the owner of
a large and fertile tract of land on the waters of Linnville's Creek,
about eight miles north of Harrisonburg, the court-house town of
Rockingham County. It is difficult to ascertain the precise extent of
this plantation, or the history of the title to it, inasmuch as all the
records of the county were burnt by Gen. Hunter in 1864. It is clear,
however, that it had been inherited by Lincoln, the emigrant to
Kentucky, and that four, if not all, of his children were born upon it.
At the time Gen. Sheridan received the order "to make the Valley of the
Shenandoah a barren waste," this land was well improved and in a state
of high cultivation; but under the operation of that order it was
ravaged and desolated like the region around it.

Lincoln, the emigrant, had three sons and two daughters. Thomas was the
third son and the fourth child. He was born in 1778; and in 1780, or a
little later, his father removed with his entire family to Kentucky.

Kentucky was then the paradise of the borderer's dreams. Fabulous tales
of its sylvan charms and pastoral beauties had for years been floating
about, not only along the frontiers of Pennsylvania, Virginia, and North
Carolina, but farther back in the older settlements. For a while it had
been known as the "Cane Country," and then as the "Country of
Kentucky." Many expeditions were undertaken to explore it; two or three
adventurers, and occasionally only one at a time, passing down the Ohio
in canoes. But they all stopped short of the Kentucky River. The Indians
were terrible; and it was known that they would surrender any other
spot of earth in preference to Kentucky. The canes that were supposed
to indicate the promised land--those canes of wondrous dimensions,
that shot up, as thick as they could stand, from a soil of inestimable
fertility--were forever receding before those who sought them. One party
after another returned to report, that, after incredible dangers and
hardships, they had met with no better fortune than that which had
attended the efforts of their predecessors, and that they had utterly
failed to find the "canes." At last they were actually found by Simon
Kenton, who stealthily planted a little patch of corn, to see how the
stalk that bore the yellow grain would grow beside its "brother" of the
wilderness. He was one day leaning against the stem of a great tree,
watching his little assemblage of sprouts, and wondering at the strange
fruitfulness of the earth which fed them, when he heard a footstep
behind him. It was the great Daniel Boone's. They united their fortunes
for the present, but subsequently each of them became the chief of a
considerable settlement. Kenton's trail had been down the Ohio, Boone's
from North Carolina; and from both those directions soon came hunters,
warriors, and settlers to join them. But the Indians had no thought of
relinquishing their fairest hunting-grounds without a long and desperate
struggle. The rich carpet of natural grasses which fed innumerable
herds of buffalo, elk, and deer, all the year round; the grandeur of
its primeval forests, its pure fountains, and abundant streams,--made it
even more desirable to them than to the whites. They had long contended
for the possession of it; and no tribe, or confederacy of tribes, had
ever been able to hold it to the exclusion of the rest. Here, from time
immemorial, the northern and southern, the eastern and western Indians
had met each other in mortal strife, mutually shedding the blood which
ought to have been husbanded for the more deadly conflict with a common
foe. The character of this savage warfare had earned for Kentucky the
appellation of "the dark and bloody ground;" and, now that the whites
had fairly begun their encroachments upon it, the Indians were resolved
that the phrase should lose none of its old significance. White settlers
might therefore count upon fighting for their lives as well as their
lands.

Boone did not make his final settlement till 1775. The Lincolns came
about 1780. This was but a year or two after Clark's expedition into
Illinois; and it was long, long before St. Clair's defeat and Wayne's
victory. Nearly the whole of the north-west territory was then occupied
by hostile Indians. Kentucky volunteers had yet before them many a day
of hot and bloody work on the Ohio, the Muskingum, and the Miami, to say
nothing of the continual surprises to which they were subjected at home.
Every man's life was in his hand. From cabin to cabin, from settlement
to settlement, his trail was dogged by the eager savage. If he went
to plough, he was liable to be shot down between the handles; if he
attempted to procure subsistence by hunting, he was hunted himself.
Unless he abandoned his "clearing" and his stock to almost certain
devastation, and shut up himself and his family in a narrow "fort," for
months at a time, he might expect every hour that their roof would be
given "to the flames, and their flesh to the eagles."

To make matters worse, "the western country," and particularly Kentucky,
had become the rendezvous of Tories, runaway conscripts, deserters,
debtors, and criminals. Gen. Butler, who went there as a Commissioner
from Congress, to treat with certain Indian tribes, kept a private
journal, in which he entered a very graphic, but a very appalling
description of the state of affairs in Kentucky. At the principal
"points," as they were called, were collected hungry speculators,
gamblers, and mere desperadoes,--these distinctions being the only
divisions and degrees in society. Among other things, the journal
contains a statement about land-jobbing and the traffic in town lots,
at Louisville, beside which the account of the same business in "Martin
Chuzzlewit" is absolutely tame. That city, now one of the most superb in
the Union, was then a small collection of cabins and hovels, inhabited
by a class of people of whom specimens might have been found a few
months ago at Cheyenne or Promontory Point. Notwithstanding the
high commissions borne by Gen. Butler and Gen. Parsons, the motley
inhabitants of Louisville flatly refused even to notice them. They
would probably have sold them a "corner lot" in a swamp, or a "splendid
business site" in a mud-hole; but for mere civilities there was no time.
The whole population were so deeply engaged in drinking, card-playing,
and selling town lots to each other, that they persistently refused to
pay any attention to three men who were drowning in the river near by,
although their dismal cries for help were distinctly heard throughout
the "city."

On the journey out, the Lincolns are said to have endured many hardships
and encountered all the usual dangers, including several skirmishes with
the Indians. They settled in Mercer County, but at what particular spot
is uncertain. Their house was a rough log-cabin, their farm a little
clearing in the midst of a vast forest. One morning, not long after
their settlement, the father took Thomas, his youngest son, and went
to build a fence, a short distance from the house; while the other
brothers, Mordecai and Josiah, were sent to another field, not far
away. They were all intent about their work, when a shot from a party
of Indians in ambush broke the "listening stillness" cf the woods.
The father fell dead; Josiah ran to a stockade two or three miles off;
Mordecai, the eldest boy, made his way to the house, and, looking out
from the loophole in the loft, saw an Indian in the act of raising
his little brother from the ground. He took deliberate aim at a silver
ornament on the breast of the Indian, and brought him down. Thomas
sprang toward the cabin, and was admitted by his mother, while Mordecai
renewed his fire at several other Indians that rose from the covert of
the fence or thicket. It was not long until Josiah returned from the
stockade with a party of settlers; but the Indians had fled, and none
were found but the dead one, and another who was wounded and had crept
into the top of a fallen tree.

When this tragedy was enacted, Mordecai, the hero of it, was a
well-grown boy. He seems to have hated Indians ever after with a hatred
which was singular for its intensity, even in those times. Many years
afterwards, his neighbors believed that he was in the habit of following
peaceable Indians, as they passed through the settlements, in order to
get surreptitious shots at them; and it was no secret that he had killed
more than one in that way.

Immediately after the death of her husband, the widow abandoned the
scene of her misfortunes, and removed to Washington County, near the
town of Springfield, where she lived until the youngest of her children
had grown up. Mor-decai and Josiah remained there until late in life,
and were always numbered among the best people in the neighborhood.
Mordecai was the eldest son of his father; and under the law of
primogeniture, which was still a part of the Virginia code, he inherited
some estate in lands. One of the daughters wedded a Mr. Krume, and the
other a Mr. Brumfield.

Thomas seems to have been the only member of the family whose character
was not entirely respectable. He was idle, thriftless, poor, a hunter,
and a rover. One year he wandered away off to his uncle, on the
Holston, near the confines of Tennessee. Another year he wandered into
Breckinridge County, where his easy good-nature was overcome by a huge
bully, and he performed the only remarkable achievement of his life, by
whipping him. In 1806, we find him in Hardin County, trying to learn the
carpenter's trade. Until then, he could neither read nor write; and
it was only after his marriage that his ambition led him to seek
accomplishments of this sort.

Thomas Lincoln was not tall and thin, like Abraham, but comparatively
short and stout, standing about five feet ten inches in his shoes. His
hair was dark and coarse, his complexion brown, his face round and
full, his eyes gray, and his nose large and prominent. He weighed,
at different times, from one hundred and seventy to one hundred and
ninety-six. He was built so "tight and compact," that Dennis Hanks
declares he never could find the points of separation between his ribs,
though he felt for them often. He was a little stoop-shouldered, and
walked with a slow, halting step. But he was sinewy and brave, and, his
habitually peaceable disposition once fairly overborne, was a tremendous
man in a rough-and-tumble fight. He thrashed the monstrous bully of
Breckinridge County in three minutes, and came off without a scratch.

His vagrant career had supplied him with an inexhaustible fund of
anecdotes, which he told cleverly and well. He loved to sit about at
"stores," or under shade-trees, and "spin yarns,"--a propensity which
atoned for many sins, and made him extremely popular. In politics,
he was a Democrat,--a Jackson Democrat. In religion he was nothing at
times, and a member of various denominations by turns,--a Free-Will
Baptist in Kentucky, a Presbyterian in Indiana, and a Disciple--vulgarly
called Campbellite--in Illinois. In this latter communion he seems to
have died.

It ought, perhaps, to be mentioned, that both in Virginia and Kentucky
his name was commonly pronounced "Linck-horn," and in Indiana,
"Linckhern." The usage was so general, that Tom Lincoln came very near
losing his real name altogether. As he never wrote it at all until after
his marriage, and wrote it then only mechanically, it was never spelled
one way or the other, unless by a storekeeper here and there, who had
a small account against him. Whether it was properly "Lincoln,"
"Linckhorn," or "Linckhern," was not definitely settled until after
Abraham began to write, when, as one of the neighbors has it, "he
remodelled the spelling and corrected the pronunciation."

By the middle of 1806, Lincoln had acquired a very limited knowledge
of the carpenter's trade, and set up on his own account; but his
achievements in this line were no better than those of his previous
life. He was employed occasionally to do rough work, that requires
neither science nor skill; but nobody alleges that he ever built a
house, or pretended to do more than a few little odd jobs connected with
such an undertaking. He soon got tired of the business, as he did of
every thing else that required application and labor. He was no boss,
not even an average journeyman, nor a steady hand. When he worked at the
trade at all, he liked to make common benches, cupboards, and bureaus;
and some specimens of his work of this kind are still extant in Kentucky
and Indiana, and bear their own testimony to the quality of their
workmanship.

Some time in the year 1806 he married Nancy Hanks. It was in the shop of
her uncle, Joseph Hanks, at Elizabethtown, in Hardin County, that he had
essayed to learn the trade. We have no record of the courtship, but
any one can readily imagine the numberless occasions that would bring
together the niece and the apprentice. It is true that Nancy did not
live with her uncle; but the Hankses were all very clannish, and she was
doubtless a welcome and frequent guest at his house. It is admitted by
all the old residents of the place that they were honestly married, but
precisely when or how no one can tell. Diligent and thorough searches by
the most competent persons have failed to discover any trace of the fact
in the public records of Hardin and the adjoining counties. The license
and the minister's return in the case of Lincoln and Sarah Johnston, his
second wife, were easily found in the place where the law required them
to be; but of Nancy Hanks's marriage there exists no evidence but that
of mutual acknowledgment and cohabitation. At the time of their union,
Thomas was twenty-eight years of age, and Nancy about twenty-three.

Lincoln had previously courted a girl named Sally Bush, who lived in the
neighborhood of Elizabethtown; but his suit was unsuccessful, and
she became the wife of Johnston, the jailer. Her reason for rejecting
Lincoln comes down to us in no words of her own; but it is clear enough
that it was his want of character, and the "bad luck," as the Hankses
have it, which always attended him. Sally Bush was a modest and pious
girl, in all things pure and decent. She was very neat in her personal
appearance, and, because she was particular in the selection of her
gowns and company, had long been accounted a "proud body," who held
her head above common folks. Even her own relatives seem to have
participated in this mean accusation; and the decency of her dress
and behavior appear to have made her an object of common envy and
backbiting. But she had a will as well as principles of her own, and she
lived to make them both serviceable to the neglected and destitute son
of Nancy Hanks. Thomas Lincoln took another wife, but he always loved
Sally Bush as much as he was capable of loving anybody; and years
afterwards, when her husband and his wife were both dead, he returned
suddenly from the wilds of Indiana, and, representing himself as a
thriving and prosperous farmer, induced her to marry him. It will be
seen hereafter what value was to be attached to his representations of
his own prosperity.

Nancy Hanks, who accepted the honor which Sally Bush refused, was a
slender, symmetrical woman, of medium stature, a brunette, with dark
hair, regular features, and soft, sparkling hazel eyes. Tenderly bred
she might have been beautiful; but hard labor and hard usage bent her
handsome form, and imparted an unnatural coarseness to her features long
before the period of her death. Toward the close, her life and her face
were equally sad; and the latter habitually wore the wo-ful expression
which afterwards distinguished the countenance of her son in repose.

By her family, her understanding was considered something wonderful.
John Hanks spoke reverently of her "high and intellectual forehead,"
which he considered but the proper seat of faculties like hers.
Compared with the mental poverty of her husband and relatives, her
accomplishments were certainly very great; for it is related by them
with pride and delight that she could actually read and write. The
possession of these arts placed her far above her associates, and
after a little while even Tom began to meditate upon the importance of
acquiring them. He set to work accordingly, in real earnest, having a
competent mistress so near at hand; and with much effort she taught him
what letters composed his name, and how to put them together in a stiff
and clumsy fashion. Henceforth he signed no more by making his mark; but
it is nowhere stated that he ever learned to write any thing else, or to
read either written or printed letters.

Nancy Hanks was the daughter of Lucy Hanks. Her mother was one of four
sisters,--Lucy, Betsy, Polly, and Nancy. Betsy married Thomas Sparrow;
Polly married Jesse Friend, and Nancy, Levi Hall. Lucy became the wife
of Henry Sparrow, and the mother of eight children. Nancy the younger
was early sent to live with her uncle and aunt, Thomas and Betsy
Sparrow. Nancy, another of the four sisters, was the mother of that
Dennis F. Hanks whose name will be frequently met with in the course of
this history. He also was brought up, or was permitted to come up, in
the family of Thomas Sparrow, where Nancy found a shelter.

Little Nancy became so completely identified with Thomas and Betsy
Sparrow that many supposed her to have been their child. They reared her
to womanhood, followed her to Indiana, dwelt under the same roof, died
of the same disease, at nearly the same time, and were buried close
beside her. They were the only parents she ever knew; and she must
have called them by names appropriate to that relationship, for several
persons who saw them die, and carried them to their graves, believe to
this day that they were, in fact, her father and mother. Dennis Hanks
persists even now in the assertion that her name was Sparrow; but Dennis
was pitiably weak on the cross-examination: and we shall have to accept
the testimony of Mr. Lincoln himself, and some dozens of other persons,
to the contrary.

All that can be learned of that generation of Hankses to which Nancy's
mother belonged has now been recorded as fully as is compatible with
circumstances. They claim that their ancestors came from England to
Virginia, whence they migrated to Kentucky with the Lincolns, and
settled near them in Mercer County. The same, precisely, is affirmed
of the Sparrows. Branches of both families maintained a more or less
intimate connection with the fortunes of Thomas Lincoln, and the early
life of Abraham was closely interwoven with theirs.

Lincoln took Nancy to live in a shed on one of the alleys of
Elizabethtown. It was a very sorry building, and nearly bare of
furniture. It stands yet, or did stand in 1866, to witness for itself
the wretched poverty of its early inmates. It is about fourteen feet
square, has been three times removed, twice used as a slaughter-house,
and once as a stable. Here a daughter was born on the tenth day of
February, 1807, who was called Nancy during the life of her mother, and
after her death Sarah.

But Lincoln soon wearied of Elizabethtown and carpenter-work. He thought
he could do better as a farmer; and, shortly after the birth of Nancy
(or Sarah), removed to a piece of land on the south fork of Nolin Creek,
three miles from Hodgensville, within the present county of La Rue,
and about thirteen miles from Elizabethtown. What estate he had, or
attempted to get, in this land, is not clear from the papers at hand.
It is said he bought it, but was unable to pay for it. It was very poor,
and the landscape of which it formed a part was extremely desolate. It
was then nearly destitute of timber, though it is now partially covered
in spots by a young and stunted growth of post-oak and hickory. On every
side the eye rested only upon weeds and low bushes, and a kind of grass
which the present owner of the farm describes as "barren grass." It was,
on the whole, as bad a piece of ground as there was in the neighborhood,
and would hardly have sold for a dollar an acre. The general appearance
of the surrounding country was not much better. A few small but pleasant
streams--Nolin Creek and its tributaries--wandered through the valleys.
The land was generally what is called "rolling;" that is, dead levels
interspersed by little hillocks. Nearly all of it was arable; but,
except the margins of the watercourses, not much of it was sufficiently
fertile to repay the labor of tillage. It had no grand, un violated
forests to allure the hunter, and no great bodies of deep and rich soils
to tempt the husbandman. Here it was only by incessant labor and thrifty
habits that an ordinary living could be wrung from the earth.

The family took up their residence in a miserable cabin, which stood on
a little knoll in the midst of a barren glade.

A few stones tumbled down, and lying about loose, still indicate the
site of the mean and narrow tenement which sheltered the infancy of
one of the greatest political chieftains of modern times. Near by, a
"romantic spring" gushed from beneath a rock, and sent forth a slender
but silvery stream, meandering through those dull and unsightly plains.
As it furnished almost the only pleasing feature in the melancholy
desert through which it flowed, the place was called after it, "Rock
Spring Farm." In addition to this single natural beauty, Lincoln began
to think, in a little while, that a couple of trees would look well, and
might even be useful, if judiciously planted in the vicinity of his bare
house-yard. This enterprise he actually put into execution; and
three decayed pear-trees, situated on the "edge" of what was lately a
rye-field, constitute the only memorials of him or his family to be seen
about the premises. They were his sole permanent improvement.

In that solitary cabin, on this desolate spot, the illustrious Abraham
Lincoln was born on the twelfth day of February, 1809.

The Lincolns remained on Nolin Creek until Abraham was four years old.
They then removed to a place much more picturesque, and of far greater
fertility. It was situated about six miles from Hodgensville, on
Knob Creek, a very clear stream, which took its rise in the gorges
of Muldrews Hill, and fell into the Rolling Fork two miles above the
present town of New Haven. The Rolling Fork emptied into Salt River, and
Salt River into the Ohio, twenty-four miles below Louisville. This
farm was well timbered, and more hilly than the one on Nolin Creek. It
contained some rich valleys, which promised such excellent yields,
that Lincoln bestirred himself most vigorously, and actually got into
cultivation the whole of six acres, lying advantageously up and down
the branch. This, however, was not all the work he did, for he still
continued to pother occasionally at his trade; but, no matter what
he turned his hand to, his gains were equally insignificant. He was
satisfied with indifferent shelter, and a diet of "corn-bread and milk"
was all he asked. John Hanks naively observes, that "happiness was
the end of life with him." The land he now lived upon (two hundred and
thirty-eight acres) he had pretended to buy from a Mr. Slater. The
deed mentions a consideration of one hundred and eighteen pounds.
The purchase must have been a mere speculation, with all the payments
deferred, for the title remained in Lincoln but a single year. The
deed was made to him Sept. 2, 1813; and Oct. 27, 1814, he conveyed
two hundred acres to Charles Milton for one hundred pounds, leaving
thirty-eight acres of the tract unsold. No public record discloses what
he did with the remainder. If he retained any interest in it for-the
time, it was probably permitted to be sold for taxes. The last of his
voluntary transactions, in regard to this land, took place two years
before his removal to Indiana; after which, he seems to have continued
in possession as the tenant of Milton.

In the mean time, Dennis Hanks endeavored to initiate young Abraham, now
approaching his eighth year, in the mysteries of fishing, and led him
on numerous tramps up and down the picturesque branch,--the branch whose
waters were so pure that a white pebble could be seen in a depth of
ten feet. On Nolin he had hunted ground-hogs with an older boy, who has
since become the Rev. John Duncan, and betrayed a precocious zest in the
sport. On Knob Creek, he dabbled in the water, or roved the hills
and climbed the trees, with a little companion named Gallaher. On one
occasion, when attempting to "<DW53>" across the stream, by swinging
over on a sycamore-tree, Abraham lost his hold, and, tumbling into deep
water, was saved only by the utmost exertions of the other boy. But,
with all this play, the child was often serious and sad. With the
earliest dawn of reason, he began to suffer and endure; and it was that
peculiar moral training which developed both his heart and his intellect
with such singular and astonishing rapidity. It is not likely that Tom
Lincoln cared a straw about his education. He had none himself, and is
said to have admired "muscle" more than mind. Nevertheless, as Abraham's
sister was going to school for a few days at a time, he was sent
along, as Dennis Hanks remarks, more to bear her company than with
any expectation or desire that he would learn much himself. One of the
masters, Zachariah Riney, taught near the Lincoln cabin. The other,
Caleb Hazel, kept his school nearly four miles away, on the "Friend"
farm; and the hapless children were compelled to trudge that long and
weary distance with spelling-book and "dinner,"--the latter a lunch of
corn-bread, Tom Lincoln's favorite dish. Hazel could teach reading
and writing, after a fashion, and a little arithmetic. But his great
qualification for his office lay in the strength of his arm, and his
power and readiness to "whip the big boys."

But, as time wore on, the infelicities of Lincoln's life in this
neighborhood became insupportable. He was gaining neither riches nor
credit; and, being a wanderer by natural inclination, began to long for
a change. His decision, however, was hastened by certain troubles which
culminated in a desperate combat between him and one Abraham Enlow.
They fought like savages; but Lincoln obtained a signal and permanent
advantage by biting off the nose of his antagonist, so that he went
bereft all the days of his life, and published his audacity and its
punishment wherever he showed his face. But the affray, and the fame
of it, made Lincoln more anxious than ever to escape from Kentucky. He
resolved, therefore, to leave these scenes forever, and seek a roof-tree
beyond the Ohio.

It has pleased some of Mr. Lincoln's biographers to represent this
removal of his father as a flight from the taint of slavery. Nothing
could be further from the truth. There were not at the time more than
fifty slaves in all Hardin County, which then composed a vast area of
territory. It was practically a free community. Lincoln's more fortunate
relatives in other parts of the State were slaveholders; and there is
not the slightest evidence that he ever disclosed any conscientious
scruples concerning the "institution."

The lives of his father and mother, and the history and character of the
family before their settlement in Indiana, were topics upon which Mr.
Lincoln never spoke but with great reluctance and significant reserve.

In his family Bible he kept a register of births, marriages, and deaths,
every entry being carefully made in his own handwriting. It contains the
date of his sister's birth and his own; of the marriage and death of his
sister; of the death of his mother; and of the birth and death of
Thomas Lincoln. The rest of the record is almost wholly devoted to the
Johnstons and their numerous descendants and connections. It has not a
word about the Hankses or the Sparrows. It shows the marriage of Sally
Bush, first with Daniel Johnston, and then with Thomas Lincoln; but it
is entirely silent as to the marriage of his own mother. It does not
even give the date of her birth, but barely recognizes her existence
and demise, to make the vacancy which was speedily filled by Sarah
Johnston.1

     1 The leaf of the Bible which contains these entries is in
     the possession of Col. Chapman.

An artist was painting his portrait, and asked him for a sketch of his
early life. He gave him this brief memorandum: "I was born Feb. 12,1809,
in the then Hardin County, Kentucky, at a point within the now county of
La Rue, a mile or a mile and a half from where Hodgens Mill now is. My
parents being dead, and my own memory not serving, I know of no means of
identifying the precise locality. It was on Nolin Creek."

To the compiler of the "Dictionary of Congress" he gave the following:
"Born Feb. 12, 1809, in Hardin County, Kentucky. Education defective.
Profession, a lawyer. Have been a captain of volunteers in the
Black-Hawk War. Postmaster at a very small office. Four times a member
of the Illinois Legislature, and was a member of the Lower House of
Congress."

To a campaign biographer who applied for particulars of his early
history, he replied that they could be of no interest; that they were
but

     "The short and simple annals of the poor."

"The chief difficulty I had to encounter," writes this latter gentleman,
"was to induce him to communicate the homely facts and incidents of his
early life. He seemed to be painfully impressed with the extreme poverty
of his early surroundings, the utter absence of all romantic and heroic
elements; and I know he thought poorly of the idea of attempting a
biographical sketch for campaign purposes.... Mr. Lincoln communicated
some facts to me about his ancestry, which he did not wish published,
and which I have never spoken of or alluded to before. I do not think,
however, that Dennis Hanks, if he knows any thing about these matters,
would be very likely to say any thing about them."




CHAPTER II.

THOMAS LINCOLN was something of a waterman. In the frequent changes of
occupation, which had hitherto made his life so barren of good results,
he could not resist the temptation to the career of a flat-boatman. He
had accordingly made one, or perhaps two trips to New Orleans, in the
company and employment of Isaac Bush, who was probably a near relative
of Sally Bush. It was therefore very natural, that when, in the fall of
1816, he finally determined to emigrate, he should attempt to transport
his goods by water. He built himself a boat, which seems to have been
none of the best, and launched it on the Rolling Fork, at the mouth of
Knob Creek, a half-mile from his cabin. Some of his personal property,
including carpenter's tools, he put on board, and the rest he traded for
four hundred gallons of whiskey. With this crazy boat and this singular
cargo, he put out into the stream alone, and floating with the current
down the Rolling Fork, and then down Salt River, reached the Ohio
without any mishap. Here his craft proved somewhat rickety when
contending with the difficulties of the larger stream, or perhaps there
was a lack of force in the management of her, or perhaps the single
navigator had consoled himself during the lonely voyage by too frequent
applications to a portion of his cargo: at all events, the boat
capsized, and the lading went to the bottom. He fished up a few of the
tools "and most of the whiskey," and, righting the little boat, again
floated down to a landing at Thompson's Ferry, two and a half miles west
of Troy, in Perry County, Indiana. Here he sold his treacherous boat,
and, leaving his remaining property in the care of a settler named
Posey, trudged off on foot to select "a location" in the wilderness. He
did not go far, but found a place that he thought would suit him only
sixteen miles distant from the river. He then turned about, and walked
all the way back to Knob Creek, in Kentucky, where he took a fresh
start with his wife and her children. Of the latter there were only
two,--Nancy (or Sarah), nine years of age, and Abraham, seven. Mrs.
Lincoln had given birth to another son some years before, but he had
died when only three days old. After leaving Kentucky, she had no more
children.

This time Lincoln loaded what little he had left upon two horses, and
"packed through to Posey's." Besides clothing and bedding, they carried
such cooking utensils as would be needed by the way, and would be
indispensable when they reached their destination. The stock was not
large. It consisted of "one oven and lid, one skillet and lid, and some
tin-ware." They camped out during the nights, and of course cooked their
own food. Lincoln's skill as a hunter must now have stood him in good
stead.

Where he got the horses used upon this occasion, it is impossible to
say; but they were likely borrowed from his brother-in-law, Krume, of
Breckinridge County, who owned such stock, and subsequently moved Sarah
Johnston's goods to Indiana, after her marriage with Lincoln.

When they got to Posey's, Lincoln hired a wagon, and, loading on it the
whiskey and other things he had stored there, went on toward the place
which has since become famous as the "Lincoln Farm." He was now making
his way through an almost untrodden wilderness. There was no road,
and for a part of the distance not even a foot-trail. He was slightly
assisted by a path of a few miles in length, which had been "blazed out"
by an earlier settler named Hoskins. But he was obliged to suffer long
delays, and cut out a passage for the wagon with his axe. At length,
after many detentions and difficulties he reached the point where he
intended to make his future home. It was situated between the forks
of Big Pigeon and Little Pigeon Creeks, a mile and a half east of
Gentryville, a village which grew up afterwards, and now numbers about
three hundred inhabitants. The whole country was covered with a dense
forest of oaks, beeches, walnuts, sugar-maples, and nearly all the
varieties of trees that flourish in North America. The woods were
usually open, and devoid of underbrush; the trees were of the largest
growth, and beneath the deep shades they afforded was spread out a rich
greensward. The natural grazing was very good, and hogs found abundant
sustenance in the prodigious quantity of mast. There was occasionally
a little glade or prairie set down in the midst of this vast expanse
of forest. One of these, not far from the Lincoln place, was a famous
resort for the deer, and the hunters knew it well for its numerous
"licks." Upon this prairie the militia "musters" were had at a later
day, and from it the south fork of the Pigeon came finally to be known
as the "Prairie Fork."

Lincoln laid off his curtilage on a gentle hillock having a <DW72> on
every side. The spot was very beautiful, and the soil was excellent. The
selection was wise in every respect but one. There was no water near,
except what was collected in holes in the ground after a rain; but it
was very foul, and had to be strained before using. At a later period we
find Abraham and his step-sister carrying water from a spring situated a
mile away. Dennis Hanks asserts that Tom Lincoln "riddled his land like
a honeycomb," in search of good water, and was at last sorely tempted to
employ a Yankee, who came around with a divining-rod, and declared that
for the small consideration of five dollars in cash, he would make his
rod point to a cool, flowing spring beneath the surface.

Here Lincoln built "a half-faced camp,"--a cabin enclosed on three sides
and open on the fourth. It was built, not of logs, but of poles, and was
therefore denominated a "camp," to distinguish it from a "cabin." It was
about fourteen feet square, and had no floor. It was no larger than the
first house he lived in at Elizabethtown, and on the whole not as good
a shelter. But Lincoln was now under the influence of a transient access
of ambition, and the camp was merely preliminary to something better.
He lived in it, however, for a whole year, before he attained to the
dignity of a residence in a cabin. "In the mean time he cleaned some
land, and raised a small crop of corn and vegetables."

In the fall of 1817, Thomas and Betsy Sparrow came out from Kentucky,
and took up their abode in the old camp which the Lincolns had just
deserted for the cabin. Betsy was the aunt who had raised Nancy Hanks.
She had done the same in part for our friend Dennis Hanks, who was the
offspring of another sister, and she now brought him with her. Dennis
thus became the constant companion of young Abraham; and all the other
members of that family, as originally settled in Indiana, being dead,
Dennis remains a most important witness as to this period of Mr.
Lincoln's life.

Lincoln's second house was a "rough, rough log" one: the timbers were
not hewed; and until after the arrival of Sally Bush, in 1819, it had
neither floor, door, nor window. It stood about forty yards from what
Dennis Hanks calls that "darned little half-faced camp," which was now
the dwelling of the Sparrows. It was "right in the bush,"--in the heart
of a virgin wilderness. There were only seven or eight older settlers in
the neighborhood of the two Pigeon Creeks. Lincoln had had some previous
acquaintance with one of them,--a Mr. Thomas Carter; and it is highly
probable that nothing but this trivial circumstance induced him to
settle here.1

     1 The principal authorities for this part of our narrative
     are necessarily Dennis and John Hanks; but their statements
     have been carefully collated with those of other persons,
     both in Kentucky and Indiana.

The nearest town was Troy, situated on the Ohio, about half a mile
from the mouth of Anderson Creek. Gentryville had as yet no existence.
Travelling was on horseback or on foot, and the only resort of commerce
was to the pack-horse or the canoe. But a prodigious immigration was
now sweeping into this inviting country. Harrison's victories over
the Indians had opened it up to the peaceful settler; and Indiana
was admitted into the Union in 1816, with a population of sixty-five
thousand. The county in which Thomas Lincoln settled was Perry, with
the county-seat at Troy; but he soon found himself in the new county of
Spencer, with the court-house at Rockport, twenty miles south of him,
and the thriving village of Gentryville within a mile and a half of his
door.

A post-office was established at Gentryville in 1824 or 1825. Dennis
Hanks helped to hew the logs used to build the first storeroom. The
following letter from Mr. David Turnham, now of Dale, Spencer County,
presents some interesting and perfectly authentic information regarding
the village and the settlements around it in those early times:--

"Yours of the 5th inst. is at hand. As you wish me to answer several
questions, I will give you a few items of the early settlement of
Indiana.

"When my father came here in the spring of 1819, he settled in Spencer
County, within one mile of Thomas Lincoln, then a widower. The chance
for schooling was poor; but, such as it was, Abraham and myself attended
the same schools.

"We first had to go seven miles to mill; and then it was a hand-mill
that would grind from ten to fifteen bushels of corn in a day. There was
but little wheat grown at that time; and, when we did have wheat, we had
to grind it on the mill described, and use it without bolting, as there
were no bolts in the country. In the course of two or three years, a
man by the name of Huffman built a mill on Anderson River, about twelve
miles distant. Abe and I had to do the milling on horseback, frequently
going twice to get one grist. Then they began building horse-mills of a
little better quality than the hand-mills.

"The country was very rough, especially in the low lands, so thick with
bush that a man could scarcely get through on foot. These places were
called Roughs. The country abounded in game, such as bears, deer,
turkeys, and the smaller game.

"About the time Huffman built his mill, there was a road laid out from
Corydon to Evansville, running by Mr. Lincoln's farm, and through what
is now Gentryville. Corydon was then the State capital.

"About the year 1823, there was another road laid out from Rockport to
Bloomington, crossing the aforesaid at right angles, where Gentryville
now stands. James Gentry entered the land; and in about a year Gideon
Romine brought goods there, and shortly after succeeded in getting a
post-office, by the name of Gentryville Post-office. Then followed the
laying out of lots, and the selling of them, and a few were improved.
But for some cause the lots all fell back to the original owner. The
lots were sold in 1824 or 1825. Romine kept goods there a short time,
and sold out to Gentry, but the place kept on increasing slowly. William
Jones came in with a store, that made it improve a little faster, but
Gentry bought him out. Jones bought a tract of land one-half mile from
Gentryville, moved to it, went into business there, and drew nearly all
the custom. Gentry saw that it was ruining his town: he compromised with
Jones, and got him back to Gentryville; and about the year 1847 or 1848
there was another survey of lots, which remains.

"This is as good a history of the rise of Gentryville as I can give,
after consulting several of the old settlers.

"At that time there were a great many deer-licks; and Abe and myself
would go to those licks sometimes, and watch of nights to kill deer,
though Abe was not so fond of a gun as I was. There were ten or twelve
of these licks in a small prairie on the creek, lying between Mr.
Lincoln's and Mr. Wood's (the man you call Moore). This gave it the name
of Prairie Fork of Pigeon Creek.

"The people in the first settling of this country were very sociable,
kind, and accommodating; but there was more drunkenness and stealing
on a small scale, more immorality, less religion, less well-placed
confidence."

The steps taken by Lincoln to complete his title to the land upon which
he settled are thus recited by the Commissioner of the General Land
Office:--

"In reply to the letter of Mr. W. H. Herndon, who is writing the
biography of the late President, dated June 19, 1865, herewith returned,
I have the honor to state, pursuant to the Secretary's reference, that
on the 15th of October, 1817, Mr. Thomas Lincoln, then of Perry County,
Indiana, entered under the old credit system,--

"1. The South-West Quarter of Section 82, in Township 4, South of Range
5 West, lying in Spencer County, Indiana.

"2. Afterwards the said Thomas Lincoln relinquished to the United States
the East half of said South-West Quarter; and the amount paid thereon
was passed to his credit to complete payment of the West half of said
South-West Quarter of Section 32, in Township 4, South of Range 5 West;
and accordingly a patent was issued to said Thomas Lincoln for the
latter tract. The patent was dated June 6, 1827, and was signed by John
Quincy Adams, then President of the United States, and countersigned by
George Graham, then Commissioner of the General Land Office." 1

     1 The patent was issued to Thomas Lincoln alias Linckhern
     the other half he never paid, and finally lost the whole of
     the land.

It will be observed, that, although Lincoln squatted upon the land in
the fall of 1816, he did not enter it until October of the next year;
and that the patent was not issued to him until June, 1827, but a little
more than a year before he left it altogether. Beginning by entering a
full quarter section, he was afterwards content with eighty acres, and
took eleven years to make the necessary payments upon that. It is very
probable that the money which finally secured the patent was furnished
by Gentry or Aaron Grigsby, and the title passed out of Lincoln in the
course of the transaction. Dennis Hanks says, "He settled on a piece of
government land,--eighty acres. This land he afterwards bought under
the Two-Dollar Act; was to pay for it in instalments; one-half he paid."

For two years Lincoln continued to live along in the old way. He did not
like to farm, and he never got much of his land under cultivation. His
principal crop was corn; and this, with the game which a rifleman so
expert would easily take from the woods around him, supplied his table.
It does not appear that he employed any of his mechanical skill in
completing and furnishing his own cabin. It has already been stated that
the latter had no window, door, or floor. But the furniture--if it may
be called furniture--was even worse than the house. Three-legged stools
served for chairs. A bedstead was made of poles stuck in the cracks of
the logs in one corner of the cabin, while the other end rested in the
crotch of a forked stick sunk in the earthen floor. On these were laid
some boards, and on the boards a "shake-down" of leaves covered with
skins and old petticoats. The table was a hewed puncheon, supported by
four legs. They had a few pewter and tin dishes to eat from, but the
most minute inventory of their effects makes no mention of knives or
forks. Their cooking utensils were a Dutch oven and a skillet. Abraham
slept in the loft, to which he ascended by means of pins driven into
holes in the wall.

In the summer of 1818, the Pigeon-Creek settlements were visited by a
fearful disease, called, in common parlance, "the milk-sickness." It
swept off the cattle which gave the milk, as well as the human beings
who drank it. It seems to have prevailed in the neighborhood from 1818
to 1829; for it is given as one of the reasons for Thomas Lincoln's
removal to Illinois at the latter date. But in the year first mentioned
its ravages were especially awful. Its most immediate effects were
severe retchings and vomitings; and, while the deaths from it were
not necessarily sudden, the proportion of those who finally died
was uncommonly large.1 Among the number who were attacked by it, and
lingered on for some time in the midst of great sufferings, were Thomas
and Betsy Sparrow and Mrs. Nancy Lincoln.

     1 The peculiar disease which carried off so many of
     Abraham's family, and induced the removal of the remainder
     to Illinois, deserves more than a passing allusion. The
     following, regarding its nature and treatment, is from the
     pen of an eminent physician of Danville, Illinois:--

     Ward H. Lamon, Esq.

     Dear Sir,--Your favor of the 17th inst. has been received.
     You request me to present you with my theory in relation to
     the origin of the disease called "milk-sickness," and also a
     "general statement of the best treatment of the disease,"
     and the proportion of fatal cases.

     I have quite a number of cases of the so-called disease in
     Danville, Ill., and its vicinity; but perhaps you are not
     aware, that, between the great majority of the medical
     faculty in this region of country and myself, there is quite
     a discrepancy of opinion. They believe in the existence of
     the disease in Vermilion County; while, on the contrary, I
     am firmly of opinion, that, instead of genuine milk-
     sickness, it is only a modified form of malarial fever with
     which we here have to contend. Though sceptical of its
     existence in this part of the country, we have too much
     evidence from different intelligent sources to doubt, for a
     moment, that, in many parts of the West and South-west,
     there is a distinct malady, witnessed more than fifty years
     ago, and different from every other heretofore recognized in
     any system of Nosology.

     In the opinion of medical men, as well as in that of the
     people in general, where milk-sickness prevails, cattle,
     sheep, and horses contract the disease by feeding on wild
     pasture-lands; and, when those pastures have been enclosed
     and cultivated, the cause entirely disappears. This has also
     been the observation of the farmers and physicians of
     Vermilion County, Illinois. From this it might be inferred
     that the disease had a vegetable origin. But it appears that
     it prevails as early in the season as March and April in
     some localities; and I am informed that, in an early day,
     say thirty-five or forty years ago, it showed itself in the
     winter-time in this county. This seems to argue that it may
     be produced by water holding some mineral substance in
     solution. Even in this case, however, some vegetable
     producing the disease may have been gathered and preserved
     with the hay on which the cattle were fed at the time; for
     in that early day the farmers were in the habit of cutting
     wild grass for their stock. On the whole, I am inclined to
     attribute the cause to a vegetable origin.

     The symptoms of what is called milk-sickness in this county--
     and they are similar to those described by authors who have
     written on the disease in other sections of the Western
     country--are a whitish coat on the tongue, burning
     sensation of the stomach severe vomiting, obstinate
     constipation of the bowels, coolness of the extremities,
     great restlessness and jactitation, pulse rather small,
     somewhat more frequent than natural, and slightly corded. In
     the course of the disease, the coat on the tongue becomes
     brownish and dark, the countenance dejected, and the
     prostration of the patient is great. A fatal termination may
     take place in sixty hours, or life may be prolonged for a
     period of fourteen days. These are the symptoms of the acute
     form of the disease. Sometimes it runs into the chronic
     form, or it may assume that form from the commencement; and,
     after months or years, the patient may finally die, or
     recover only a partial degree of health.

     The treatment which I have found most successful is pills
     composed of calomel and opium, given at intervals of two,
     three, or four hours, so as to bring the patient pretty
     strongly under the influence of opium by the time the second
     or third dose had been administered; some effervescing
     mixture, pro re nata; injections; castor oil, when the
     stomach will retain it; blisters to the stomach; brandy or
     good whiskey freely administered throughout the disease; and
     quinine after the bowels have been moved.

     Under the above treatment, modified according to the
     circumstances, I would not expect to lose more than one case
     in eight or ten, as the disease manifests itself in this
     county....

     As ever, Theo. Lemon.

It was now found expedient to remove the Sparrows from the wretched
"half-faced camp," through which the cold autumn winds could sweep
almost unobstructed, to the cabin of the Lincolns, which in truth was
then very little better. Many in the neighborhood had already died, and
Thomas Lincoln had made all their coffins out of "green lumber cut
with a whip-saw." In the mean time the Sparrows and Nancy were growing
alarmingly worse. There was no physician in the county,--not even
a pretender to the science of medicine; and the nearest regular
practitioner was located at Yellow Banks, Ky., over thirty miles
distant. It is not probable that they ever secured his services. They
would have been too costly, and none of the persons who witnessed and
describe these scenes speak of his having been there. At length, in the
first days of October, the Sparrows died; and Thomas Lincoln sawed up
his green lumber, and made rough boxes to enclose the mortal remains of
his wife's two best and oldest friends. A day or two after, on the 5th
of October, 1818, Nancy Hanks Lincoln rested from her troubles. Thomas
Lincoln took to his green wood again, and made a box for Nancy. There
were about twenty persons at her funeral. They took her to the summit
of a deeply-wooded knoll, about half a mile south-east of the cabin, and
laid her beside the Sparrows. If there were any burial ceremonies,
they were of the briefest. But it happened that a few months later an
itinerant preacher, named David Elkin, whom the Lincolns had known in
Kentucky, wandered into the settlement; and he either volunteered or was
employed to preach a sermon, which should commemorate the many virtues
and pass in silence the few frailties of the poor woman who slept in
the forest. Many years later the bodies of Levi Hall and his wife, Nancy
Hanks, were deposited in the same earth with that of Mrs. Lincoln. The
graves of two or three children belonging to a neighbor's family are
also near theirs. They are all crumbled in, sunken, and covered with
wild vines in deep and tangled mats. The great trees were originally cut
away to make a small cleared space for this primitive graveyard; but the
young dogwoods have sprung up unopposed in great luxuriance, and in many
instances the names of pilgrims to the burial-place of the great Abraham
Lincoln's mother are carved in their bark. With this exception, the spot
is wholly unmarked. Her grave never had a stone, nor even a board, at
its head or its foot; and the neighbors still dispute as to which one of
those unsightly hollows contains the ashes of Nancy Lincoln.

Thirteen months after the burial of Nancy Hanks, and nine or ten months
after the solemnities conducted by Elkin, Thomas Lincoln appeared at
Elizabethtown, Ky., in search of another wife. Sally Bush had married
Johnston, the jailer, in the spring of the same year in which Lincoln
had married Nancy Hanks. She had then rejected him for a better match,
but was now a widow. In 1814 many persons in and about Elizabethtown had
died of a disease which the people called the "cold plague," and among
them the jailer. Both parties being free again, Lincoln came back, very
unexpectedly to Mrs. Johnston, and opened his suit in an exceedingly
abrupt manner. "Well, Miss Johnston," said he, "I have no wife, and you
have no husband. I came a purpose to marry you: I knowed you from a gal,
and you knowed me from a boy. I have no time to lose; and, if you are
willin', let it be done straight off." To this she replied, "Tommy, I
know you well, and have no objection to marrying you; but I cannot do
it straight off, as I owe some debts that must first be paid." "The next
morning," says Hon. Samuel Haycraft, the clerk of the courts and the
gentleman who reports this quaint courtship, "I issued his license, and
they were married _straight_ off on that day, and left, and I never saw
her or Tom Lincoln since." From the death of her husband to that day,
she had been living, "an honest, poor widow," "in a round log-cabin,"
which stood in an "alley" just below Mr. Haycraft's house. Dennis Hanks
says that it was only "on the earnest solicitation of her friends" that
Mrs. Johnston consented to marry Lincoln. They all liked Lincoln, and it
was with a member of her family that he had made several voyages to New
Orleans. Mr. Helm, who at that time was doing business in his uncle's
store at Elizabethtown, remarks that "life among the Hankses, the
Lincolns, and the Enlows was a long ways below life among the Bushes."
Sally was the best and the proudest of the Bushes; but, nevertheless,
she appears to have maintained some intercourse with the Lincolns as
long as they remained in Kentucky. She had a particular kindness for
little Abe, and had him with her on several occasions at Helm's store,
where, strange to say, he sat on a nail-keg, and ate a lump of sugar,
"just like any other boy."

Mrs. Johnston has been denominated a "poor widow;" but she possessed
goods, which, in the eyes of Tom Lincoln, were of almost unparalleled
magnificence. Among other things, she had a bureau that cost forty
dollars; and he informed her, on their arrival in Indiana, that, in his
deliberate opinion, it was little less than sinful to be the owner of
such a thing. He demanded that she should turn it into cash, which
she positively refused to do. She had quite a lot of other articles,
however, which he thought well enough in their way, and some of which
were sadly needed in his miserable cabin in the wilds of Indiana. Dennis
Hanks speaks with great rapture of the "large supply of household goods"
which she brought out with her. There was "one fine bureau, one table,
one set of chairs, one large clothes-chest, cooking utensils, knives,
forks, bedding, and other articles." It was a glorious day for little
Abe and Sarah and Dennis when this wondrous collection of rich furniture
arrived in the Pigeon Creek settlement. But all this wealth required
extraordinary means of transportation; and Lincoln had recourse to
his brother-in-law, Ralph Krume, who lived just over the line, in
Breckinridge County. Krume came with a four-horse team, and moved Mrs.
Johnston, now Mrs. Lincoln, with her family and effects, to the home of
her new husband in Indiana. When she got there, Mrs. Lincoln was much
"surprised" at the contrast between the glowing representations which
her husband had made to her before leaving Kentucky and the real poverty
and meanness of the place. She had evidently been given to understand
that the bridegroom had reformed his old Kentucky ways, and was now an
industrious and prosperous farmer. She was scarcely able to restrain
the expression of her astonishment and discontent; but, though sadly
overreached in a bad bargain, her lofty pride and her high sense of
Christian duty saved her from hopeless and useless repinings.

On the contrary, she set about mending what was amiss with all her
strength and energy. Her own goods furnished the cabin with tolerable
decency. She made Lincoln put down a floor, and hang windows and doors.
It was in the depth of winter; and the children, as they nestled in the
warm beds she provided them, enjoying the strange luxury of security
from the cold winds of December, must have thanked her from the bottoms
of their newly-comforted hearts. She had brought a son and two daughters
of her own,--John, Sarah, and Matilda; but Abe and his sister Nancy
(whose name was speedily changed to Sarah), the ragged and hapless
little strangers to her blood, were given an equal place in her
affections. They were half naked, and she clad them from the stores of
clothing she had laid up for her own. They were dirty, and she washed
them; they had been ill-used, and she treated them with motherly
tenderness. In her own modest language, she "made them look a little
more human." "In fact," says Dennis Hanks, "in a few weeks all had
changed; and where every thing was wanting, now all was snug and
comfortable. She was a woman of great energy of remarkable good sense,
very industrious and saving, and also very neat and tidy in her person
and manners, and knew exactly how to manage children. She took an
especial liking to young Abe. Her love for him was warmly returned, and
continued to the day of his death. But few children loved their parents
as he loved his step-mother. She soon dressed him up in entire new
clothes, _and from that time on he appeared to lead a new life_. He was
encouraged by her to study, and any wish on his part was gratified when
it could be done. The two sets of children got along finely together, as
if they had all been the children of the same parents. Mrs. Lincoln soon
discovered that young Abe was a boy of uncommon natural talents, and
that, if rightly trained, a bright future was before him, and she did
all in her power to develop those talents." When, in after years, Mr.
Lincoln spoke of his "saintly mother," and of his "angel of a mother,"
he referred to this noble woman,1 who first made him feel "like a human
being,"--whose goodness first touched his childish heart, and taught him
that blows and taunts and degradation were not to be his only portion in
the world.2

     1 The author has many times heard him make the application.
     While he seldom, if ever, spoke of his own mother, he loved
     to dwell on the beautiful character of Sally Bush.

     2 The following description of her personal appearance is
     from the pen of her granddaughter, the daughter of Dennis
     Hanks:--

     "When I landed in Indiana," says Mrs. Lincoln, "Abe was
     about nine years old, and the country was wild and
     desolate. It is certain enough that her presence took away
     much that was desolate in his lot. She clothed him decently,
     and had him sent to school as soon as there was a school to
     send him to. But, notwithstanding her determination to do
     the best for him, his advantages in this respect were very
     limited. He had already had a few days', or perhaps a few
     weeks' experience, under the discipline of Riney and Hazel,
     in Kentucky; and, as he was naturally quick in the
     acquisition of any sort of knowledge, it is likely that by
     this time he could read and write a little. He was now to
     have the benefit of a few months more of public instruction;
     but the poverty of the family, and the necessity for his
     being made to work at home in the shop and on the farm, or
     abroad as a hired boy, made his attendance at school, for
     any great length of time, a thing impossible. Accordingly,
     all his school-days added together would not make a single
     year in the aggregate.

     "His wife, my grandmother, is a very tall woman; straight as
     an Indian, fair complexion, and was, when I first remember
     her, very handsome, sprightly, talkative, and proud; wore
     her hair curled till gray; is kind-hearted and very
     charitable, and also very industrious."--Mrs. H. A, Chapman.

Abraham began his irregular attendance at the nearest school very soon
after he fell under the care of the second Mrs. Lincoln. It was probably
in the winter of 1819, she having come out in the December of that year.
It has been seen that she was as much impressed by his mental precocity
as by the good qualities of his heart.

Hazel Dorsey was his first master.1 He presided in a small house near
the Little Pigeon Creek meeting-house, a mile and a half from the
Lincoln cabin. It was built of unhewn logs, and had "holes for windows,"
in which "greased paper" served for glass. The roof was just high enough
for a man to stand erect. Here he was taught reading, writing, and
ciphering. They spelled in classes, and "trapped" up and down. These
juvenile contests were very exciting to the participants; and it is said
by the survivors, that Abe was even then the equal, if not the superior,
of any scholar in his class.

     1 The account of the schools is taken from the Grigsbys,
     Turnham, and others, who attended them along with Abe, as
     well as from the members of his own family.

The next teacher was Andrew Crawford. Mrs. Gentry says he began
pedagogue in the neighborhood in the winter of 1822-3, whilst most of
his other scholars are unable to fix an exact date. He "kept" in the
same little schoolhouse which had been the scene of Dorsey's labors, and
the windows were still adorned with the greased leaves of old copybooks
that had come down from Dorsey's time. Abe was now in his fifteenth
year, and began to exhibit symptoms of gallantry toward the weaker sex,
as we shall presently discover. He was growing at a tremendous rate, and
two years later attained his full height of six feet four inches. He was
long, wiry, and strong; while his big feet and hands, and the length
of his legs and arms, were out of all proportion to his small trunk and
head. His complexion was very swarthy, and Mrs. Gentry says that his
skin was shrivelled and yellow even then. He wore low shoes, buckskin
breeches, linsey-woolsey shirt, and a cap made of the skin of an opossum
or a <DW53>. The breeches clung close to his thighs and legs, but failed
by a large space to meet the tops of his shoes. Twelve inches remained
uncovered, and exposed that much of "shinbone, sharp, blue, and
narrow."1 "He would always come to school thus, good-humoredly and
laughing," says his old friend, Nat Grigsby. "He was always in good
health, never was sick, had an excellent constitution, and took care of
it."

     1 "They had no woollen clothing in the family until about
     the year 1824."--Dennis Hanks.

Crawford taught "manners." This was a feature of backwoods education to
which Dorsey had not aspired, and Crawford had doubtless introduced
it as a refinement which would put to shame the humbler efforts of his
predecessor. One of the scholars was required to retire, and re-enter as
a polite gentleman is supposed to enter a drawing-room. He was received
at the door by another scholar, and conducted from bench to bench, until
he had been introduced to all the "young ladies and gentlemen" in the
room. Abe went through the ordeal countless times. If he took a serious
view of the business, it must have put him to exquisite torture; for he
was conscious that he was not a perfect type of manly beauty, with his
long legs and blue shins, his small head, his great ears, and shrivelled
skin. If, however, it struck him as at all funny, it must have filled
him with unspeakable mirth, and given rise to many antic tricks and sly
jokes, as he was gravely led about, shamefaced and gawky, under the very
eye of the precise Crawford, to be introduced to the boys and girls of
his most ancient acquaintance.

But, though Crawford inculcated manners, he by no means neglected
spelling. Abe was a good speller, and liked to use his knowledge,
not only to secure honors for himself, but to help his less fortunate
schoolmates out of their troubles, and he was exceedingly ingenious
in the selection of expedients for conveying prohibited hints. One day
Crawford gave out the difficult word _defied_. A large class was on the
floor, but they all provokingly failed to spell it. D-e-f-i-d-e, said
one; d-e-f-y-d-e, said another; d-e-f-y-d,--d-e-f-y-e-d, cried another
and another. But it was all wrong: it was shameful, that, among all
these big boys and girls, nobody could spell "_defied_;" Crawford's
wrath gathered in clouds over his terrible brow. He made the helpless
culprits shake with fear. He declared he would keep the whole class in
all day and all night, if "_defied_" was not spelled. There was among
them a Miss Roby, a girl fifteen years of age, whom we must suppose to
have been pretty, for Abe was evidently half in love with her. "I saw
Lincoln at the window," says she: "he had his finger in his _eye_, and
a smile on his face; I instantly took the hint, that I must change the
letter _y_ into an _i_. Hence I spelled the word,--the class let out. I
felt grateful to Lincoln for this simple thing."

Nat Grigsby tells us, with unnecessary particularity, that "essays and
poetry were not taught in this school." "Abe took it (them) up on
his own account." He first wrote short sentences against "cruelty to
animals," and at last came forward with a regular "composition" on the
subject. He was very much annoyed and pained by the conduct of the boys,
who were in the habit of catching terrapins, and putting coals of fire
on their backs. "He would chide us," says Nat, "tell us it was wrong,
and would write against it."

The third and last school to which Abe went was taught by a Mr. Swaney,
in 1826. To get there, he had to travel four and a half miles; and this
going back and forth so great a distance occupied entirely too much
of his time. His attendance was therefore only at odd times, and was
speedily broken off altogether. The schoolhouse was much like the other
one near the Pigeon Creek meeting-house, except that it had two chimneys
instead of one. The course of instruction was precisely the same as
under Dorsey and Crawford, save that Swaney, like Dorsey, omitted the
great department of "manners." "Here," says John Hoskins, the son of the
settler who had "blazed out" the trail for Tom Lincoln, "we would choose
up, and spell as in old times every Friday night." Hoskins himself tore
down "the old schoolhouse" long since, and built a stable with the logs.
He is now half sorry for his haste, and reverently presented Mr. Herndon
a piece of the wood as a precious memento of his old friend Abe. An
oak-tree, blackened and killed by the smoke that issued from the two
chimneys, spreads its naked arms over the spot where the schoolhouse
stood. Among its roots is a fine, large spring, over whose limpid waters
Abe often bent to drink, and laughed at the reflection of his own homely
face.

Abe never went to school again in Indiana or elsewhere. Mr. Turnham
tells us, that he had excelled all his masters, and it was "no use"
for him to attempt to learn any thing from them. But he continued
his studies at home, or wherever he was hired out to work, with a
perseverance which showed that he could scarcely live without some
species of mental excitement. He was by no means fond of the hard manual
labor to which his own necessities and those of his family
compelled him. Many of his acquaintances state this fact with strong
emphasis,--among them Dennis Hanks and Mrs. Lincoln. His neighbor, John
Romine, declares that Abe was "awful lazy. He worked for me; was always
reading and thinking; used to get mad at him. He worked for me in 1829,
pulling fodder. I say Abe was awful lazy: he would laugh and talk and
crack jokes and tell stories all the time; didn't love work, but did
dearly love his pay. He worked for me frequently, a few days only at a
time.... Lincoln said to me one day, that his father taught him to work,
but never learned him to love it."

     1 Whenever Mrs. Sarah Lincoln speaks, we follow her
     implicitly. Regarding Abe's habits and conduct at home, her
     statement is a very full one. It is, however, confirmed and
     supplemented by all the other members of the family who were
     alive in 1866.

Abe loved to lie under a shade-tree, or up in the loft of the cabin, and
read, cipher, and scribble. At night he sat by the chimney "jamb," and
ciphered, by the light of the fire, on the wooden fire-shovel. When
the shovel was fairly covered, he would shave it off with Tom Lincoln's
drawing-knife, and begin again. In the daytime he used boards for
the same purpose, out of doors, and went through the shaving process
everlastingly. His step-mother1 repeats often, that "he read every book
he could lay his hand on." She says, "Abe read diligently.... He read
every book he could lay his hands on; and, when he came across a passage
that struck him, he would write it down on boards if he had no paper,
and keep it there until he did get paper. Then he would re-write it,
look at it, repeat it. He had a copy-book, a kind of scrapbook, in which
he put down all things, and thus preserved them."

John Hanks came out from Kentucky when Abe was fourteen years of age,
and lived four years with the Lincolns. We cannot describe some of Abe's
habits better than John has described them for us: "When Lincoln--Abe
and I--returned to the house from work, he would go to the cupboard,
snatch a piece of corn-bread, take down a book, sit down on a chair,
cock his legs up high as his head, and read. He and I worked barefooted,
grubbed it, ploughed, mowed, and cradled together; ploughed corn,
gathered it, and shucked corn. Abraham read constantly when he had an
opportunity."

Among the books upon which Abe "laid his hands" were "AEsop's Fables,"
"Robinson Crusoe," Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," a "History of the
United States," and Weems's "Life of Washington." All these he read
many times, and transferred extracts from them to the boards and the
scrapbook. He had procured the scrap-book because most of his literature
was borrowed, and he thought it profitable to take copious notes from
the books before he returned them. David Turnham had bought a volume of
"The Revised Statutes of Indiana;" but, as he was "acting constable" at
the time, he could not lend it to Abe. But Abe was not to be baffled in
his purpose of going through and through every book in the neighborhood;
and so, says Mr. Turnham, "he used to come to my house and sit and read
it." 1 Dennis Hanks would fain have us believe that he himself was
the purchaser of this book, and that he had stood as a sort of first
preceptor to Abe in the science of law. "I had like to forgot," writes
Dennis, with his usual modesty, "How did Abe get his knowledge of law?
This is the fact about it. I bought the 'Statute of Indiana,' and from
that he learned the principles of law, and also myself. Every man should
become acquainted of the principles of law." The Bible, according to
Mrs. Lincoln, was not one of his studies: "he sought more congenial
books." At that time he neither talked nor read upon religious subjects.
If he had any opinions about them, he kept them to himself.

     1 He also read at Turnham's house Scott's Lessons and
     Sindbad the Sailor.

Abraham borrowed Weems's "Life of Washington" from his neighbor, old
Josiah Crawford,--not Andrew Crawford, the school-teacher, as some of
his biographers have it. The "Life" was read with great avidity in the
intervals of work, and, when not in use, was carefully deposited on a
shelf, made of a clapboard laid on two pins. But just behind the shelf
there was a great crack between the logs of the wall; and one night,
while Abe was dreaming in the loft, a storm came up, and the rain,
blown through the opening, soaked his precious book from cover to cover.
Crawford was a sour and churlish fellow at best, and flatly refused to
take the damaged book back again. He said, that, if Abe had no money to
pay for it, he could work it out. Of course, there was no alternative;
and Abe was obliged to discharge the debt by "pulling fodder" three
days, at twenty-five cents a day. Crawford afterwards paid dearly for
his churlishness.

[Illustration: Mrs. Sarah Lincoln, Mother of the President. 061]

At home, with his step-mother and the children, he was the most
agreeable fellow in the world. "He was always ready to do every thing
for everybody." When he was not doing some special act of kindness, he
told stories or "cracked jokes." "He was as full of his yarns in Indiana
as ever he was in Illinois." Dennis Hanks was a clever hand at the same
business, and so was old Tom Lincoln. Among them they must have made
things very lively, during the long winter evenings, for John Johnston
and the good old lady and the girls.

Mrs. Lincoln was never able to speak of Abe's conduct to her without
tears. In her interview with Mr. Herndon, when the sands of her life had
nearly run out, she spoke with deep emotion of her own son, but said
she thought that Abe was kinder, better, truer, than the other. Even the
mother's instinct was lost as she looked back over those long years of
poverty and privation in the Indiana cabin, when Abe's grateful love
softened the rigors of her lot, and his great heart and giant frame were
always at her command. "Abe was a poor boy," said she; "and I can say
what scarcely one woman--a mother--can say in a thousand. Abe never gave
me a cross word or look, and never refused, in fact or appearance, to
do any thing I requested him. I never gave him a cross word in all
my life.... His mind and mine--what little I had--seemed to run
together.... He was here after he was elected President." (At this point
the aged speaker turned away to weep, and then, wiping her eyes with her
apron, went on with the story). "He was dutiful to me always. I think
he loved me truly. I had a son, John, who was raised with Abe. Both were
good boys; but I must say, both now being dead, that Abe was the best
boy I ever saw, or expect to see. I wish I had died when my husband
died. I did not want Abe to run for President; did not want him elected;
was afraid somehow,--felt in my heart; and when he came down to see me,
after he was elected President, I still felt that something told me that
something would befall Abe, and that I should see him no more."

Is there any thing in the language we speak more touching than that
simple plaint of the woman whom we must regard as Abraham Lincoln's
mother? The apprehension in her "heart" was well grounded. She "saw him
no more." When Mr. Herndon rose to depart, her eyes again filled with
tears; and, wringing his hands as if loath to part with one who talked
so much of her beloved Abe, she said, "Good-by, my good son's friend.
Farewell."

Abe had a very retentive memory. He frequently amused his young
companions by repeating to them long passages from the books he had been
reading. On Monday mornings he would mount a stump, and deliver, with a
wonderful approach to exactness, the sermon he had heard the day before.
His taste for public speaking appeared to be natural and irresistible.
His step-sister, Matilda Johnston, says he was an indefatigable
"preacher." "When father and mother would go to church, Abe would take
down the Bible, read a verse, give out a hymn, and we would sing. Abe
was about fifteen years of age. He preached, and we would do the crying.
Sometimes he would join in the chorus of tears. One day my brother, John
Johnston, caught a land terrapin, brought it to the place where Abe was
preaching, threw it against the tree, and crushed the shell. It suffered
much,--quivered all over. Abe then preached against cruelty to animals,
contending that an ant's life was as sweet to it as ours to us."

But this practice of "preaching" and political speaking, into which Abe
had fallen, at length became a great nuisance to old, Tom. It distracted
everybody, and sadly interfered with the work. If Abe had confined his
discourses to Sunday preaching, while the old folks were away, it would
not have been so objectionable. But he knew his power, liked to please
everybody, and would be sure to set up as an orator wherever he found
the greatest number of people together. When it was announced that Abe
had taken the "stump" in the harvest-field, there was an end of work.
The hands flocked around him, and listened to his curious speeches with
infinite delight. "The sight of such a thing amused all," says Mrs.
Lincoln; though she admits that her husband was compelled to break it
up with the strong hand; and poor Abe was many times dragged from the
platform, and hustled off to his work in no gentle manner.1

     1 We are told by Col. Chapman that Abe's father habitually
     treated him with great barbarity. Dennis Hanks insists that
     he loved him sincerely, but admits that he now and then
     knocked him from the fence for merely answering traveller's
     questions about the roads.

Abe worked occasionally with Tom Lincoln in the shop; but he did it
reluctantly, and never intended to learn even so much of the trade as
Lincoln was able to teach him. The rough work turned out at that shop
was far beneath his ambition, and he had made up his mind to lead a life
as wholly unlike his father's as he could possibly make it. He therefore
refused to be a carpenter. But he could not afford to be idle; and, as
soon as he was able to earn wages, he was hired out among the neighbors.
He worked for many of them a few months at a time, and seemed perfectly
willing to transfer his services wherever they were wanted, so that his
father had no excuse for persecuting him with entreaties about learning
to make tables and cupboards.

Abe was now becoming a man, and was, in fact, already taller than any
man in the neighborhood. He was a universal favorite, and his wit and
humor made him heartily welcome at every cabin between the two Pigeon
Creeks. Any family was glad when "Abe Linkern" was hired to work with
them; for he did his work well, and made them all merry while he was
about it. The women were especially pleased, for Abe was not above doing
any kind of "chores" for them. He was always ready to make a fire, carry
water, or nurse a baby. But what manner of people were these amongst
whom he passed the most critical part of his life? We must know them if
we desire to know him.

There lived in the neighborhood of Gentryville a Mrs. Elizabeth
Crawford, wife to the now celebrated Josiah with the sour temper and the
blue nose. Abe was very fond of her, and inclined to "let himself
out" in her company. She fortunately possessed a rare memory, and Mr.
Herndon's rich collection of manuscripts was made richer still by her
contributions. We have from her a great mass of valuable, and sometimes
extremely amusing, information. Among it is the following graphic,
although rude, account of the Pigeon Creek people in general:--

"You wish me to tell you how the people used to go to meeting,--how far
they went. At that time we thought it nothing to go eight or ten miles.
The old ladies did not stop for the want of a shawl, or cloak, or
riding-dress, or two horses, in the winter-time; but they would put on
their husbands' old overcoats, and wrap up their little ones, and take
one or two of them up on their beasts, and their husbands would walk,
and they would go to church, and stay in the neighborhood until the next
day, and then go home. The old men would start out of their fields from
their work, or out of the woods from hunting, with their guns on their
shoulders, and go to church. Some of them dressed in deer-skin pants and
moccasins, hunting-shirts with a rope or leather strap around them. They
would come in laughing, shake hands all around, sit down and talk about
their game they had killed, or some other work they had done, and smoke
their pipes together with the old ladies. If in warm weather, they would
kindle up a little fire out in the meeting-house yard, to light
their pipes. If in winter-time, they would hold church in some of the
neighbors' houses. At such times they were always treated with the
utmost of kindness: a bottle of whiskey, a pitcher of water, sugar and
glass, were set out, or a basket of apples, or turnips, or some pies and
cakes. Apples were scarce them times. Sometimes potatoes were used as a
treat. (I must tell you that the first treat I ever received in old Mr.
Linkern's house, that was our President's father's house, was a plate
of potatoes, washed and pared very nicely, and handed round. It was
something new to me, for I never had seen a raw potato eaten before. I
looked to see how they made use of them. They took off a potato, and ate
them like apples.) Thus they spent the time till time for preaching to
commence, then they would all take their seats: the preacher would take
his stand, draw his coat, open his shirt-collar, commence service by
singing and prayer; take his text and preach till the sweat would roll
off in great drops. Shaking hands and singing then ended the service.
The people seemed to enjoy religion more in them days than they do now.
They were glad to see each other, and enjoyed themselves better than
they do now."

Society about Gentryville was little different from that of any other
backwoods settlement of the same day. The houses were scattered far
apart; but the inhabitants would travel long distances to a log-rolling,
a house-raising, a wedding, or any thing else that might be turned into
a fast and furious frolic. On such occasions the young women carried
their shoes in their hands, and only put them on when about to join the
company. The ladies drank whiskey-toddy, while the men took it straight;
and both sexes danced the live-long night, barefooted, on puncheon
floors.

The fair sex wore "cornfield bonnets, scoop-shaped, flaring in front,
and long though narrow behind." Shoes were the mode when entering
the ball-room; but it was not at all fashionable to scuff them out by
walking or dancing in them. "Four yards of linsey-woolsey, a yard in
width, made a dress for any woman." The waist was short, and terminated
just under the arms, whilst the skirt was long and narrow. "Crimps and
puckering frills" it had none. The coats of the men were home-made;
the materials, jeans or linsey-woolsey. The waists were short, like the
frocks of the women, and the long "claw-hammer" tail was split up to the
waist. This, however, was company dress, and the hunting-shirt did duty
for every day. The breeches were of buck-skin or jeans; the cap was of
<DW53>-skin; and the shoes of leather tanned at home. If no member of the
family could make shoes, the leather was taken to some one who could,
and the customer paid the maker a fair price in some other sort of
labor.

The state of agriculture was what it always is where there is no market,
either to sell or buy; where the implements are few and primitive, and
where there are no regular mechanics. The Pigeon Creek farmer "tickled"
two acres of ground in a day with his old shovel-plough, and got but
half a crop. He cut one acre with his sickle, while the modern machine
lays down in neat rows ten. With his flail and horse tramping, he
threshed out fifteen bushels of wheat; while the machine of to-day,
with a few more hands, would turn out three hundred and fifty. He
"fanned" and "cleaned with a sheet." When he wanted flour, he took
his team and went to a "horse-mill," where he spent a whole day in
converting fifteen bushels of grain.1

     1 "Size of the fields from ten, twelve, sixteen, twenty.
     Raised corn mostly; some wheat,--enough for a cake on
     Sunday morning. Hogs and venison hams were legal tender, and
     <DW53>-skins also. We raised sheep and cattle, but they did
     not fetch much. Cows and calves were only worth six dollars;
     corn, ten cents; wheat, twenty-five cents at that time."--
     Dennis Hanks.

The minds of these people were filled with superstitions, which most
persons imagine to be, at least, as antiquated as witch-burning. They
firmly believed in witches and all kind of witch-doings. They sent for
wizards to cure sick cattle. They shot the image of the witch with a
silver ball, to break the spell she was supposed to have laid on a human
being. If a dog ran directly across a man's path whilst he was hunting,
it was terrible "luck," unless he instantly hooked his two little
fingers together, and pulled with all his might, until the dog was out
of sight. There were wizards who took charmed twigs in their hands, and
made them point to springs of water and all kinds of treasure beneath
the earth's surface. There were "faith doctors," who cured diseases by
performing mysterious ceremonies and muttering cabalistic words. If a
bird alighted in a window, one of the family would speedily die. If
a horse breathed on a child, the child would have the whooping-cough.
Every thing must be done at certain "times and seasons," else it would
be attended with "bad luck." They must cut trees for rails in the early
part of the day, and in "the light of the moon." They must make fence in
"the light of the moon;" otherwise, the fence would sink. Potatoes and
other roots were to be planted in the "dark of the moon," but trees,
and plants which bore their fruits above ground, must be "put out in the
light of the moon." The moon exerted a fearful influence, either kindly
or malignant, as the good old rules were observed or not. It was even
required to make soap "in the light of the moon," and, moreover, it must
be stirred only one way, and by one person. Nothing of importance was to
be begun on Friday. All enterprises inaugurated on that day went fatally
amiss. A horse-colt could be begotten only "in the dark of the moon,"
and animals treated otherwise than "according to the signs in the
almanac" were nearly sure to die.

Such were the people among whom Abe grew to manhood. With their sons and
daughters he went to school. Upon their farms he earned his daily bread
by daily toil. From their conversation he formed his earliest opinions
of men and things, the world over. Many of their peculiarities became
his; and many of their thoughts and feelings concerning a multitude of
subjects were assimilated with his own, and helped to create that unique
character, which, in the eyes of a great host of the American people,
was only less curious and amusing than it was noble and august.

His most intimate companions were of course, for a long time, the
members of his own family. The reader already knows something of Thomas
Lincoln, and that pre-eminently good woman, Sally Bush. The latter, we
know, washed, clothed, loved, and encouraged Abe in well-doing, from
the moment he fell in her way. How much he owed to her goodness and
affection, he was himself never able to estimate. That it was a great
debt, fondly acknowledged and cheerfully repaid as far as in him lay,
there can be no doubt. His own sister, the child of Nancy Hanks, was
warmly attached to him. Her face somewhat resembled his. In repose it
had the gravity which they both, perhaps, inherited from their mother;
but it was capable of being lighted almost into beauty by one of Abe's
ridiculous stories or rapturous sallies of humor. She was a modest,
plain, industrious girl, and is kindly remembered by all who knew her.
She was married to Aaron Grigsby at eighteen, and a year after died in
child-bed. Like Abe, she occasionally worked out at the houses of the
neighbors, and at one time was employed in Mrs. Crawford's kitchen,
while her brother was a laborer on the same farm. She lies buried, not
with her mother, but in the yard of the old Pigeon Creek meeting-house.
It is especially pleasing to read the encomiums lavished upon her memory
by the Grigsbys; for between the Grigsbys on one side, and Abe and his
step-brother on the other, there once subsisted a fierce feud.

[Illustration: Dennis Hanks 070]

As we have already learned from Dennis Hanks, the two families--the
Johnstons and the Lincolns--"got along finely together." The
affectionate relations between Abe and his two step-sisters were the
subject of common remark throughout the neighborhood. One of them
married Dennis Hanks, and the other Levi Hall, or, as he is better
known, Squire Hall,--a cousin of Abe. Both these women (the latter now
Mrs. Moore) furnished Mr. Herndon very valuable memoirs of Abe's life
whilst he dwelt under the same roof with them; and they have given
an account of him which shows that the ties between them were of the
strongest and tenderest kind. But what is most remarkable in their
statements is, that they never opened their lips without telling how
worthy of everybody's love their mother was, and how Abe revered her
as much as they did. They were interesting girls, and became exemplary
women.

John D. Johnston, the only son of Mrs. Lincoln, was not the best boy,
and did not grow to be the best man, in all the Pigeon Creek region. He
had no positive vice, except idleness, and no special virtue but good
temper. He was not a fortunate man; never made money; was always needy,
and always clamoring for the aid of his friends. Mr. Lincoln, all
through John's life, had much trouble to keep him on his legs, and
succeeded indifferently in all his attempts. In a subsequent chapter
a letter will be given from him, which indirectly portrays his
step-brother's character much better than it can be done here. But, as
youths, the intimacy between them was very close; and in another place
it will appear that Abe undertook his second voyage to New Orleans only
on condition that John would go along.

But the most constant of his companions was his jolly cousin, Dennis
Hanks. Of all the contributors to Mr. Herndon's store of information,
good, bad, and indifferent, concerning this period of Mr. Lincoln's
life, Dennis is the most amusing, insinuating, and prolific. He would
have it distinctly understood that the well of his memory is the only
proper source whence any thing like truth may be drawn.1 He has covered
countless sheets of paper devoted to indiscriminate laudations of Abe
and all his kindred. But in all this he does not neglect to say a word
for himself.

     1 The following random selections from his writings leave us
     no room to doubt Dennis's opinion of his own value:--

     "William, let in, don't keep any thing back, for I am in for
     the whole hog sure; for I know nobody can do any for you
     much, for all they know is from me at last. Every thing you
     see is from my notes,--this you can tell yourself.

     "I have in my possession a little book, the private life of
     A. Lincoln, comprising a full life of his early years, and a
     succinct record of his career as statesman and President, by
     O. J. Victor, author of Lives of Garibaldi, Winfield Scott,
     John Paul Jones, &c., New York, Beadle and Company,
     publishers, No. 118 Williams Street. Now, sir, I find a
     great many things pertaining to Abe Lincoln's life that is
     not true. If you would like to have the book, I will mail it
     to you. I will say this much to you: if you don't have my
     name very frequently in your book, it won't go at all; for I
     have been East for two months, have seen a great many
     persons in that time, stating to them that there would be a
     book, 'The Life of A. Lincoln,' published, giving a full
     account of the family, from England to this country. Now,
     William, if there be any thing you want to know, let me
     know: I will give you all the information I can.

     "I have seen a letter that you wrote to my daughter, Harriet
     Chapman, of inquiry about some things. I thought you were
     informed all about them. I don't know what she has stated to
     you about your questions; but you had better consult me
     about them.

     "Billy, it seems to me, from the letters that you write to
     me asking questions, that you ask the same questions over
     several times. How is this? Do you forget, or are you like
     the lawyer, trying to make me cross my path, or not? Now, I
     will. Look below for the answer."

At one place, "his cousin, Dennis Hanks," is said to have taught Abe
to read and write. At another, he is represented as the benevolent
purchaser of the volumes from which Abe (and Dennis too) derived a
wonderfully clear and accurate conception of the science of law. In all
studies their minds advanced _pari passu_. Whenever any differences are
noted (and they are few and slight), Dennis is a step ahead, benignantly
extending a helping hand to the lagging pupil behind. But Dennis's heart
is big and kind: he defames no one; he is merely a harmless romancer. In
the gallery of family portraits painted by Dennis, every face looks down
upon us with the serenity of innocence and virtue. There is no spot on
the fame of any one of them. No family could have a more vigorous or
chivalrous defender than he, or one who repelled with greater scorn any
rumor to their discredit. That Enlow story! Dennis almost scorned to
confute it; but, when he did get at it, he settled it by a magnificent
exercise of inventive genius. He knew "this Abe Enlow" well, he said,
and he had been dead precisely fifty-five years. But, whenever the truth
can be told without damage to the character of a Lincoln or a Hanks,
Dennis will tell it candidly enough, provided there is no temptation
to magnify himself. His testimony, however, has been sparingly used
throughout these pages; and no statement has been taken from him unless
it was more or less directly corroborated by some one else. The
better part of his evidence Mr. Herndon took the precaution of reading
carefully to John Hanks, who pronounced it substantially true; and that
circumstance gives it undeniable value.

When Thomas and Betsy Sparrow died in the fall of 1818, Dennis was taken
from the "little half-faced camp," and became one of the Lincoln family.
Until Thomas Lincoln's second marriage, Dennis, Abe, and Sarah were all
three poor, ragged, and miserable together. After that, Dennis got along
better, as well as the rest. He was a lively, volatile, sympathetic
fellow, and Abe liked him well from the beginning. They fished, hunted,
and worked in company; loafed at the grocery, where Dennis got drunk,
and Abe told stories; talked politics with Col. Jones; "swapped jokes"
with Baldwin the blacksmith; and faithfully attended the sittings of the
nearest justice of the peace, where both had opportunities to correct
and annotate the law they thought they had learned from the "Statute of
Indiana." Dennis was kind, genial, lazy, brimming over with humor,
and full of amusing anecdotes. He revelled in song, from the vulgarest
ballad to the loftiest hymn of devotion; from "The turbaned Turk, that
scorns the world," to the holiest lines of Doctor Watts. These qualities
marked him wherever he went; and in excessive good-nature, and in the
ease with which he passed from the extreme of rigor to the extreme of
laxity, he was distinguished above the others of his name.

There was one Hanks, however, who was not like Dennis, or any other
Hanks we know any thing about: this was "old John," as he is familiarly
called in Illinois,--a sober, honest, truthful man, with none of the wit
and none of the questionable accomplishments of Dennis. He was the son
of Joseph, the carpenter with whom Tom Lincoln learned the trade. He
went to Indiana to live with the Lincolns when Abe was fourteen years
of age, and remained there four years. He then returned to Kentucky, and
subsequently went to Illinois, where he was speedily joined by the old
friends he had left in Indiana. When Abe separated from the family, and
went in search of individual fortune, it was in company with "old John."
Together they split the rails that did so much to make Abe President;
and "old John" set the ball in motion by carrying a part of them into
the Decatur Convention on his own broad shoulders. John had no education
whatever, except that of the muscles and the heart. He could neither
read nor write; but his character was pure and respectable, and Lincoln
esteemed him as a man, and loved him as a friend and relative.

About six years after the death of the first Mrs. Lincoln, Levi Hall and
his wife and family came to Indiana, and settled near the Lincolns. Mrs.
Hall was Nancy Hanks, the mother of our friend Dennis, and the aunt of
Nancy Hanks, the mother of Abraham Lincoln. She had numerous children
by her husband. One of them, Levi, as already mentioned, married one of
Abe's step-sisters, while Dennis, his half-brother, married the
other one. The father and mother of the Halls speedily died of the
milk-sickness, but Levi was for many years a constant companion of Abe
and Dennis.

In 1825 Abraham was employed by James Taylor, who lived at the mouth of
Anderson's Creek. He was paid six dollars a month, and remained for nine
months. His principal business was the management of a ferry-boat which
Mr. Taylor had plying across the Ohio, as well as Anderson's Creek. But,
in addition to this, he was required to do all sorts of farm-work, and
even to perform some menial services about the house. He was hostler,
ploughman, ferryman, out of doors, and man-of-all-work within doors.
He ground corn with a hand-mill, or "grated" it when too young to be
ground; rose early, built fires, put on the water in the kitchen,
"fixed around generally," and had things prepared for cooking before the
mistress of the house was stirring. He slept up stairs with young
Green Taylor, who says that he usually read "till near midnight,"
notwithstanding the necessity for being out of his bed before day. Green
was somewhat disposed to ill-use the poor hired boy, and once struck him
with an ear of hard corn, and cut a deep gash over his eye. He makes no
comment upon this generous act, except that "Abe got mad," but did not
thrash him.

Abe was a hand much in demand in "hog-killing time." He butchered not
only for Mr. Taylor, but for John Woods, John Duthan, Stephen McDaniels,
and others. At this he earned thirty-one cents a day, as it was
considered "rough work."

For a long time there was only one person in the neighborhood for whom
Abe felt a decided dislike; and that was Josiah Crawford, who had made
him "pull fodder," to pay for the Weems's "Washington." On that score
he was "hurt" and "mad," and often declared "he would have revenge." But
being a poor boy,--a circumstance of which Crawford had already taken
shameful advantage to extort three days' labor,--he was glad to get
work any place, and frequently "hired to his old adversary." Abe's first
business in his employ was daubing his cabin, which was built of logs,
unhewed, and with the bark on. In the loft of this house, thus finished
by his own hands, he slept for many weeks at a time. He spent his
evenings as he did at home,--writing on wooden shovels or boards with "a
coal, or keel, from the branch." This family was rich in the possession
of several books, which Abe read through time and again, according to
his usual custom. One of them was the "Kentucky Preceptor," from which
Mrs. Crawford insists that he "learned his school orations, speeches,
and pieces to write." She tells us also that "Abe was a sensitive lad,
never coming where he was not wanted;" that he always lifted his hat,
and bowed, when he made his appearance; and that "he was tender and
kind," like his sister, who was at the same time her maid-of-all-work.
His pay was twenty-five cents a day; "and, when he missed time, he would
not charge for it." This latter remark of good Mrs. Crawford reveals the
fact that her husband was in the habit of docking Abe on his miserable
wages whenever he happened to lose a few minutes from steady work.

The time came, however, when Abe got his "revenge" for all this
petty brutality. Crawford was as ugly as he was surly. His nose was a
monstrosity,--long and crooked, with a huge, misshapen "stub" at the
end, surmounted by a host of pimples, and the whole as "blue" as the
usual state of Mr. Crawford's spirits. Upon this member Abe levelled his
attack in rhyme, song, and "chronicle;" and, though he could not reduce
the nose, he gave it a fame as wide as to the Wabash and the Ohio. It is
not improbable that he learned the art of making the doggerel rhymes
in which he celebrated Crawford's nose from the study of Crawford's own
"Kentucky Preceptor." At all events, his sallies upon this single topic
achieved him great reputation as a "poet" and a wit, and caused Crawford
intolerable anguish.

It is likely that Abe was reconciled to his situation in this family by
the presence of his sister, and the opportunity it gave him of being in
the company of Mrs. Crawford, for whom he had a genuine attachment; for
she was nothing that her husband was, and every thing that he was not.
According to her account, he split rails, ploughed, threshed, and did
whatever else he was ordered to do; but she distinctly affirms that "Abe
was no hand to pitch into his work like killing snakes." He went about
it "calmly," and generally took the opportunity to throw "Crawford"
down two or three times "before they went to the field." It is fair to
presume, that, when Abe managed to inveigle his disagreeable employer
into a tussle, he hoisted him high and threw him hard, for he felt
that he had no reason to be careful of his bones. After meals Abe "hung
about," lingered long to gossip and joke with the women; and these
pleasant, stolen conferences were generally broken up with the
exclamation, "Well, this won't buy the child a coat!" and the
long-legged hired boy would stride away to join his master.

In the mean time Abe had become, not only the longest, but the
strongest, man in the settlement. Some of his feats almost surpass
belief, and those who beheld them with their own eyes stood literally
amazed. Richardson, a neighbor, declares that he could carry a load to
which the strength of "three ordinary men" would scarcely be equal. He
saw him quietly pick up and walk away with "a chicken-house, made of
poles pinned together, and covered, that weighed at least six hundred,
if not much more." At another time the Richardsons were building a
corn-crib: Abe was there; and, seeing three or four men preparing
"sticks" upon which to carry some huge posts, he relieved them of all
further trouble by shouldering the posts, single-handed, and walking
away with them to the place where they were wanted. "He could strike
with a mall," says old Mr. Wood, "a heavier blow than any man.... He
could sink an axe deeper into wood than any man I ever saw."

For hunting purposes, the Pigeon Creek region was one of the most
inviting on earth. The uplands were all covered with an original growth
of majestic forest trees,1 whilst on the hillsides, and wherever an
opening in the woods permitted the access of sunlight, there were beds
of fragrant and beautiful wild-flowers, presenting, in contrast with the
dense green around them, the most brilliant and agreeable effects. Here
the game had vast and secluded ranges, which, until very recently, had
heard the report of no white man's gun. In Abe's time, the squirrels,
rabbits, partridges, and other varieties of smaller game, were so
abundant as to be a nuisance. They devastated grain-fields and gardens;
and while they were seldom shot for the table, the settlers frequently
devised the most cunning means of destroying them in great quantities,
in order to save the growing crops. Wild turkeys and deer were the
principal reliance for food; but besides these were the bears, the
wild-cats, and the panthers.1 The scream of the latter, the most
ferocious and bloodthirsty of the cat kind, hastened Abe's homeward
steps on many a dark night, as he came late from Dave Turnham's, "Uncle"
Wood's, or the Gentryville grocery. That terrific cry appeals not only
to the natural fear of the monster's teeth and claws, but, heard in the
solitude of night and the forest, it awakens a feeling of superstitious
horror, that chills the heart of the bravest.

     "Now about the timber: it was black walnut and black oak,
     hickory and jack oak, elm and white oak, undergrowth,
     logwood in abundance, grape-vines and shoe-make bushes, and
     milk-sick plenty. All my relations died of that disease on
     Little Pigeon Creek, Spencer County."--Dennis Hanks.

Everybody about Abe made hunting a part of his business.2 Tom Lincoln
and Dennis Hanks doubtless regaled him continually with wonderful
stories of their luck and prowess; but he was no hunter himself, and
did not care to learn. It is true, that, when a mere child, he made a
fortunate shot at a flock of wild turkeys, through a crack in the wall
of the "half-faced cabin;"3 and that, when grown up, he went for <DW53>s
occasionally with Richardson, or watched deer-licks with Turnham; but
a true and hearty sportsman he never was. As practised on this wild
border, it was a solitary, unsociable way of spending time, which did
not suit his nature; and, besides, it required more exertion than he was
willing to make without due compensation. It could not be said that Abe
was indolent; for he was alert, brisk, active, about every thing that
he made up his mind to do. His step was very quick; and, when he had
a sufficient object in view, he strode out on his long, muscular legs,
swinging his bony arms as he moved along, with an energy that put miles
behind him before a lazy fellow like Dennis Hanks or John Johnston could
make up his mind to start. But, when he felt that he had time to spare,
he preferred to give it to reading or to "talk;" and, of the two, he
would take the latter, provided he could find a person who had something
new or racy to say. He liked excessively to hear his own voice, when it
was promoting fun and good fellowship; but he was also a most rare and
attentive listener. Hunting was entirely too "still" an occupation for
him.

     1 "No Indians there when I first went to Indiana: I say, no,
     none. I say this: bear, deer, turkey, and <DW53>, wild-cats,
     and other things, and frogs."--Dennis Hanks.

     2 "You say, What were some of the customs? I suppose you
     mean take us all together. One thing I can tell you about:
     we had to work very hard cleaning ground for to keep body
     and soul together; and every spare time we had we picked up
     our rifle, and brought in a fine deer or turkey; and in the
     winter-time we went a <DW53>-hunting, for <DW53>-skins were at
     that time considered legal tender, and deer-skins' and hams.
     I tell you, Billy, I enjoyed myself better then than I ever
     have since."--Dennis Hanks.

     3 "No doubt about the A. Lincoln's killing the turkey. He
     done it with his father's rifle, made by William Lutes, of
     Bullitt County, Kentucky. I have killed a hundred deer with
     her myself; turkeys too numerous to mention."--Dennis
     Hanks.

All manner of rustic sports were in vogue among the Pigeon Creek boys.
Abe was especially formidable as a wrestler; and, from about 1828
onward, there was no man, far or near, that would give him a match.
"Cat," "throwing the mall," "hopping and half-hammon" (whatsoever that
may mean), and "four-corner bull-pen" were likewise athletic games in
high honor.1

     1 "You ask, What sort of plays? What we called them at that
     time were 'bull-pen,' 'corner and cat,' 'hopping and half-
     hammon;' playing at night 'old Sister Feby.' This I know,
     for I took a hand myself; and, wrestling, we could throw
     down anybody."--Dennis Hanks.

All sorts of frolics and all kinds of popular gatherings, whether for
work or amusement, possessed irresistible attractions for Abe. He
loved to see and be seen, to make sport and to enjoy it. It was a most
important part of his education that he got at the corn-shuckings, the
log-rollings, the shooting-matches, and the gay and jolly weddings
of those early border times. He was the only man or boy within a wide
compass who had learning enough to furnish the literature for such
occasions; and those who failed to employ his talents to grace or
commemorate the festivities they set on foot were sure to be stung by
some coarse but humorous lampoon from his pen. In the social way, he
would not suffer himself to be slighted with impunity; and, if there
were any who did not enjoy his wit, they might content themselves
with being the subjects of it. Unless he received some very pointed
intimation that his presence was not wanted, he was among the first
and earliest at all the neighborhood routs; and when his tall, singular
figure was seen towering amongst the hunting-shirts, it was considered
due notice that the fun was about to commence. "Abe Linkhern," as he
was generally called, made things lively wherever he went: and, if
Crawford's blue nose happened to have been carried to the assembly,
it quickly subsided, on his arrival, into some obscure corner; for the
implacable "Linkhern" was apt to make it the subject of a jest that
would set the company in a roar. But when a party was made up, and Abe
left out, as sometimes happened through the influence of Crawford, he
sulked, fumed, "got mad," nursed his anger into rage, and then broke out
in songs or "chronicles," which were frequently very bitter, sometimes
passably humorous, and invariably vulgar.

At an early age he began to attend the "preachings" roundabout, but
principally at the Pigeon Creek church, with a view to catching whatever
might be ludicrous in the preacher's air or matter, and making it the
subject of mimicry as soon as he could collect an audience of idle boys
and men to hear him. A pious stranger, passing that way on a Sunday
morning, was invited to preach for the Pigeon Creek congregation; but
he banged the boards of the old pulpit, and bellowed and groaned so
wonderfully, that Abe could hardly contain his mirth. This memorable
sermon was a great favorite with him; and he frequently reproduced it
with nasal tones, rolling eyes, and all manner of droll aggravations, to
the great delight of Nat Grigsby and the wild fellows whom Nat was able
to assemble. None that heard him, not even Nat himself (who was any
thing but dull), was ever able to show wherein Abe's absurd version
really departed from the original.

The importance of Gentryville, as a "centre of business," soon began to
possess the imaginations of the dwellers between the two Pigeon Creeks.
Why might it not be a great place of trade? Mr. Gentry was a most
generous patron; it was advantageously situated where two roads crossed;
it already had a blacksmith's shop, a grocery, and a store. Jones, it is
true, had once moved away in a sulk, but Mr. Gentry's fine diplomacy had
quickly brought him back, with all his goods and talents unreservedly
devoted to the "improvement of the town;" and now, since there was
literally nothing left to cloud the prospects of the "point," brisk
times were expected in the near future.

Dennis Hanks, John Johnston, Abe, and the other boys in the
neighborhood, loitered much about the store, the grocery, and the
blacksmith's shop, at Gentryville. Dennis ingenuously remarks,
"Sometimes we spent a little time at grog, pushing weights, wrestling,
telling stories." The time that Abe "spent at grog" was, in truth, a
"little time." He never liked ardent spirits at any period of his life;
but "he did take his dram as others did."1 He was a natural politician,
intensely ambitious, and anxious to be popular. For this reason, and
this alone, he drank with his friends, although very temperately. If he
could have avoided it without giving offence, he would gladly have done
so. But he coveted the applause of his pot companions, and, because he
could not get it otherwise, made a faint pretence of enjoying his liquor
as they did. The "people" drank, and Abe was always for doing whatever
the "people" did. All his life he held that whatsoever was popular--the
habit or the sentiment of the masses--could not be essentially wrong.
But, although a whiskey-jug was kept in every ordinarily respectable
household, Abe never tasted it at home. His step-mother thought he
carried his temperance to extremes.

     1 The fact is proved by his most intimate acquaintances,
     both at Gentryville and New Salem.

Jones, the great Jones, without whom it was generally agreed that
Gentryville must have gone into eclipse, but with whom, and
through whom, it was somehow to become a sort of metropolitan
cross-roads,--Jones was Abe's friend and mentor from the moment of their
acquaintance. Abe is even said to have "clerked for him;" that is, he
packed and unpacked boxes, ranged goods on the shelves, drew the liquids
in the cellar, or exhibited the stone and earthen ware to purchasers;
but in his service he was never promoted to keeping accounts, or even to
selling the finer goods across the counter.1 But Mr. Jones was very
fond of his "clerk,"--enjoyed his company, appreciated his humor, and
predicted something great for him. As he did not doubt that Abe would
one day be a man of considerable influence, he took pains to give him
correct views of the nature of American institutions. An ardent Jackson
man himself, he imparted to Abe the true faith, as delivered by that
great democratic apostle; and the traces of this teaching were
never wholly effaced from Mr. Lincoln's mind. Whilst he remained at
Gentryville, his politics accorded with Mr. Jones's; and, even after he
had turned Whig in Illinois, John Hanks tells us that he wanted to
whip a man for traducing Jackson. He was an eager reader of newspapers
whenever he could get them, and Mr. Jones carefully put into his hands
the kind he thought a raw youth should have. But Abe's appetite was not
to be satisfied by what Mr. Jones supplied; and he frequently borrowed
others from "Uncle Wood," who lived about a mile from the Lincoln cabin,
and for whom he sometimes worked.

     1 "Lincoln drove a team, cut up pork, and sold goods for
     Jones. Jones told me that Lincoln read all his books, and I
     remember History of United States as one. Jones often said
     to me, that Lincoln would make a great man one of these
     days,--had said so long before, and to other people,--said
     so as far back as 1828-9.'"--Dougherty.

What manner of man kept the Gentryville grocery, we are not informed.
Abe was often at his place, however, and would stay so long at nights,
"telling stories" and "cracking jokes," that Dennis Hanks, who was
ambitious in the same line, and probably jealous of Abe's overshadowing
success, "got mad at him," and "cussed him." When Dennis found himself
thrown in the shade, he immediately became virtuous, and wished to
retire early.

John Baldwin, the blacksmith, was one of Abe's special friends from
his boyhood onward. Baldwin was a story-teller and a joker of rare
accomplishments; and Abe, when a very little fellow, would slip off
to his shop and sit and listen to him by the hour. As he grew up, the
practice continued as of old, except that Abe soon began to exchange
anecdotes with his clever friend at the anvil. Dennis Hanks says Baldwin
was his "_particular_ friend," and that "Abe spent a great deal of his
leisure time with him." Statesmen, plenipotentiaries, famous commanders,
have many times made the White House at Washington ring with their
laughter over the quaint tales of John Baldwin, the blacksmith,
delivered second-hand by his inimitable friend Lincoln.

Abe and Dave Turnham had one day been threshing wheat,--probably for
Turnham's father,--and concluded to spend the evening at Gentryville.
They lingered there until late in the night, when, wending their way
along the road toward Lincoln's cabin, they espied something resembling
a man lying dead or insensible by the side of a mud-puddle. They
rolled the sleeper over, and found in him an old and quite respectable
acquaintance, hopelessly drunk. All efforts failed to rouse him to any
exertion on his own behalf. Abe's companions were disposed to let him
lie in the bed he had made for himself; but, as the night was cold and
dreary, he must have frozen to death had this inhuman proposition
been equally agreeable to everybody present. To Abe it seemed utterly
monstrous; and, seeing he was to have no help, he bent his mighty frame,
and, taking the big man in his long arms, carried him a great distance
to Dennis Hanks's cabin. There he built a fire, warmed, rubbed, and
nursed him through the entire night,--his companions of the road having
left him alone in his merciful task. The man often told John Hanks,
that it was mighty "clever in Abe to tote him to a warm fire that cold
night," and was very sure that Abe's strength and benevolence had saved
his life.

Abe was fond of music, but was himself wholly unable to produce three
harmonious notes together. He made various vain attempts to sing a
few lines of "Poor old Ned," but they were all equally ludicrous and
ineffectual. "Religious songs did not appear to suit him at all," says
Dennis Hanks; but of profane ballads and amorous ditties he knew the
words of a vast number. When Dennis got happy at the grocery, or passed
the bounds of propriety at a frolic, he was in the habit of raising a
charming carol in praise of the joys which enter into the Mussulman's
estate on earth,--of which he has vouchsafed us only three lines,--

     "The turbaned Turk that scorns the world,
     And struts about with his whiskers curled,
     For no other man but himself to see."

It was a prime favorite of Abe's; and Dennis sang it with such
appropriate zest and feeling, that Abe never forgot a single word of it
while he lived.

Another was,--

     "Hail Columbia, happy land!
     If you ain't drunk, I'll be damned,"--

a song which Dennis thinks should be warbled only in the "fields;" and
tells us that they knew and enjoyed "all such [songs] as this." Dave
Turnham was also a musical genius, and had a "piece" beginning,--

     "There was a Romish lady Brought up in popery,"

which Abe thought one of the best he ever heard, and insisted upon
Dave's singing it for the delectation of old Tom Lincoln, who relished
it quite as much as Abe did.1

     1 "I recollect some more:--

     'Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
     Tune my heart to sing thy praise.'

     'When I can read my title clear
     To mansions in the skies!'

     'How tedious and tasteless the hours.'

     'Oh! to grace how great a debtor!'

     Other little songs I won't say any thing about: they would
     not look well in print; but I could give them."--Dennis
     Hanks.

Mrs. Crawford says, that Abe did not attempt to sing much about the
house: he was probably afraid to indulge in such offensive gayeties in
the very habitation of the morose Crawford. According to Dennis Hanks,
his melody was not of the sort that hath power to charm the savage; and
he was naturally timid about trying it upon Crawford. But, when he was
freed from those chilling restraints, he put forth his best endeavors
to render "one [song] that was called 'William Riley,' and one that was
called 'John Anderson's Lamentations,' and one that was made about
Gen. Jackson and John Adams, at the time they were nominated for the
presidency."

The Jackson song indicated clearly enough Abe's steadiness in the
political views inculcated by Jones. Mrs. Crawford could recollect but a
single stanza of it:--

     "Let auld acquaintance be forgot,
     And never brought to mind,
     And Jackson be our President,
     And Adams left behind."

In the text of "John Anderson's Lamentations,"--a most distressful lyric
to begin with,--Abe was popularly supposed to have interpolated some
lines of his own, which conclusively attested his genius for poetic
composition. At all events, he sang it as follows:--

     "O sinners! poor sinners, take warning by me:
     The fruits of transgression behold now, and see;
     My soul is tormented, my body confined,
     My friends and dear children left weeping behind.

     "Much intoxication my ruin has been,
     And my dear companion hath barbarously slain:
     In yonder cold graveyard the body doth lie;
     Whilst I am condemned, and shortly must die.

     "Remember John Anderson's death, and reform
     Before death overtakes you, and vengeance comes on.
     My grief's overwhelming; in God I must trust:
     I am justly condemned; my sentence is just.

     "I am waiting the summons in eternity to be hurled;
     Whilst my poor little orphans are cast on the world.
     I hope my kind neighbors their guardeens will be,
     And Heaven, kind Heaven, protect them and me."

In 1826 Abe's sister Nancy (or Sarah) was married to Aaron Grigsby; and
the festivities of the occasion were made memorable by a song entitled,
"Adam and Eve's Wedding Song," which many believed Abe had himself
composed. The conceits embodied in the doggerel were old before Abe was
born; but there is some intrinsic as well as extraneous evidence to
show that the doggerel itself was his. It was sung by the whole Lincoln
family, before Nancy's marriage and since, but by nobody else in the
neighborhood.

     ADAM AND EVE'S WEDDING SONG.

     When Adam was created, he dwelt in Eden's shade,
     As Moses has recorded, and soon an Eve was made.
     Ten thousand times ten thousand
     Of creatures swarmed around
     Before a bride was formed,
     And yet no mate was found.

     The Lord then was not willing
     The man should be alone,
     But caused a sleep upon him,
     And took from him a bone,

     And closed the flesh in that place of;
     And then he took the same,
     And of it made a woman,
     And brought her to the man.

     Then Adam he rejoiced
     To see his loving bride,
     A part of his own body,
     The product of his side.

     This woman was not taken
     From Adam's feet, we see;
     So he must not abuse her,
     The meaning seems to be.

     This woman was not taken
     From Adam's head, we know;
     To show she must not rule him,
     'Tis evidently so.

     This woman she was taken
     From under Adam's arm;
     So she must be protected
     From injuries and harm.

"It was considered at that time," says Mr. Richardson, "that Abe was the
best penman in the neighborhood. One day, while he was on a visit at
my mother's, I asked him to write some copies for me. He very willingly
consented. He wrote several of them, but one of them I have never
forgotten, although a boy at the time. It was this:--

     'Good boys who to their books apply
     Will all be great men by and by.'"

Here are two original lines from Abe's own copy-book, probably the first
he ever had, and which must not be confounded with the famous scrap-book
in which his step-mother, lost in admiration of its contents, declares
he "entered all things:"--

     "Abraham Lincoln, his hand and pen:
     He will be good, but God knows when."

Again,--

     "Abraham Lincoln is my name,
     And with my pen I write the same:
     I will be a good boy, but God knows when."

The same book contains the following, written at a later day, and with
nothing to indicate that any part of it was borrowed:--

     "Time! what an empty vapor'tis!
     And days how swift they are!
     Swift as an Indian arrow,
     Fly on like a shooting-star.
     The present moment just is here,
     Then slides away in haste,
     That we can never say they're ours,
     But only say they are past."

Abe wrote many "satires" and "chronicles," which are only remembered in
fragments by a few old persons in the neighborhood. Even if we had them
in full, they were most of them too indecent for publication. Such,
at least, was the character of "a piece" which is said to have been
"exceedingly humorous and witty," touching a church trial, wherein
Brother Harper and Sister Gordon were the parties seeking judgment. It
was very coarse, but it served admirably to raise a laugh in the grocery
at the expense of the church.

His chronicles were many, and on a great variety of subjects. They
were written, as his early admirers love to tell us, "in the scriptural
style;" but those we have betray a very limited acquaintance with the
model. In these "chapters" was celebrated every event of importance
that took place in the neighborhood: weddings, fights, Crawford's nose,
Sister Gordon's innocence, Brother Harper's wit, were all served up,
fresh and gross, for the amusement of the groundlings.

Charles and Reuben Grigsby were married about the same time, and, being
brothers, returned to their father's house with their brides upon the
same day. The infare, the feast, the dance, the ostentatious retirement
of the brides and grooms, were conducted in the old-fashioned way of all
new countries in the United States, but a way which was bad enough to
shock Squire Western himself. On this occasion Abe was not invited,
and was very "mad" in consequence. This indignation found vent in a
highly-spiced piece of descriptive writing, entitled "The Chronicles of
Reuben," which are still in existence.

But even "The Chronicles," venomous and highly successful as they were,
were totally insufficient to sate Abe's desire for vengeance on the
Grigsbys. They were important people about Gentryville, and the social
slight they had given him stung him bitterly. He therefore began on
"Billy" in rhyme, after disposing of Charles and Reuben "in scriptural
style." Mrs. Crawford attempted to repeat these verses to Mr. Herndon;
but the good old lady had not proceeded far, when she blushed very red,
and, saying that they were hardly decent, proposed to tell them to her
daughter, who would tell them to her husband, who would write them down
and send them to Mr. Herndon. They are probably much curtailed by Mrs.
Crawford's modesty, but still it is impossible to transcribe them. We
give what we can to show how the first steps of Abe's fame as a great
writer were won. It must be admitted that the literary taste of the
community in which these rhymes were popular could not have been very
high.

     "I will tell you about Joel and Mary:
     it is neither a joke or a story, for
     Reuben and Charles has married two girls,
     but Billy has married a boy."

     "The girls he had tried on every side,
     But none could he get to agree:
     All was in vain; he went home again,
     And, since that, he is married to Natty.

     "So Billy and Natty agreed very well,
     And mamma's well pleased at the match:
     The egg it is laid, but Natty's afraid
     The shell is so soft it never will hatch;
     But Betsey she said, 'You cursed bald head,
     My suitor you never can be;
     Besides'"----

Abe dropped "The Chronicles" at a point on the road where he was sure
one of the Grigsbys would find them. The stratagem succeeded, and
that delicate "satire" produced the desired effect. The Grigsbys were
infuriated,--wild with a rage which would be satisfied only when Abe's
face should be pounded into a jelly, and a couple of his ribs cracked by
some member of the injured family. Honor, according to the Pigeon Creek
code, demanded that somebody should be "licked" in expiation of an
outrage so grievous,--if not Abe, then some friend of Abe's, whom he
would depute to stand the brunt in his stead. "Billy," the eldest of the
brothers, was selected to challenge him. Abe accepted generally; that
is, agreed that there should be a fight about the matter in question.
It was accordingly so ordered: the ground was selected a mile and a
half from Gentryville, a ring was marked out, and the bullies for twenty
miles around attended. The friends of both parties were present in
force, and excitement ran high. When the time arrived for the champions
to step into the ring, Abe displayed his chivalry in a manner that must
have struck the bystanders with admiration. He announced, that whereas
Billy was confessedly his inferior in size, shape, and talents, unable
to hit with pen or fist with any thing like his power, therefore he
would forego the advantage which the challenge gave him, and "turn over"
his stepbrother, John Johnston, to do battle in his behalf. If this near
relative should be sacrificed, he would abide the issue: he was
merely anxious to see a fair and honorable fight. This proposition was
considered highly meritorious, and the battle commenced on those general
terms. John started out with fine pluck and spirit; but in a little
while Billy got in some clever hits, and Abe began to exhibit symptoms
of great uneasiness. Another pass or two, and John flagged quite
decidedly, and it became evident that Abe was anxiously casting about
for some pretext to break the ring. At length, when John was fairly
down, and Billy on top, and all the spectators cheering, swearing,
and pressing up to the very edge of the ring, Abe cried out that "Bill
Boland showed foul play," and, bursting out of the crowd, seized Grigsby
by the heels, and flung him off. Having righted John, and cleared the
battle-ground of all opponents, "he swung a whiskey-bottle over his
head, and swore that he was the big buck of the lick." It seems that
nobody of the Grigsby faction, not one in that large assembly of
bullies, cared to encounter the sweep of Abe's tremendously long and
muscular arms; and so he remained master of the "lick." He was not
content, however, with a naked triumph, but vaunted himself in the most
offensive manner. He singled out the victorious but cheated Billy, and,
making sundry hostile demonstrations, declared that he could whip him
then and there. Billy meekly said "he did not doubt that," but that,
if Abe would make things even between them by fighting with pistols, he
would not be slow to grant him a meeting. But Abe replied that he was
not going "to fool away his life on a single shot;" and so Billy was
fain to put up with the poor satisfaction he had already received.

At Gentryville "they had exhibitions or speaking meetings." Some of
the questions they spoke on were, The Bee and the Ant, Water and Fire:
another was, Which had the most right to complain, the <DW64> or the
Indian? Another, "Which was the strongest, Wind or Water?"1 The views
which Abe then entertained on the Indian and the <DW64> question would
be intensely interesting now. But just fancy him discoursing on wind and
water! What treasures of natural science, what sallies of humor, he
must have wasted upon that audience of bumpkins! A little farther on, we
shall see that Abe made pretensions to an acquaintance with the laws of
nature which was considered marvellous in that day and generation.

     1 "Lincoln did write what is called 'The Book of
     Chronicles,'--a satire on the Grigs-bys and Josiah
     Crawford,--not the schoolmaster, but the man who loaned
     Lincoln 'The Life of Washington.' The satire was good,
     sharp, cutting: it hurt us then, but it is all over now.
     There is no family in the land who, after this, loved
     Lincoln so well, and who now look upon him as so great a
     man. We all voted for him,--all that could,--children and
     grandchildren, first, last, and always."--Nat Grigsby.

Dennis Hanks insists that Abe and he became learned men and expert
disputants, not by a course of judicious reading, but by attending
"speech-makings, gatherings," &c.

"How did Lincoln and yourself learn so much in Indiana under such
disadvantages?" said Mr. Herndon to Dennis, on one of his two oral
examinations. The question was artfully put; for it touched the jaunty
Dennis on the side of his vanity, and elicited a characteristic reply.
"We learned," said he, "by sight, scent, and hearing. We heard all that
was said, and talked over and over the questions heard; wore them
slick, greasy, and threadbare. Went to political and other speeches and
gatherings, as you do now: we would hear all sides and opinions, talk
them over, discuss them, agreeing or disagreeing. Abe, as I said before,
was originally a Democrat after the order of Jackson, so was his father,
so we all were.... He preached, made speeches, read for us, explained
to us, &c.... Abe was a cheerful boy, a witty boy, was humorous always;
sometimes would get sad, not very often.... Lincoln would frequently
make political and other speeches to the boys: he was calm, logical, and
clear always. He attended trials, went to court always, read the Revised
Statute of Indiana, dated 1824, heard law speeches, and listened to law
trials, &c. Lincoln was lazy, a very lazy man. He was always reading,
scribbling, writing, ciphering, writing poetry, and the like.... In
Gentryville, about one mile west of Thomas Lincoln's farm, Lincoln would
go and tell his jokes and stories, &c., and was so odd, original, and
humorous and witty, that all the people in town would gather around him.
He would keep them there till midnight. I would get tired, want to go
home, cuss Abe most heartily. Abe was a good talker, a good reader, and
was a kind of newsboy."

Boonville was the court-house town of Warrick County, and was situated
about fifteen miles from Gentryville. Thither Abe walked whenever he had
time to be present at the sittings of the court, where he could learn
something of public business, amuse himself profitably, and withal pick
up items of news and gossip, which made him an interesting personage
when he returned home. During one of these visits he watched, with
profound attention, the progress of a murder trial, in which a Mr.
John Breckenridge was counsel for the defence. At the conclusion of the
latter's speech, Abe, who had listened, literally entranced, accosted
the man of eloquence, and ventured to compliment him on the success of
his effort. "Breckenridge looked at the shabby boy" in amazement, and
passed on his way. But many years afterwards, in 1862, when Abe was
President, and Breckenridge a resident of Texas, probably needing
executive clemency, they met a second time; when Abe said, "It was the
best speech that I up to that time had ever heard. If I could, as I then
thought, make as good a speech as that, my soul would be satisfied."

It is a curious fact, that through all Abe's childhood and boyhood, when
he seemed to have as little prospect of the Presidency as any boy that
ever was born, he was in the habit of saying, and perhaps sincerely
believing, that that great prize would one day be his. When Mrs.
Crawford reproved him for "fooling," and bedevilling the girls in her
kitchen, and asked him "what he supposed would ever become of him," he
answered that "he was going to be President of the United States."1

     1 He frequently made use of similar expressions to several
     others.

Abe usually did the milling for the family, and had the neighbor
boy, Dave Turnham, for his companion. At first they had to go a long
distance, at least twelve or thirteen miles, to Hoffman's, on Anderson's
Creek; but after a while a Mr. Gordon (the husband of Sister Gordon,
about whom the "witty piece" was written) built a horse-mill within a
few miles of the Lincolns. Here Abe had come one day with a grist, and
Dave probably with him. He had duly hitched his "old mare," and started
her with great impatience; when, just as he was sounding another
"cluck," to stir up her imperturbable and lazy spirit, she let out with
her heels, and laid Abe sprawling and insensible on the ground. He was
taken up in that condition, and did not recover for many minutes; but
the first use made of returning sense was to finish the interrupted
"cluck." He and Mr. Herndon had many learned discussions in their quiet
little office, at Springfield, respecting this remarkable phenomenon,
involving so nice a question in "psychology."

Mr. William Wood, already referred to as "Uncle Wood," was a genuine
friend and even a patron of Abe's. He lived only about a mile and a half
from the Lincolns, and frequently had both old Tom and Abe to work for
him,--the one as a rough carpenter, and the other as a common laborer.
He says that Abe was in the habit of carrying "his pieces" to him for
criticism and encouragement. Mr. Wood took at least two newspapers,--one
of them devoted to politics, and one of them to temperance. Abe borrowed
them both, and, reading them faithfully over and over again, was
inspired with an ardent desire to write something on the subjects of
which they treated. He accordingly composed an article on temperance,
which Mr. Wood thought "excelled, for sound sense, any thing that the
paper contained." It was forwarded, through the agency of a Baptist
preacher, to an editor in Ohio, by whom it was published, to the
infinite gratification of Mr. Wood and his _protege_. Abe then tried his
hand on "national politics," saying that "the American Government was
the best form of government for an intelligent people; that it ought to
be kept sound, and preserved forever; that general education should be
fostered and carried all over the country; that the Constitution should
be saved, the Union perpetuated, and the laws revered, respected, and
enforced." This article was consigned, like the other, to Mr. Wood, to
be ushered by him before the public. A lawyer named Pritchard chanced
to pass that way, and, being favored with a perusal of Abe's "piece,"
pithily and enthusiastically declared, "The world can't beat it." "He
begged for it," and it was published in some obscure paper; this new
success causing the author a most extraordinary access of pride and
happiness.

But in 1828 Abe had become very tired of his home. He was now nineteen
years of age, and becoming daily more restive under the restraints of
servitude which bound him. He was anxious to try the world for himself,
and make his way according to his own notions. "Abe came to my house one
day," says Mr. Wood, "and stood round about, timid and shy. I knew
he wanted _something_, and said to him, 'Abe, what's your case?'
He replied, 'Uncle, I want you to go to the river, and give me some
recommendation to some boat.' I remarked, 'Abe, your age is against you:
you are not twenty yet.' 'I know that, but I want a start,' said Abe. I
concluded not to go for the boy's good." Poor Abe! old Tom still had a
claim upon him, which even Uncle Wood would not help him to evade. He
must wait a few weary months more before he would be of age, and
could say he was his own man, and go his own way. Old Tom was a hard
taskmaster to him, and, no doubt, consumed the greater part, if not all,
of his wages.

In the beginning of March, 1828, Abe went to work for old Mr. Gentry,
the proprietor of Gentryville. Early in the next month, the old
gentleman furnished his son Allen with a boat, and a cargo of bacon and
other produce, with which he was to go on a trading expedition to New
Orleans, unless the stock was sooner exhausted. Abe, having been found
faithful and efficient, was employed to accompany the young man as a
"bow-hand," to work the "front oars." He was paid eight dollars per
month, and ate and slept on board. Returning, Gentry paid his passage on
the deck of a steamboat.

While this boat was loading at Gentry's Landing, near Rockport, on the
Ohio, Abe saw a great deal of the pretty Miss Roby, whom he had saved
from the wrath of Crawford the schoolmaster, when she failed to spell
"defied." She says, "Abe was then a long, thin, leggy, gawky boy, dried
up and shrivelled." This young lady subsequently became the wife of
Allen Gentry, Abe's companion in the projected voyage. She probably
felt a deep interest in the enterprise in hand, for the very boat itself
seems to have had attractions for her. "One evening," says she, "Abe and
I were sitting on the banks of the Ohio, or rather on the boat spoken
of: I said to Abe that the sun was going down. He said to me, 'That's
not so: it don't really go down; it seems so. The earth turns from west
to east, and the revolution of the earth carries us under as it were:
we do the sinking as you call it. The sun, as to us, is comparatively
still; the sun's sinking is only an appearance.' I replied, 'Abe, what
a fool you are!' I know now that I was the fool, not Lincoln. I am now
thoroughly satisfied that Abe knew the general laws of astronomy and the
movements of the heavenly bodies. He was better read then than the world
knows, or is likely to know exactly. No man could talk to me that
night as he did, unless he had known something of geography as well as
astronomy. He often and often commented or talked to me about what he
had read,--seemed to read it out of the book as he went along,--did
so to others. He was the learned boy among us unlearned folks. He took
great pains to explain; could do it so simply. He was diffident then
too." 1

The trip of Gentry and Lincoln was a very profitable one, and Mr.
Gentry, senior, was highly gratified by the result. Abe displayed his
genius for mercantile affairs by handsomely putting off on the innocent
folks along the river some counterfeit money which a shrewd fellow had
imposed upon Allen. Allen thought his father would be angry with him
for suffering himself to be cheated; but Abe consoled him with the
reflection that the "old man" wouldn't care how much bad money they took
in the course of business if they only brought the proper amount of good
money home.2

     1 "When he appeared in company, the boys would gather and
     cluster around him to hear him talk.... Mr. Lincoln was
     figurative in his speeches, talks, and conversations. He
     argued much from analogy, and explained things hard for us
     to understand by stories, maxims, tales, and figures. He
     would almost always point his lesson or idea by some story
     that was plain and near us, that we might instantly see the
     force and bearing of what he said."--Nat Grigsby.

     2 "Gentry (Allen) was a great personal friend of Mr.
     Lincoln. He was a Democrat, but voted for Lincoln,
     sacrificing his party politics to his friendship. He says
     that on that trip they sold some of their produce at a
     certain landing, and by accident or fraud the bill was paid
     in counterfeit money. Gentry was grieving about it; but
     Lincoln said, 'Never mind, Allen: it will accidentally slip
     out of our fingers before we get to New Orleans, and then
     old Jim can't quarrel at us.' Sure enough, it all went off
     like hot cakes. I was told this in Indiana by many people
     about Rockport."--Herndon. It must be remembered that
     counterfeit money was the principal currency along the river
     at this period.

At Madame Bushane's plantation, six miles below Baton Rouge, they had
an adventure, which reads strangely enough in the life of the great
emancipator. The boat was tied up to the shore, in the dead hours of the
night, and Abe and Allen were fast asleep in the "cabin," in the stern,
when they were startled by footsteps on board. They knew instantly that
it was a gang of <DW64>s come to rob, and perhaps to murder them. Allen,
thinking to frighten the intruders, cried out, "Bring the guns, Lincoln;
shoot them!" Abe came without a gun, but he fell among the <DW64>s
with a huge bludgeon, and belabored them most cruelly. Not content with
beating them off the boat, he and Gentry followed them far back into the
country, and then, running back to their craft, hastily cut loose and
made rapid time down the river, fearing lest they should return in
greater numbers to take revenge. The victory was complete; but, in
winning it, Abe received a scar which he carried with him to his grave.

"When he was eighteen years old, he conceived the project of building a
little boat, and taking the produce of the Lincoln farm down the river
to market. He had learned the use of tools, and possessed considerable
mechanical talent, as will appear in some other acts of his life. Of the
voyage and its results, we have no knowledge; but an incident occurred
before starting which he related in later life to his Secretary of
State, Mr. Seward, that made a very marked and pleasant impression upon
his memory. As he stood at the landing, a steamer approached, coming
down the river. At the same time two passengers came to the river's bank
who wished to be taken out to the packet with their luggage. Looking
among the boats at the landing, they singled out Abraham's, and asked
him to scull them to the steamer. This he did; and, after seeing them
and their trunks on board, he had the pleasure of receiving upon the
bottom of his boat, before he shoved off, a silver half-dollar from each
of his passengers. 'I could scarcely believe my eyes,' said Mr. Lincoln,
in telling the story. 'You may think it was a very little thing,'
continued he, 'but it was a most important incident in my life. I could
scarcely believe that I, a poor boy, had earned a dollar in less than a
day. The world seemed wider and fairer to me. I was a more hopeful
and confident being from that time.'"1 If Mr. Lincoln ever made the
statement for which Mr. Seward is given as authority, he drew upon his
imagination for the facts. He may have sculled passengers to a steamer
when he was ferryman for Taylor, but he never made a trip like the one
described; never built a boat until he went to Illinois; nor did he
ever sell produce on his father's account, for the good reason that his
father had none to sell.

     1 Holland's Life of Lincoln, p. 33.




CHAPTER III.

ABE and Gentry returned from New Orleans some time in June, 1828, having
been gone not quite three months. How much longer he remained in the
service of Gentry, or whether he remained at all, we are unable to say;
but he soon took up his old habits, and began to work around among his
neighbors, or for his father, precisely as he had done before he got his
partial glimpse of the great world down the river.

In the fall of 1829, Mr. Wood saw him cutting down a large tree in the
woods, and whip-sawing it into planks. Abe said the lumber was for a new
house his father was about to build; but Tom Lincoln changed his
mind before the house was half done, and Abe sold his plank to Josiah
Crawford, "the book man," who worked them into the south-east room of
his house, where relic-seekers have since cut pieces from them to make
canes.

In truth, the continued prevalence of that dreadful disease, the
milk-sickness, with which Nancy Hanks and the Sparrows and the Halls had
all died, was more than a sufficient reason for a new removal, now in
contemplation by Thomas Lincoln. Every member of his family, from
the first settlement in Indiana, except perhaps Abe and himself,
had suffered with it. The cattle, which, it is true, were of little
pecuniary value, and raised with great ease and little cost, were swept
away by it in great numbers throughout the whole neighborhood. It was
an awful scourge, and common prudence suggested flight. It is wonderful
that it took a constitutional mover thirteen years to make up his mind
to escape from it.1

     1 "What made Thomas Lincoln leave? The reason is this: we
     were perplexed by a disease called milk-sick. I myself being
     the oldest, I was determined to leave, and hunt a country
     where the milk-sick was not. I married his eldest daughter.
     I sold out, and they concluded to go with me. Billy, I was
     tolerably popular at that time, for I had some money. My
     wife's mother could not think of parting with her, and we
     ripped up stakes, and started to Illinois, and landed at
     Decatur. This is the reason for leaving Indiana. I am to
     blame for it, if any. As for getting more land, this was not
     the case, for we could have entered ten thousand acres of
     the best land. When we left, it was on account of the milk.
     Billy, I had four good milch cows, too, with it in one week,
     and eleven young calves. This was enough to run me. Besides,
     liked to have lossed my own life with it. This reason was
     enough (ain't it?) for leaving."--Dennis Hanks.

In the spring of 1830, before the winter had fairly broken up, he and
Abe, and Dennis Hanks and Levi Hall, with their respective families,
thirteen in all, took the road for Illinois. Dennis and Levi, as already
stated, were married to the daughters of Mrs. Lincoln. Hall had one son,
and Dennis a considerable family of sons and daughters. Sarah (or Nancy)
Lincoln, who had married Aaron Grigsby, was now dead.

John Hanks had gone to the new country from Kentucky in the fall of
1828, and settled near Decatur, whence he wrote Thomas Lincoln all
about it, and advised him to come there. Dennis, whether because of the
persuasions of John, or some observations made in a flying trip on his
own account, was very full of the move, and would hear to no delay.
Lincoln sold his farm to Gentry, senior, if, indeed, he had not done so
before, and his corn and hogs to Dave Turnham. The corn brought only
ten cents a bushel, and, according to the pricelist furnished by Dennis
Hanks, the stock must have gone at figures equally mean.

Lincoln took with him to Illinois "some stock-cattle, one horse,
one bureau, one table, one clothes-chest, one set of chairs, cooking
utensils, clothing," &c. The goods of the three families--Hanks, Hall,
and Lincoln--were loaded on a wagon belonging to Lincoln. This wagon was
"ironed," a noticeable fact in those primitive days, and "was positively
the first one that he (Lincoln) ever owned." It was drawn by four yoke
of oxen,--two of them Lincoln's, and two of them Hanks's.

We have no particulars of the journey, except that Abe held the "gad,"
and drove the team; that the mud was very deep, that the spring freshets
were abroad, and that in crossing the swollen and tumultuous Kaskaskia,
the wagon and oxen were nearly swept away. On the first day of March,
1830, after fifteen days' tedious and heavy travel, they arrived at John
Hanks's house, four miles north-west of Decatur. Lincoln settled (if
any thing he did may be called settling) at a point ten miles west of
Decatur. Here John Hanks had cut some logs in 1829, which he now gave
to Lincoln to build a house with. With the aid of John, Dennis, Abe,
and Hall, a house was erected on a small bluff, on the north bank of the
north fork of the Sangamon. Abe and John took the four yoke of oxen and
"broke up" fifteen acres of land, and then split rails enough to fence
it in.

Abe was now over twenty-one. There was no "Uncle Wood to tell him that
his age was against him:" he had done something more than his duty by
his father; and, as that worthy was now again placed in a situation
where he might do well if he chose, Abe came to the conclusion that it
was time for him to begin life on his own account. It must have cost him
some pain to leave his good step-mother; but, beyond that, all the old
ties were probably broken without a single regret. From the moment
he was a free man, foot-loose, able to go where, and to do what, he
pleased, his success in those things which lay nearest his heart--that
is, public and social preferment--was astonishing to himself, as well as
to others.

It is with great pleasure that we dismiss Tom Lincoln, with his family
and fortunes, from further consideration in these pages. After Abraham
left him, he moved at least three times in search of a "healthy"
location, and finally got himself fixed near Goose Nest Prairie, in
Coles County, where he died of a disease of the kidneys, in 1851, at the
ripe old age of seventy-three. The little farm (forty acres) upon which
his days were ended, he had, with his usual improvidence, mortgaged
to the School Commissioners for two hundred dollars,--its full value.
Induced by love for his step-mother, Abraham had paid the debt, and
taken a deed for the land, "with a reservation of a life-estate therein,
to them, or the survivor of them." At the same time (1841), he gave a
helping hand to John Johnston, binding himself to convey the land to
him, or his heirs, after the death of "Thomas Lincoln and his wife,"
upon payment of the two hundred dollars, which was really advanced to
save John's mother from utter penury. No matter how much the land
might appreciate in value, John was to have it upon these terms, and no
interest was to be paid by him, "except after the death of the survivor,
as aforesaid." This, to be sure, was a great bargain for John, but he
made haste to assign his bond to another person for "fifty dollars paid
in hand."

As soon as Abraham got a little up in the world, he began to send his
step-mother money, and continued to do so until his own death; but it
is said to have "done her no good," for it only served to tempt certain
persons about her, and with whom she shared it, to continue in a life
of idleness. At the close of the Black Hawk War, Mr. Lincoln went to see
them for a few days, and afterwards, when a lawyer, making the circuits
with the courts, he visited them whenever the necessities of his
practice brought him to their neighborhood. He did his best to serve
Mrs. Lincoln and her son John, but took little notice of his father,
although he wrote him an exhortation to believe in God when he thought
he was on his death-bed.

But in regard to the relations between the family and Abe, after the
latter began to achieve fame and power, nobody can tell the truth more
clearly, or tell it in a more interesting and suggestive style, than our
friend Dennis, with whom we are now about to part forever. It will be
seen, that, when information reached the "Goose Nest Prairie" that Abe
was actually chosen President of the United States, a general itching
for public employment broke out among the Hankses, and that an equally
general disappointment was the result. Doubtless all of them had
expectations somewhat like Sancho Panza's, when he went to take the
government of his island, and John Hanks, at least, would not have been
disappointed but for the little disability which Dennis mentions in the
following extract:--

"Did Abraham Lincoln treat John D. Johnston well?" "I will say this much
about it. I think Abe done more for John than he deserved. John thought
that Abe did not do enough for the old people. They became enemies a
while on this ground. I don't want to tell all the things that I know:
it would not look well in history. I say this: Abe treated John well."

"What kind of a man was Johnston?"--"I say this much: A kinder-hearted
man never was in Coles County, Illinois, nor an honester man. I don't
say this because he was my brother-in-law: I say it, knowing it. John
did not love to work any the best. I flogged him for not working."

"Did Thomas Lincoln treat Abe cruelly?"--"He loved him. I never could
tell whether Abe loved his father very well or not. I don't think he
did, for Abe was one of those forward boys. I have seen his father
knock him down off the fence when a stranger would, ask the way to a
neighbor's house. Abe always would have the first word. The old man
loved his children."

"Did any of the Johnston family ask for office?"--"No! Thomas Johnston
went to Abe: he got this permit to take daguerrotypes in the army; this
is all, for they are all dead except John's boys. They did not ask for
any."

"Did you or John Hanks ask Lincoln for any office?"--"I say this: that
John Hanks, of Decatur, did solicit him for an Indian Agency; and John
told me that Abe as good as told him he should have one. But John could
not read or write. I think this was the reason that Abe did not give
John the place.

"As for myself, I did not ask Abe right out for an office, only this: I
would like to have the post-office in Charleston; this was my wife that
asked him. He told her that much was understood,--as much as to say that
I would get it. I did not care much about it."

"Do you think Lincoln cared much for his relations?"--"I will say this
much: when he was with us, he seemed to think a great deal of us; but I
thought sometimes it was hypocritical, but I am not sure."

Abe left the Lincoln family late in March, or early in April. He did not
go far away, but took jobs wherever he could get them, showing that he
had separated himself from the family, not merely to rove, but to
labor, and be an independent man. He made no engagement of a permanent
character during this summer: his work was all done "by the job." If he
ever split rails for Kirkpatrick, over whom he was subsequently elected
captain of a volunteer company about to enter the Black Hawk War, it
must have been at this time; but the story of his work for Kirkpatrick,
like that of his making "a crap of corn" for Mr. Brown, is probably
apocryphal.1 All this while he clung close to John Hanks, and either
worked where he did, or not far away. In the winter following, he was
employed by a Major Warrick to make rails, and walked daily three miles
to his work, and three miles back again.

     1 See Holland's Life of Lincoln, p. 40.

"After Abe got to Decatur," says John Hanks, "or rather to Macon (my
country), a man by the name of Posey came into our neighborhood, and
made a speech: it was a bad one, and I said Abe could beat it. I
turned down a box, or keg, and Abe made his speech. The other man was
a candidate. Abe wasn't. Abe beat him to death, his subject being the
navigation of the Sangamon River. The man, after the speech was through,
took Abe aside, and asked him where he had learned so much, and how he
did so well. Abe replied, stating his manner and method of reading, and
what he had read. The man encouraged Lincoln to persevere."

In February, 1831, a Mr. Denton Offutt wanted to engage John Hanks
to take a flatboat to New Orleans. John was not well disposed to the
business; but Offutt came to the house, and would take no denial; made
much of John's fame as a river-man, and at length persuaded him to
present the matter to Abe and John Johnston. He did so. The three
friends discussed the question with great earnestness: it was no slight
affair to them, for they were all young and poor. At length they agreed
to Offutt's proposition, and that agreement was the turning-point in
Abe's career. They were each to receive fifty cents a day, and the round
sum of sixty dollars divided amongst them for making the trip. These
were wages such as Abe had never received before, and might have tempted
him to a much more difficult enterprise. When he went with Gentry, the
pay was only eight dollars a month, and no such company and assistance
as he was to have now. But Offutt was lavish with his money, and
generous bargains like this ruined him a little while after.

In March, Hanks, Johnston, and Lincoln went down the Sangamon in a canoe
to Jamestown (then Judy's Ferry), five miles east of Springfield. Thence
they walked to Springfield, and found Mr. Offutt comforting himself at
"Elliott's tavern in Old Town." He had contracted to have a boat ready
at the mouth of Spring Creek, but, not looking after it himself, was, of
course, "disappointed." There was only one way out of the trouble: the
three hands must build a boat. They went to the mouth of Spring Creek,
five miles north of Springfield, and there consumed two weeks cutting
the timber from "Congress land." In the mean time, Abe walked back to
Judy's Ferry, by way of Springfield, and brought down the canoe which
they had left at the former place. The timber was hewed and scored, and
then "rafted down to Saugamon-town." At the mouth of Spring Creek
they had been compelled to walk a full mile for their meals; but at
Sangamon-town they built a shanty, and boarded themselves. "Abe was
elected cook," and performed the duties of the office much to the
satisfaction of the party. The lumber was sawed at Kirkpatrick's mill, a
mile and a half from the shanty. Laboring under many disadvantages like
this, they managed to complete and launch the boat in about four weeks
from the time of beginning.

Offutt was with the party at this point. He "was a Whig, and so was Abe;
but he (Abe) could not hear Jackson wrongfully abused, especially where
a lie and malice did the abuse." Out of this difference arose some
disputes, which served to enliven the camp, as well as to arouse Abe's
ire, and keep him in practice in the way of debate.

In those days Abe, as usual, is described as being "funny, jokey,
full of yarns, stories, and rigs;" as being "long, tall, and green,"
"frequently quoting poetry," and "reciting proselike orations." They
had their own amusements. Abe extracted a good deal of fun out of the
cooking; took his "dram" when asked to, and played "seven up" at night,
at which he made "a good game."

A juggler gave an exhibition at Sangamontown, in the upper room of Jacob
Carman's house. Abe went to it, dressed in a suit of rough blue jeans.
He had on shoes, but the trousers did not reach them by about twelve
inches; and the naked shin, which had excited John Romine's laughter
years ago in Indiana, was still exposed. Between the roundabout and
the waist of the trousers, there was another wide space uncovered;
and, considering these defects, Mr. Lincoln's attire was thought to be
somewhat inelegant, even in those times. His hat, however, was a great
improvement on <DW53>-skins and opossum. It was woollen, broad-brimmed,
and low-crowned. In this hat the "showman cooked eggs." Whilst Abe was
handing it up to him, after the man had long solicited a similar favor
from the rest of the audience, he remarked, "Mister, the reason I didn't
give you my hat before was out of respect to your eggs, not care for my
hat."

Loaded with barrel-pork, hogs, and corn, the boat set out from
Sangamontown as soon as finished. Mr. Offutt was on board to act as
his own merchant, intending to pick up additions to his cargo along the
banks of the two Illinois rivers down which he was about to pass. On the
19th of April they arrived at New Salem, a little village destined to
be the scene of the seven eventful years of Mr. Lincoln's life, which
immediately followed the conclusion of the present trip. Just below New
Salem the boat "stuck," for one night and the better part of a day on
Rutledge's mill-dam,--one end of it hanging over the dam, and the other
sunk deep in the water behind. Here was a case for Abe's ingenuity, and
he exercised it with effect. Quantities of water were being taken in at
the stern, the lading was sliding backwards, and every thing indicated
that the rude craft was in momentary danger of breaking in two, or
sinking outright. But Abe suggested some unheard-of expedient for
keeping it in place while the cargo was shifted to a borrowed boat, and
then, boring a hole in that part of the bottom extending over the dam,
he "rigged up" an equally strange piece of machinery for tilting and
holding it while the water ran out. All New Salem was assembled on
shore, watching the progress of this singular experiment,--and with one
voice affirm that Abe saved the boat; although nobody is able to tell
us precisely how.1 The adventure turned Abe's thoughts to the class of
difficulties, one of which he had just surmounted; and the result of his
reflections was "an improved method for lifting vessels over shoals."2
Offutt declared that when he got back from New Orleans, he would build a
steamboat for the navigation of the Sangamon, and make Abe the captain;
he would build it with runners for ice, and rollers for shoals and dams,
for with "Abe in command, by thunder, she'd have to go."

     1 Many persons at New Salem describe in full Abe's conduct
     on this occasion.

     2 "Occupying an ordinary and commonplace position in one of
     the show-cases in the targe hall of the Patent Office, is
     one little model which, in ages to come, will be prized as
     at once one of the most curious and one of the most sacred
     relics in that vast museum of unique and priceless things.
     This is a plain and simple model of a steamboat, roughly
     fashioned in wood, by the hand of Abraham Lincoln. It bears
     date in 1849, when the inventor was known simply as a
     successful lawyer and rising politician of Central Illinois.
     Neither his practice nor his politics took up so much of his
     time as to prevent him from giving much attention to
     contrivances which he hoped might be of benefit to the
     world, and of profit to himself.

     "The design of this invention is suggestive of one phase of
     Abraham Lincoln's early life, when he went up and down the
     Mississippi as a flat-boatman, and became familiar with some
     of the dangers and inconveniences attending the navigation
     of the Western rivers. It is an attempt to make it an easy
     matter to transport vessels over shoals and snags, and
     sawyers. The main idea is that of an apparatus resembling a
     noiseless bellows, placed on each side of the hull of the
     craft, just below the water-line, and worked by an odd but
     not complicated system of ropes, valves, and pulleys. When
     the keel of the vessel grates against the sand or
     obstruction, these bellows are to be filled with air; and,
     thus buoyed up, the ship is expected to float lightly and
     gayly over the shoal, which would otherwise have proved a
     serious interruption to her voyage.

     "The model, which is about eighteen or twenty inches long,
     and has the air of having been whittled with a knife out of
     a shingle and a cigar-box, is built without any elaboration
     or ornament, or any extra apparatus beyond that necessary to
     show the operation of buoying the steamer over the
     obstructions. Herein it differs from very many of the models
     which share with it the shelter of the immense halls of the
     Patent Office, and which are fashioned with wonderful nicety
     and exquisite finish, as if much of the labor and thought
     and affection of a lifetime had been devoted to their
     construction. This is a model of a different kind; carved as
     one might imagine a retired rail-splitter would whittle,
     strongly, but not smoothly, and evidently made with a view
     solely to convey, by the simplest possible means, to the
     minds of the patent authorities, an idea of the purpose and
     plan of the simple invention. The label on the steamer's
     deck informs us that the patent was obtained; but we do not
     learn that the navigation of the Western rivers was
     revolutionized by this quaint conception. The modest little
     model has reposed here sixteen years; and, since it found
     its resting-place here on the shelf, the shrewd inventor has
     found it his task to guide the Ship of State over shoals
     more perilous, and obstructions more obstinate, than any
     prophet dreamed of when Abraham Lincoln wrote his bold
     autograph on the prow of this miniature steamer."--
     Correspondent Boston Advertiser.

Over the dam, and in the deep pool beyond, they reloaded, and floated
down to Blue Bank, a mile above the mouth of Salt Creek, where Offutt
bought some more hogs. But the hogs were wild, and refused to be driven.
Abe again came to the rescue; and, by his advice, their eyes were sewed
up with a needle and thread, so that, if the animals fought any more,
they should do it in the dark. Abe held their heads, and John Hanks
their tails, while Offutt did the surgery. They were then thrown into a
cart, whence Abe took them, one by one, in his great arms, and deposited
them on board.

[Illustration: Mr. Lincoln as a Flatboatman 108]

From this point they sped very rapidly down the Sangamon and the
Illinois. Having constructed curious-looking sails of plank, "and
sometimes cloth," they were a "sight to see," as they "rushed through
Beardstown," where "the people came out and laughed at them." They swept
by Alton and Cairo, and other considerable places, without tying up, but
stopped at Memphis, Vicksburg, and Natchez.

In due time they arrived at New Orleans. "There it was," says John
Hanks, "we saw <DW64>s chained, maltreated, whipped, and scourged.
Lincoln saw it; his heart bled, said nothing much, was silent from
feeling, was sad, looked bad, felt bad, was thoughtful and abstracted.
I can say, knowing it, that it was on this trip that he formed his
opinions of slavery. It run its iron in him then and there,--May, 1831.
I have heard him say so often and often."

Some time in June the party took passage on a steamboat going up the
river, and remained together until they reached St. Louis, where Offutt
left them, and Abe, Hanks, and Johnston started on foot for the interior
of Illinois. At Edwardsville, twenty-five miles out, Hanks took the road
to Springfield, and Abe and Johnston took that to Coles County, where
Tom Lincoln had moved since Abraham's departure from home.

Abe never worked again in company with his friend and relative, good
old John Hanks. Here their paths separated: Abe's began to ascend the
heights, while John's continued along the common level. They were in the
Black Hawk War during the same campaign, but not in the same division.
But they corresponded, and, from 1833, met at least once a year, until
Abe was elected President. Then Abe, delighting to honor those of his
relatives who were worthy of it, invited John to go with him to see
his step-mother. John also went to the inauguration at Washington, and
tells, with pardonable pride, how he "was in his [Abe's] rooms several
times." He then retired to his old home in Macon County, until the
assassination and the great funeral, when he came to Springfield to look
in the blackened face of his old friend, and witness the last ceremonies
of his splendid burial.

Scarcely had Abe reached Coles County, and begun to think what next to
turn his hand to, when he received a visit from a famous wrestler, one
Daniel Needham, who regarded him as a growing rival, and had a fancy
to try him a fall or two. He considered himself "the best man" in the
country, and the report of Abe's achievements filled his big breast with
envious pains. His greeting was friendly and hearty, but his challenge
was rough and peremptory. Abe valued his popularity among "the boys"
too highly to decline it, and met him by public appointment in the
"greenwood," at Wabash Point, where he threw him twice with so much ease
that Needham's pride was more hurt than his body. "Lincoln," said he,
"you have thrown me twice, but you can't whip me."--"Needham," replied
Abe, "are you satisfied that I can throw you? If you are not, and must
be convinced through a threshing, I will do that, too, for your sake."
Needham had hoped that the youngster would shrink from the extremity
of a fight with the acknowledged "bully of the patch;" but finding him
willing, and at the same time magnanimously inclined to whip him solely
for his _own good_, he concluded that a bloody nose and a black
eye would be the reverse of soothing to his feelings, and therefore
surrendered the field with such grace as he could command.




CHAPTER IV.

ON the west bank of the Sangamon River, twenty miles north-west of
Springfield, a traveller on his way to Havana will ascend a bluff one
hundred feet higher than the low-water mark of the stream. On the summit
he Will find a solitary log-hut. The back-bone of the ridge is about two
hundred and fifty feet broad where it overlooks the river; but it widens
gradually as it extends westerly toward the remains of an old forest,
until it terminates in a broad expanse of meadow. On either side of this
hill, and skirting its feet north and south, run streams of water in
very deep channels, and tumble into the Sangamon almost within hearing.
The hill, or more properly the bluff, rises from the river in an almost
perpendicular ascent. "There is an old mill at the foot of the bluff,
driven by water-power. The river washes the base of the bluff for about
four hundred yards, the hill breaking off almost abruptly at the north.
The river along this line runs about due north: it strikes the bluff
coming around a sudden bend from the south-east, the river being checked
and turned by the rocky hill. The mill-dam running across the Sangamon
River just at the mill checks the rapidity of the water. It was here,
and on this dam, that Mr. Lincoln's flatboat 'stuck on the 19th of
April, 1831.' The dam is about eight feet high, and two hundred and
twenty feet long, and, as the old Sangamon rolls her turbid waters over
the dam, plunging them into the whirl and eddy beneath, the roar and
hiss of waters, like the low, continuous, distant thunder, can be
distinctly heard through the whole village, day and night, week-day and
Sunday, spring and fall, or other high-water time. The river, at the
base of the bluff, is about two hundred and fifty feet wide, the mill
using up thirty feet, leaving the dam only about two hundred and twenty
feet long."

In every direction but the West, the country is broken into hills or
bluffs, like the one we are attempting to describe, which are washed by
the river, and the several streams that empty into it in the immediate
vicinity. Looking across the river from bluff to bluff, the distance is
about a thousand yards; while here and there, on both banks, are patches
of rich alluvial bottom-lands, eight or nine hundred yards in width,
enclosed on one side by the hills, and on the other by the river.
The uplands of the eastern bank are covered with original forests of
immemorial age; and, viewed from "Salem Hill," the eye ranges over a
vast expanse of green foliage, the monotony of which is relieved by the
alternating swells and depressions of the landscape.

On the ridge of that hill, where the solitary cabin now stands, there
was a few years ago a pleasant village. How it vanished like a mist of
the morning, to what distant places its inhabitants dispersed, and what
became of the dwellings they left behind, shall be questions for the
local antiquarian. We have no concern with any part of the history,
except that part which began in the summer of 1831 and ended in
1837,--the period during which it had the honor of sheltering a man
whose enduring fame contrasts strangely with the evanescence of the
village itself.

[Illustration: Map of New Salem 115]

In 1829 James Rutledge and John Cameron built the mill on the Sangamon,
and laid off the town on the hill. The place was then called Cameron's
Mill; but in process of time, as cabins, stores, and groceries were
added, it was dignified by the name of New Salem. "I claim," says one of
the gentlemen who established the first store, "to be the explorer and
discoverer of New Salem as a business point. Mr. Hill (now dead) and
myself purchased some goods at Cincinnati, and shipped them to St.
Louis, whence I set out on a voyage of discovery on the prairies of
Illinois.... I, however, soon came across a noted character who lives in
this vicinity, by the name of Thomas Wadkins, who set forth the beauties
and other advantages of Cameron's Mill, as it was then called. I
accordingly came home with him, visited the locality, contracted for
the erection of a magnificent storehouse for the sum of fifteen dollars;
and, after passing a night in the prairie, reached St. Louis in safety.
Others soon followed."

In 1836 New Salem contained about twenty houses, inhabited by nearly
a hundred people; but in 1831 there could not have been more than
two-thirds or three-fourths that number. Many of the houses cost not
more than ten dollars, and none of them more than one hundred dollars.

When the news flew through the country that the mill-dam was broken, the
people assembled from far and near, and made a grand frolic of mending
it. In like manner, when a new settler arrived, and the word passed
around that he wanted to put up a house, everybody came in to the
"raising;" and, after behaving like the best of good Samaritans to the
new neighbor, they drank whiskey, ran foot-races, wrestled, fought, and
went home.

"I first knew this hill, or bluff," says Mr. Herndon, in his remarkable
lecture on Ann Rutledge, "as early as 1829. I have seen it in
spring-time and winter, in summer-time and fall. I have seen it in
daylight and night-time; have seen it when the sward was green, living,
and vital; and I have seen it wrapped in snow, frost, and sleet. I have
closely studied it for more than five long years....

"As I sat on the verge of the town, in presence of its ruins, I called
to mind the street running east and west through the village, the river
eastward; Green's Rocky Branch, with its hills, southward; Clary's
Grove, westerly about three miles; Petersburg northward, and Springfield
south-east; and now I cannot exclude from my memory or imagination the
forms, faces, voices, and features of those I once knew so well. In my
imagination the village perched on the hill is astir with the hum of
busy men, and the sharp, quick buzz of women; and from the country come
men and women on foot or on horseback, to see and be seen, to hear and
to be heard, to barter and exchange what they have with the merchant and
the laborer. There are Jack Armstrong and William Green, Kelso and
Jason Duncan, Alley and Carman, Hill and McNamar, Herndon and Rutledge,
Warburton and Sincho, Bale and Ellis, Abraham and Ann. Oh, what a
history!"

In those days, which in the progressive West would be called ancient
days, New Salem was in Sangamon County, with Springfield as the
county-seat. Springfield itself was still a mere village, having a
population of one thousand, or perhaps eleven hundred. The capital of
the State was yet at Vandalia, and waited for the parliamentary tact of
Abraham Lincoln and the "long nine" to bring it to Springfield. The
same influence, which, after long struggles, succeeded in removing the
capital, caused the new County of Menard to be erected out of Sangamon
in 1839, of which Petersburg was made the county-seat, and within which
is included the barren site of New Salem.

In July or August, 1831, Mr. Lincoln made his second appearance at New
Salem. He was again in company with Denton Offutt, who had collected
some goods at Beardstown, and now proposed to bring them to this place.
Mr. Lincoln undoubtedly came there in the service of Offutt, but whilst
the goods were being transported from Beardstown he seemed to be idling
about without any special object in view. Many persons who saw him then
for the first time speak of him as "doing nothing." He has given some
encouragement to this idea himself by the manner in which he habitually
spoke of his advent there,--describing himself as coming down the river
after the winter of the deep snow, like a piece of "floating driftwood"
borne along by the freshet, and accidentally lodged at New Salem.

On the day of the election, in the month of August, as Minter Graham,
the school-teacher, tells us, Abe was seen loitering about the
polling-place. It must have been but a few days after his arrival in the
town, for nobody knew that he could write. They were "short of a clerk"
at the polls; and, after casting about in vain for some one competent to
fill the office, it occurred to one of the judges that perhaps the tall
stranger possessed the needful qualifications. He thereupon accosted
him, and asked if he could write. He replied, "Yes, a little."--"Will
you act as clerk of the election today?" said the judge. "I will try,"
returned Abe, "and do the best I can, if you so request." He did try
accordingly, and, in the language of the schoolmaster, "performed the
duties with great facility, much fairness and honesty and impartiality.
This was the first public official act of his life. I clerked with him,"
says Mr. Graham, swelling with his theme, "on the same day and at the
same polls. The election-books are now in the city of Springfield, Ill.,
where they can be seen and inspected any day."

Whilst Abe was "doing nothing," or, in other words, waiting for Offutt's
goods, one Dr. Nelson, a resident of New Salem, built a flatboat, and,
placing his family and effects upon it, started for Texas. But as the
Sangamon was a turbulent and treacherous stream at best, and its banks
were now full to overflowing, Nelson needed a pilot, at least as far as
Beardstown.

His choice fell upon Abe, who took him to the mouth of the doubtful
river in safety, although Abe often declared that he occasionally ran
out into the prairie at least three miles from the channel. Arriving at
Beardstown, Nelson pushed on down the Illinois, and Abe walked back to
New Salem.

The second storekeeper at New Salem was a Mr. George Warburton; but,
"the country not having improved his morals in the estimation of his
friends," George thought it advisable to transfer his storeroom and the
remnant of his stock to Offutt. In the mean time, Offutt's long-expected
goods were received from Beardstown. Abe unpacked them, ranged them on
the shelves, rolled the barrels and kegs into their places, and,
being provided with a brand-new book, pen, and ink, found himself duly
installed as "first clerk" of the principal mercantile house in
New Salem. A country store is an indescribable collection of
miscellanies,--groceries, drygoods, hardware, earthenware, and
stoneware, cups and saucers, plates and dishes, coffee and tea, sugar
and molasses, boots and shoes, whiskey and lead, butter and eggs,
tobacco and gunpowder, with an endless list of things unimaginable
except by a housewife or a "merchant." Such was the store to the charge
of which Abe was now promoted,--promoted from the rank of a common
laborer to be a sort of brevet clerk.

But Offutt's ideas of commerce were very comprehensive; and, as "his
business was already considerably scattered about the country," he
thought he would scatter a little more. He therefore rented the mill
at the foot of the hill, from Cameron and Rutledge, and set Abe to
overlooking that as well as the store. This increase of business,
however, required another clerk, and in a few days Abe was given a
companion in the person of W. G. Green. They slept together on the same
cot in the store; and as Mr. Green observes, by way of indicating the
great intimacy that subsisted between them, "when one turned over, the
other had to do so likewise." To complete his domestic arrangements, Abe
followed the example of Mr. Offutt, and took boarding at John Cameron's,
one of the owners of the mill.

Mr. Offutt is variously, though not differently, described as a "wild,
harum-scarum, reckless fellow;" a "gusty, windy, brain-rattling man;"
a "noisy, unsteady, fussy, rattlebrained man, wild and improvident."
If anybody can imagine the character indicated by these terms, he can
imagine Mr. Offutt,--Abe's employer, friend, and patron. Since the trip
on the flatboat, his admiration for Abe had grown to be boundless. He
now declared that "Abe knew more than any man in the United States;"
that "he would some day be President of the United States," and that he
could, at that present moment, outrun, whip, or throw down any man in
Sangamon County. These loud boasts were not wasted on the desert air:
they were bad seed sown in a rank soil, and speedily raised up a crop
of sharp thorns for both Abe and Offutt. At New Salem, honors such as
Offutt accorded to Abe were to be won before they were worn.

Bill Clary made light of Offutt's opinion respecting Abe's prowess;
and one day, when the dispute between them had been running high in the
store, it ended by a bet of ten dollars on the part of Clary that
Jack Armstrong was "a better man." Now, "Jack was a powerful twister,"
"square built, and strong as an ox." He had, besides, a great backing;
for he was the chief of the "Clary's Grove boys," and the Clary's Grove
boys were the terror of the countryside. Although there never was under
the sun a more generous parcel of ruffians than those over whom
Jack held sway, a stranger's introduction was likely to be the most
unpleasant part of his acquaintance with them. In fact, one of the
objects of their association was to "initiate or naturalize new-comers,"
as they termed the amiable proceedings which they took by way of
welcoming any one ambitious of admittance to the society of New Salem.
They first bantered the gentleman to run a foot-race, jump, pitch the
mall, or wrestle; and, if none of these propositions seemed agreeable
to him, they would request to know what he would do in case another
gentleman should pull his nose, or squirt tobacco-juice in his face. If
he did not seem entirely decided in his views as to what should properly
be done in such a contingency, perhaps he would be nailed in a hogshead,
and rolled down New-Salem hill; perhaps his ideas would be brightened by
a brief ducking in the Sangamon; or perhaps he would be scoffed, kicked,
and cuffed by a great number of persons in concert, until he reached the
confines of the village, and then turned adrift as being unfit company
for the people of that settlement. If, however, the stranger consented
to engage in a tussle with one of his persecutors, it was usually
arranged that there should be "foul play," with nameless impositions
and insults, which would inevitably change the affair into a fight; and
then, if the subject of all these practices proved indeed to be a man
of mettle, he would be promptly received into "good society," and in all
probability would never have better friends on earth than the roystering
fellows who had contrived his torments.

Thus far Abe had managed to escape "initiation" at the hands of Jack
and his associates. They were disposed to like him, and to take him on
faith, or at least to require no further evidence of his manhood than
that which rumor had already brought them. Offutt, with his busy tongue,
had spread wide the report of his wondrous doings on the river; and,
better still, all New Salem, including many of the "Clary's Grove boys,"
had witnessed his extraordinary feats of strength and ingenuity
at Rutledge's mill-dam. It was clear that no particular person was
"spoiling" for a collision with him; and an exception to the rule might
have been made in his favor, but for the offensive zeal and confidence
of his employer.

The example of Offutt and Clary was followed by all the "boys;" and
money, knives, whiskey, and all manner of things, were staked on the
result of the wrestle. The little community was excited throughout, and
Jack's partisans were present in great numbers; while Offutt and Bill
Green were about the only persons upon whom Abe could rely if the
contest should take the usual turn, and end in a fight. For these, and
many other reasons, he longed to be safely and honorably out of the
scrape; but Offutt's folly had made it impossible for him to evade the
conflict without incurring the imputation, and suffering the penalties,
of cowardice. He said, "I never tussle and scuffle, and I will not: I
don't like this wooling and pulling." But these scruples only served
to aggravate his case; and he was at last forced to take hold of Jack,
which he did with a will and power that amazed the fellows who had at
last baited him to the point of indignation. They took "side holds," and
stood struggling, each with tremendous but equal strength, for several
minutes, without any perceptible advantage to either. New trips
or unexpected twists were of no avail between two such experienced
wrestlers as these. Presently Abe profited by his height and the length
of his arms to lift Jack clear off the ground, and, swinging him about,
thought to land him on his back; but this feat was as futile as the
rest, and left Jack standing as square and as firm as ever. "Now, Jack,"
said Abe, "let's quit: you can't throw me, and I can't throw you." But
Jack's partisans, regarding this overture as a signal of the enemy's
distress, and being covetous of jack-knives, whiskey, and "smooth
quarters," cheered him on to greater exertions. Rendered desperate by
these expectations of his friends, and now enraged at meeting more than
his match, Jack resolved on "a foul," and, breaking holds, he essayed
the unfair and disreputable expedient of "legging." But at this Abe's
prudence deserted him, and righteous wrath rose to the ascendent. The
astonished spectators saw him take their great bully by the throat, and,
holding him out at arm's-length, shake him like a child. Then a score
or two of the boys cried "Fight!" Bill Clary claimed the stakes, and
Offutt, in the fright and confusion, was about to yield them; but
"Lincoln said they had not won the money, and they should not have it;
and, although he was opposed to fighting, if nothing else would do
them, he would fight Armstrong, Clary, or any of the set." Just at this
juncture James Rutledge, the original proprietor of New Salem, and a
man of some authority, "rushed into the crowd," and exerted himself to
maintain the peace. He succeeded; but for a few moments a general fight
was impending, and Abe was seen with his back against Offutt's store
"undismayed" and "resolute," although surrounded by enemies.1

     1 Of the fight and what followed, we have the particulars
     from many persons who were witnesses.

Jack Armstrong was no bad fellow, after all. A sort of Western John
Browdie, stout and rough, but great-hearted, honest, and true: his big
hand, his cabin, his table, and his purse were all at the disposal of
a friend in need. He possessed a rude sense of justice, and felt an
incredible respect for a man who would stand single-handed, stanch, and
defiant, in the midst of persecutors and foes. He had never disliked
Abe, and had, in fact, looked for very clever things from him, even
before his title to respectability had been made so incontestably clear;
but his exhibition of pluck and muscle on this occasion excited Jack to
a degree of admiration far beyond his power to conceal it. Abe's hand
was hardly removed from his throat, when he was ready to grasp it in
friendship, and swear brotherhood and peace between them. He declared
him, on the spot, "the best fellow that ever broke into their
settlement;" and henceforth the empire was divided, and Jack and Abe
reigned like two friendly Caesars over the roughs and bullies of New
Salem. If there were ever any dissensions between them, it was because
Jack, in the abundance of his animal spirits, was sometimes inclined
to be an oppressor, whilst Abe was ever merciful and kind; because Jack
would occasionally incite the "boys" to handle a stranger, a witless
braggart, or a poor drunkard with a harshness that shocked the just and
humane temper of his friend, who was always found on the side of the
weak and the unfortunate. On the whole, however, the harmony that
subsisted between them was wonderful. Wherever Lincoln worked, Jack "did
his loafing;" and, when Lincoln was out of work, he spent days and weeks
together at Jack's cabin, where Jack's jolly wife, "old Hannah," stuffed
him with bread and honey, laughed at his ugliness, and loved him for his
goodness.

Abe rapidly grew in favor with the people in and around New Salem, until
nearly everybody thought quite as much of him as Mr. Offutt did. He was
decidedly the most popular man that ever lived there. He could do more
to quell a riot, compromise a feud; and keep peace among the neighbors
generally, than any one else; and these were of the class of duties
which it appears to have been the most agreeable for him to perform. One
day a strange man came into the settlement, and was straightway beset
by the same fellows who had meditated a drubbing for Abe himself. Jack
Armstrong, of course, "had a difficulty with him;" "called him a liar,
coward," and various other names not proper for print; but the man,
finding himself taken at a disadvantage, "backed up to a woodpile," got
a stick, and "struck Jack a blow that brought him to the ground." Being
"as strong as two men, Jack wanted to whip the man badly," but Abe
interfered, and, managing to have himself made "arbitrator," compromised
the difficulty by a practical application of the golden rule. "Well,
Jack," said he, "what did you say to the man?" Whereupon Jack repeated
his words. "Well, Jack," replied Abe, "if you were a stranger in a
strange place, as this man is, and you were called a d--d liar, &c.,
what would you do?"--"Whip him, by God!"--"Then this man has done no
more to you than you would have done to him."--"Well, Abe," said the
honest bruiser, "it's all right," and, taking his opponent by the hand,
forgave him heartily, and "treated." Jack always treated his victim when
he thought he had been too hard upon him.

Abe's duties in Offutt's store were not of a character to monopolize
the whole of his time,1 and he soon began to think that here was a fine
opportunity to remedy some of the defects in his education.

     1 "During the time he was working for Offutt, and hands
     being scarce, Lincoln turned In and cut down trees, and
     split enough rails for Offutt to make a pen sufficiently
     large to contain a thousand hogs. The pen was built under
     New Salem hill, close to the mill.... I know where those
     rails are now; are sound to-day."--Minter Graham

He could read, write, and cipher as well as most men; but as his
popularity was growing daily, and his ambition keeping pace, he feared
that he might shortly be called to act in some public capacity which
would require him to speak his own language with some regard to the
rules of the grammar,--of which, according to his own confession,
he knew nothing at all. He carried his troubles to the schoolmaster,
saying, "I have a notion to study English grammar."--"If you expect to
go before the public in any capacity," replied Mr. Graham, "I think it
the best thing you can do."--"If I had a grammar," replied Abe, "I would
commence now." There was no grammar to be had about New Salem; but the
schoolmaster, having kept the run of that species of property, gladdened
Abe's heart by telling him that he knew where there was one. Abe rose
from the breakfast at which he was sitting, and learning that the book
was at Vaner's, only six miles distant, set off after it as hard as
he could tramp. It seemed to Mr. Graham a very little while until he
returned and announced, with great pleasure, that he had it. "He then
turned his immediate and most undivided attention" to the study of it.
Sometimes, when business was not particularly brisk, he would lie under
a shade-tree in front of the store, and pore over the book; at other
times a customer would find him stretched on the counter intently
engaged in the same way. But the store was a bad place for study; and he
was often seen quietly slipping out of the village, as if he wished to
avoid observation, when, if successful in getting off alone, he would
spend hours in the woods, "mastering a book," or in a state of profound
abstraction. He kept up his old habit of sitting up late at night; but,
as lights were as necessary to his purpose as they were expensive, the
village cooper permitted him to sit in his shop, where he burnt the
shavings, and kept a blazing fire to read by, when every one else was in
bed. The Greens lent him books; the schoolmaster gave him instructions
in the store, on the road, or in the meadows: every visitor to New Salem
who made the least pretension to scholarship was waylaid by Abe, and
required to explain something which he could not understand. The result
of it all was, that the village and the surrounding country wondered at
his growth in knowledge, and he soon became as famous for the goodness
of his understanding as for the muscular power of his body, and the
unfailing humor of his talk.

Early in the spring of 1832, some enterprising gentlemen at Springfield
determined to try whether the Sangamon was a navigable stream or not. It
was a momentous question to the dwellers along the banks; and, when the
steamboat "Talisman" was chartered to make the experiment, the popular
excitement was intense, and her passage up and down was witnessed by
great concourses of people on either bank. It was thought that Abe's
experience on this particular river would render his assistance
very valuable; and, in company with some others, he was sent down to
Beardstown, to meet the "Talisman," and pilot her up. With Abe at the
helm, she ran with comparative ease and safety as far as the New-Salem
dam, a part of which they were compelled to tear away in order to let
the steamer through. Thence she went on as high as Bogue's mill; but,
having reached that point, the rapidly-falling water admonished her
captain and pilots, that, unless they wished her to be left there for
the season, they must promptly turn her prow down stream. For some time,
on the return trip, she made not more than three or four miles a day,
"on account of the high wind from the prairie." "I was sent for, being
an old boatman," says J. R. Herndon, "and I met her some twelve or
thirteen miles above New Salem.... We got to Salem the second day after
I went on board. When we struck the dam, she hung. We then backed off,
and threw the anchor over the dam, and tore away a part of the dam, and,
raising steam, ran her over the first trial. As soon as she was over,
the company that chartered her was done with her. I think the captain
gave Mr. Lincoln forty dollars to run her down to Beardstown. I am sure
I got forty dollars to continue on her until we landed at Beardstown. We
that went down with her walked back to New Salem."




CHAPTER V.

IN the spring of 1832, Mr. Offutt's business had gone to ruin: the store
was sold out, the mill was handed over to its owners, Mr. Offutt himself
departed for parts unknown, and his "head clerk" was again out of work.
Just about that time a governor's proclamation arrived, calling for
volunteers to meet the famous chief Black Hawk and his warriors, who
were preparing for a grand, and, in all likelihood, a bloody foray, into
their old hunting-grounds in the Rock-river country.

[Illustration: Black Hawk, Indian Chief 128]

Black Hawk was a large Indian, of powerful frame and commanding
presence. He was a soldier and a statesman. The history of his diplomacy
with the tribes he sought to confederate shows that he expected to
realize on a smaller scale the splendid plans of Pontiac and Tecumseh.
In his own tongue he was eloquent, and dreamed dreams which, amongst the
Indians, passed for prophecy. The prophet is an indispensable personage
in any comprehensive scheme of Indian politics, and no chief has ever
effected a combination of formidable strength without his aid. In the
person of Black Hawk, the chief and the prophet were one. His power in
both capacities was bent toward a single end,--the great purpose of his
life,--the recovery of his birthplace and the ancient home of his people
from the possession of the stranger.

Black Hawk was born on the Rock River in Wisconsin, in the year 1767.
His grandfather lived near Montreal, whence his father Pyesa had
emigrated, but not until he had become thoroughly British in his views
and feelings. All his life long he made annual journeys to the councils
of the tribes at Malden, where the gifts and persuasions of British
agents confirmed him in his inclination to the British interests. When
Pyesa was gathered to his fathers, his son took his place as the chief
of the Sacs, hated the Americans, loved the friendly English, and went
yearly to Malden, precisely as he thought Pyesa would have had him do.
But Black Hawk's mind was infinitely superior to Pyesa's: his sentiments
were loftier, his heart more susceptible; he had the gift of the seer,
the power of the orator, with the high courage and the profound policy
of a born warrior and a natural ruler. He "had brooded over the early
history of his tribe; and to his views, as he looked down the vista of
years, the former times seemed so much better than the present, that the
vision wrought upon his susceptible imagination, which pictured it to be
the Indian golden age. He had some remembrance of a treaty made by Gen.
Harrison in 1804, to which his people had given their assent; and his
feelings were with difficulty controlled, when he was required to leave
the Rock-river Valley, in compliance with a treaty made with Gen. Scott.
That valley, however, he peacefully abandoned with his tribe, on being
notified, and went to the west of the Mississippi; but he had spent
his youth in that locality, and the more he thought of it, the more
determined he was to return thither. He readily enlisted the sympathies
of the Indians, who are ever prone to ponder on their real or imaginary
wrongs; and it may be readily conjectured that what Indian counsel could
not accomplish, Indian prophecy would."1 He had moved when summoned to
move, because he was then unprepared to fight; but he utterly denied
that the chiefs who seemed to have ceded the lands long years before had
any right to cede them, or that the tribe had ever willingly given up
the country to the stranger and the aggressor. It was a fraud upon the
simple Indians: the old treaty was a great lie, and the signatures
it purported to have, made with marks and primitive devices, were not
attached in good faith, and were not the names of honest Sacs. No: he
would go over the river, he would have his own; the voice of the Great
Spirit was in the air wherever he went; it was in his lodge through all
the night-time, and it said "Go;" and Black Hawk must needs rise up and
tell the people what the voice said.

     1 Schoolcraft's History of the Indian Tribes.

It was by such arguments as these that Black Hawk easily persuaded the
Sacs. But hostilities by the Sacs alone would be a hopeless adventure.
He must find allies. He looked first to their kindred, the Foxes, who
had precisely the same cause of war with the Sacs, and after them to the
Winnebagoes, Sioux, Kickapoos, and many others. That Black Hawk was
a wise and valiant leader, all the Indians conceded; and his proposals
were heard by some of the tribes with eagerness, and by all of them with
respect. At one time his confederacy embraced nine tribes,--the most
formidable in the North-west, if we exclude the Sioux and the Chippewas,
who were themselves inclined to accede. Early in 1831, the first chief
of the Chippewas exhibited a miniature tomahawk, red with vermilion,
which, having been accepted from Black Hawk, signified an alliance
between them; and away up at Leech. Lake, an obscure but numerous band
showed some whites a few British medals painted in imitation of blood,
which meant that they were to follow the war-paths of Black Hawk.

In 1831 Black Hawk had crossed the river in small force, but had retired
before the advance of Gen. Gaines, commanding the United States post at
Rock Island. He then promised to remain on the other side, and to keep
quiet for the future. But early in the spring of 1832 he re-appeared
with greater numbers, pushed straight into the Rock-river Valley, and
said he had "come to plant corn." He was now sixty-seven years of age:
he thought his great plots were all ripe, and his allies fast and true.
They would fight a few bloody battles, and then he would sit down in his
old age and see the corn grow where he had seen it in his youth. But the
old chief reckoned too much upon Indian fidelity: he committed the fatal
error of trusting to their patriotism instead of their interests. Gen.
Atkinson, now in command at Rock Island, set the troops in motion: the
governor issued his call for volunteers; and, as the Indians by this
time had committed some frightful barbarities, the blood of the settlers
was boiling, and the regiments were almost instantly filled with the
best possible material. So soon as these facts became known, the allies
of Black Hawk, both the secret and the open, fell away from him, and
left him, with the Sacs and the Foxes, to meet his fate.

In the mean time Lincoln had enlisted in a company from Sangamon. He had
not been out in the campaign of the previous year, but told his friend
Row Herndon, that, if he had not been down the river with Offutt,
he would certainly have been with the boys in the field. But,
notwithstanding his want of military experience, his popularity was
so great, that he had been elected captain of a militia company on the
occasion of a muster at Clary's Grove the fall before. He was absent at
the time, but thankfully accepted and served. Very much to his surprise,
his friends put him up for the captaincy of this company about to enter
active service. They did not organize at home, however, but marched
first to Beardstown, and then to Rushville in Schuyler County, where the
election took place. Bill Kirkpatrick was a candidate against Lincoln,
but made a very sorry showing. It has been said that Lincoln once worked
for Kirkpatrick as a common laborer, and suffered some indignities
at his hands; but the story as a whole is supported by no credible
testimony. It is certain, however, that the planks for the boat built by
Abe and his friends at the mouth of Spring Creek were sawed at the mill
of a Mr. Kirkpatrick. It was then, likely enough, that Abe fell in the
way of this man, and learned to dislike him. At all events, when he had
distanced Kirkpatrick, and was chosen his captain by the suffrages of
men who had been intimate with Kirkpatrick long before they had ever
heard of Abe, he spoke of him spitefully, and referred in no gentle
terms to some old dispute. "Damn him," said he to Green, "I've beat him:
he used me badly in our settlement for my toil."

Capt. Lincoln now made a very modest speech to his comrades, reciting
the exceeding gratification their partiality afforded him, how
undeserved he thought it, and how wholly unexpected it was. In
conclusion, "he promised very plainly that he would do the best he could
to prove himself worthy of that confidence."

The troops rendezvoused at Beardstown and Rushville were formed into
four regiments and a spy battalion. Capt. Lincoln's company was attached
to the regiment of Col. Samuel Thompson. The whole force was placed
under the command of Gen. Whiteside, who was accompanied throughout the
campaign by the governor in person.

On the 27th of April, the army marched toward the mouth of Rock River,
by way of Oquaka on the Mississippi. The route was one of difficulty and
danger, a great part of it lying through a country largely occupied
by the enemy. The men were raw, and restive under discipline. In the
beginning they had no more respect for the "rules and regulations" than
for Solomon's Proverbs, or the Westminster Confession. Capt. Lincoln's
company is said to have been a particularly "hard set of men," who
recognized no power but his. They were fighting men, and but for his
personal authority would have kept the camp in a perpetual uproar.

At the crossing of Henderson River,--a stream about fifty yards wide,
and eight or ten feet deep, with very precipitous banks,--they were
compelled to make a bridge or causeway with timbers cut by the troops,
and a filling-in of bushes, earth, or any other available material. This
was the work of a day and night. Upon its completion, the horses and
oxen were taken from the wagons, and the latter taken over by hand. But,
when the horses came to cross, many of them were killed in sliding down
the steep banks. "While in camp here," says a private in Capt. Lincoln's
company, "a general order was issued prohibiting the discharge of
fire-arms within fifty steps of the camp. Capt. Lincoln disobeyed the
order by firing his pistol within ten steps of the camp, and for this
violation of orders was put under arrest for that day, and his sword
taken from him; but the next day his sword was restored, and nothing
more was done in the matter."

From Henderson River the troops marched to Yellow Banks, on the
Mississippi. "While at this place," Mr. Ben F. Irwin says, "a
considerable body of Indians of the Cherokee tribe came across the river
from the Iowa side, with the white flag hoisted. These were the
first Indians we saw. They were very friendly, and gave us a general
war-dance. We, in return, gave them a Sucker ho-down. All enjoyed the
sport, and it is safe to say no man enjoyed it more than Capt. Lincoln."

From Yellow Banks, a rapid and exhaustive march of a few days brought
the volunteers to the mouth of Rock River, where "it was agreed between
Gen. Whiteside and Gen. Atkinson of the regulars, that the volunteers
should march up Rock River, about fifty miles, to the Prophet's Town,
and there encamp, to feed and rest their horses, and await the arrival
of the regular troops, in keel-boats, with provisions. Judge William
Thomas, who again acted as quartermaster to the volunteers, made an
estimate of the amount of provisions required until the boats could
arrive, which was supplied; and then Gen. Whiteside took up his line
of march." 1 But Capt. Lincoln's company did not march on the present
occasion with the alacrity which distinguished their comrades of other
corps. The orderly sergeant attempted to "form company," but the company
declined to be formed; the men, oblivious of wars and rumors of wars,
mocked at the word of command, and remained between their blankets in
a state of serene repose. For an explanation of these signs of passive
mutiny, we must resort again to the manuscript of the private who gave
the story of Capt. Lincoln's first arrest. "About the--of April, we
reached the mouth of Rock River. About three or four nights afterwards,
a man named Rial P. Green, commonly called 'Pot Green,' belonging to
a Green-county company, came to oar company, and waked up the men, and
proposed to them, that, if they would furnish him with a tomahawk and
four buckets, he would get into the officers' liquors, and supply the
men with wines and brandies. The desired articles were furnished him;
and, with the assistance of one of our company, he procured the liquors.
All this was entirely unknown to Capt. Lincoln. In the morning. Capt.
Lincoln ordered his orderly to form company for parade; but when the
orderly called the men to 'parade,' they called 'parade,' too, but
couldn't fall into line. The most of the men were unmistakably drunk.
The rest of the forces marched off, and left Capt. Lincoln's company
behind. The company didn't make a start until about ten o'clock, and
then, after marching about two miles, the drunken ones lay down and
slept their drunk off. They overtook the forces that night. Capt.
Lincoln was again put under arrest, and was obliged to carry a wooden
sword for two days, and this although Capt. Lincoln was entirely
blameless in the matter."

     1 Ford's History of Illinois, chap. iv.

When Gen. Whiteside reached Prophetstown, where he was to rest until
the arrival of the regulars and the supplies, he disregarded the plan of
operations concerted between him and Atkinson, and, burning the village
to the ground, pushed on towards Dixon's Ferry, forty miles farther up
the river. Nearing that place, he left his baggage-wagons behind: the
men threw away their allotments of provisions, or left them with the
wagons; and in that condition a forced march was made to Dixon. There
Whiteside found two battalions of mounted men under Majors Stillman and
Bailey, who clamored to be thrown forward, where they might get up an
independent but glorious "brush" with the enemy on comparatively private
account. The general had it not in his heart to deny these adventurous
spirits, and they were promptly advanced to feel and disclose the Indian
force supposed to be near at hand. Stillman accordingly moved up the
bank of "Old Man's Creek" (since called "Stillman's Run"), to a point
about twenty miles from Dixon, where, just before nightfall, he went
into camp, or was about to do so, when several Indians were seen
hovering along some raised ground nearly a mile distant. Straightway
Stillman's gallant fellows remounted, one by one, or two and two, and,
without officers or orders, galloped away in pursuit. The Indians first
shook a red flag, and then dashed off at the top of their speed. Three
of them were overtaken and killed: but the rest performed with perfect
skill the errand upon which they were sent; they led Stillman's command
into an ambuscade, where lay Black Hawk himself with seven hundred of
his warriors. The pursuers recoiled, and rode for their lives: Black
Hawk bore down upon Stillman's camp; the fugitives, streaming back with
fearful cries respecting the numbers and ferocity of the enemy, spread
consternation through the entire force. Stillman gave a hasty order
to fall back; and the men fell back much faster and farther than he
intended, for they never faced about, or so much as stopped, until they
reached Whiteside's camp at Dixon. The first of them reached Dixon about
twelve o'clock; and others came straggling in all night long and part of
the next day, each party announcing themselves as the sole survivors
of that stricken field, escaped solely by the exercise of miraculous
valor.1

     1 "It is said that a big, tall Kentuckian, with a very loud
     voice, who was a colonel of the militia, but a private with
     Stillman, upon his arrival in camp, gave to Gen. Whiteside
     and the wondering multitude the following glowing and
     bombastic account of the battle. 'Sirs,' said he, 'our
     detachment was encamped amongst some scattering timber on
     the north side of Old Man's Creek, with the prairie from the
     north gently sloping down to our encampment. It was just
     after twilight, in the gloaming of the evening, when we
     discovered Black Hawk's army coming down upon us in solid
     column: they displayed in the form of a crescent upon the
     brow of the prairie, and such accuracy and precision of
     military movements were never witnessed by man; they were
     equal to the best troops of Wellington in Spain. I have said
     that the Indians came down in solid column, and displayed in
     the form of a crescent; and, what was most wonderful, there
     were large squares of cavalry resting upon the points of the
     curve, which squares were supported again by other columns
     fifteen deep, extending back through the woods, and over a
     swamp three-quarters of a mile, which again rested upon the
     main body of Black Hawk's army bivouacked upon the banks of
     the Kishwakee. It was a terrible and a glorious sight to see
     the tawny warriors as they rode along our flanks attempting
     to outflank us with the glittering moonbeams glistening from
     their polished blades and burnished spears. It was a sight
     well calculated to strike consternation into the stoutest
     and boldest heart; and accordingly our men soon began to
     break in small squads for tall timber. In a very little time
     the rout became general. The Indians were on our flanks, and
     threatened the destruction of the entire detachment. About
     this time Major Stillman, Col. Stephenson, Major Perkins,
     Capt. Adams, Mr. Hackelton, and myself, with some others,
     threw ourselves into the rear to rally the fugitives and
     protect the retreat. But in A short time all my companions
     fell, bravely fighting hand to hand with the savage enemy,
     and I alone was left upon the field of battle. About this
     time I discovered not far to the left, a corps of horsemen
     which seemed to be in tolerable order. I immediately
     deployed to the left, when, leaning down and placing my body
     in a recumbent posture upon the mane of my horse, so as to
     bring the heads of the horsemen between my eye and the
     horizon, I discovered by the light of the moon that they
     were gentlemen who did not wear hats, by which token I knew
     they were no friends of mine. I therefore made a retrograde
     movement, and recovered my former position, where I remained
     some time, meditating what further I could do in the service
     of my country, when a random ball came whistling by my ear,
     and plainly whispered to me, "Stranger, you have no further
     business here." Upon hearing this, I followed the example of
     my companions in arms, and broke for tall timber, and the
     way I run was not a little, and quit.'

     "This colonel was a lawyer just returning from the circuit,
     with a slight wardrobe and 'Chitty's Pleadings' packed in
     his saddle-bags, all of which were captured by the Indians.
     He afterwards related, with much vexation, that Black Hawk
     had decked himself out in his finery, appearing in the woods
     amongst his savage companions dressed in one of the
     colonel's ruffled shirts drawn over his deer-skin leggings,
     with a volume of 'Chitty's Pleadings' under each arm."--
     Ford's History of Illinois.

The affair is known to history as "Stillman's Defeat." "Old John Hanks"
was in it, and speaks of it with shame and indignation, attributing the
disaster to "drunken men, cowardice, and folly," though in this case
we should be slow to adopt his opinion. Of folly, there was, no doubt,
enough, both on the part of Whiteside and Stillman; but of drunkenness
no public account makes any mention, and individual cowardice is never
to be imputed to American troops. These men were as brave as any that
ever wore a uniform, and some of them performed good service afterwards;
but when they went into this action, they were "raw militia,"--a mere
mob; and no mob can stand against discipline, even though it be but the
discipline of the savage.

The next day Whiteside moved with all possible celerity to the field
of Stillman's disaster, and, finding no enemy, was forced to content
himself with the melancholy duty of burying the mutilated and unsightly
remains of the dead. All of them were scalped; some had their heads cut
off, others had their throats cut, and others still were mangled and
dishonored in ways too shocking to be told.

The army was now suffering for want of provisions. The folly of the
commander in casting off his baggage-train for the forced march on
Dixon, the extravagance and improvidence of the men with their scanty
rations, had exhausted the resources of the quartermasters, and, "except
in the messes of the most careful and experienced," the camp was nearly
destitute of food. "The majority had been living on parched corn and
coffee for two or three days;" but, on the morning of the last march
from Dixon, Quartermaster Thomas had succeeded in getting a little fresh
beef from the only white inhabitant of that country, and this the men
were glad to eat without bread. "I can truly say I was often hungry,"
said Capt. Lincoln, reviewing the events of this campaign. He was,
doubtless, as destitute and wretched as the rest, but he was patient,
quiet, and resolute. Hunger brought with it a discontented and mutinous
spirit. The men complained bitterly of all they had been made to endure,
and clamored loudly for a general discharge. But Capt. Lincoln kept
the "even tenor of his way;" and, when his regiment was disbanded,
immediately enlisted as a private soldier in another company.

From the battle-field Whiteside returned to his old camp at Dixon, but
determined, before doing so, to make one more attempt to retrieve his
ill-fortune. Black Hawk's pirogues were supposed to be lying a few miles
distant, in a bend of the Rock River; and the capture of these would
serve as some relief to the dreary series of errors and miscarriages
which had hitherto marked the campaign. But Black Hawk had just been
teaching him strategy in the most effective mode, and the present
movement was undertaken with an excess of caution almost as ludicrous as
Stillman's bravado. "To provide as well as might be against danger, one
man was started at a time in the direction of the point. When he would
get a certain distance, keeping in sight, a second would start, and so
on, until a string of men extending five miles from the main army was
made, each to look out for Indians, and give the sign to right, left, or
front, by hanging a hat on a bayonet,--erect for the front, and right or
left, as the case might be. To raise men to go ahead was with difficulty
done, and some tried hard to drop back; but we got through safe, and
found the place deserted, leaving plenty of Indian signs,--a dead dog
and several scalps taken in Stillman's defeat, as we supposed them
to have been taken." After this, the last of Gen. Whiteside's futile
attempts, he returned to the battle-field, and thence to Dixon, where
he was joined by Atkinson with the regulars and the long-coveted and
much-needed supplies.

One day, during these many marches and countermarches, an old Indian
found his way into the camp, weary, hungry, and helpless. He professed
to be a friend of the whites; and, although it was an exceedingly
perilous experiment for one of his color, he ventured to throw himself
upon the mercy of the soldiers. But the men first murmured, and then
broke out into fierce cries for his blood. "We have come out to fight
the Indians," said they, "and by God we intend to do it!" The poor
Indian, now, in the extremity of his distress and peril, did what he
ought to have done before: he threw down before his assailants a soiled
and crumpled paper, which he implored them to read before his life was
taken. It was a letter of character and safe-conduct from Gen. Cass,
pronouncing him a faithful man, who had done good service in the cause
for which this army was enlisted. But it was too late: the men refused
to read it, or thought it a forgery, and were rushing with fury upon
the defenceless old savage, when Capt. Lincoln bounded between them
and their appointed victim. "Men," said he, and his voice for a moment
stilled the agitation around him, "_this must not be done: he must not
be shot and killed by us._"--"But," said some of them, "the Indian is a
damned spy." Lincoln knew that his own life was now in only less danger
than that of the poor creature that crouched behind him. During the
whole of this scene Capt. Lincoln seemed to "rise to an unusual height"
of stature. The towering form, the passion and resolution in his face,
the physical power and terrible will exhibited in every motion of his
body, every gesture of his arm, produced an effect upon the furious mob
as unexpected perhaps to him as to any one else. They paused, listened,
fell back, and then sullenly obeyed what seemed to be the voice of
reason, as well as authority. But there were still some murmurs of
disappointed rage, and half-suppressed exclamations, which looked
towards vengeance of some kind. At length one of the men, a little
bolder than the rest, but evidently feeling that he spoke for the whole,
cried out, "This is cowardly on your part, Lincoln!" Whereupon the tall
captain's figure stretched a few inches higher again. He looked down
upon these varlets who would have murdered a defenceless old Indian, and
now quailed before his single hand, with lofty contempt. The oldest of
his acquaintances, even Bill Green, who saw him grapple Jack Armstrong
and defy the bullies at his back, never saw him so much "aroused"
before. "If any man thinks I am a coward, let him test it," said he.
"Lincoln," responded a new voice, "you are larger and heavier than we
are."--"This you can guard against: choose your weapons," returned the
rigid captain. Whatever may be said of Mr. Lincoln's choice of means for
the preservation of military discipline, it was certainly very effectual
in this case. There was no more disaffection in his camp, and the word
"coward" was never coupled with his name again. Mr. Lincoln understood
his men better than those who would be disposed to criticise his
conduct. He has often declared himself, that his life and character were
both at stake, and would probably have been lost, had he not at that
supremely critical moment forgotten the officer and asserted the man. To
have ordered the offenders under arrest would have created a formidable
mutiny; to have tried and punished them would have been impossible. They
could scarcely be called soldiers: they were merely armed citizens, with
a nominal military organization. They were but recently enlisted, and
their term of service was just about to expire. Had he preferred charges
against them, and offered to submit their differences to a court of any
sort, it would have been regarded as an act of personal pusillanimity,
and his efficiency would have been gone forever.

Lincoln was believed to be the strongest man in his regiment, and no
doubt was. He was certainly the best wrestler in it, and after they left
Beardstown nobody ever disputed the fact. He is said to have "done the
wrestling for the company;" and one man insists that he _always_ had a
handkerchief tied around his person, in readiness for the sport. For a
while it was firmly believed that no man in the _army_ could throw him
down. His company confidently pitted him "against the field," and were
willing to bet all they had on the result. At length, one Mr. Thompson
came forward and accepted the challenge. He was, in fact, the most
famous wrestler in the Western country. It is not certain that the
report of his achievements had ever reached the ears of Mr. Lincoln or
his friends; but at any rate they eagerly made a match with him as a
champion not unworthy of their own. Thompson's power and skill, however,
were as well known to certain persons in the army as Mr. Lincoln's were
to others. Each side was absolutely certain of the victory, and bet
according to their faith. Lincoln's company and their sympathizers
put up all their portable property, and some perhaps not their own,
including "knives, blankets, tomahawks," and all the most necessary
articles of a soldier's outfit.

When the men first met, Lincoln was convinced that he could throw
Thompson; but, after tussling with him a brief space in presence of the
anxious assemblage, he turned to his friends and said, "This is the most
powerful man I ever had hold of. He will throw me, and you will lose
your all, unless I act on the defensive." He managed, nevertheless, "to
hold him off for some time;" but at last Thompson got the "crotch hoist"
on him, and, although Lincoln attempted with all his wonderful strength
to break the hold by "sliding" away, a few moments decided his fate: he
was fairly thrown. As it required two out of three falls to decide the
bets, Thompson and he immediately came together again, and with very
nearly the same result. Lincoln fell under, but the other man fell too.
There was just enough of uncertainty about it to furnish a pretext for
a hot dispute and a general fight. Accordingly, Lincoln's men instantly
began the proper preliminaries to a fracas. "We were taken by surprise,"
says Mr. Green, "and, being unwilling to give up our property and lose
our bets, got up an excuse as to the result. We declared the fall a kind
of dog-fall; did so apparently angrily." The fight was coming on apace,
and bade fair to be a big and bloody one, when Lincoln rose up and said,
"Boys, the man actually threw me once fair, broadly so; and the second
time, this very fall, he threw me fairly, though not so apparently so."
He would countenance no disturbance, and his unexpected and somewhat
astonishing magnanimity ended all attempts to raise one.

Mr. Lincoln's good friend, Mr. Green, the principal, though not the
sole authority for the present account of his adventure in behalf of the
Indian and his wrestle with Thompson, mentions one important incident
which is found in no other manuscript, and which gives us a glimpse of
Mr. Lincoln in a scene of another sort. "One other word in reference to
Mr. Lincoln's care for the health, welfare, and justice to his men. Some
officers of the United States had claimed that the regular army had a
preference in the rations and pay. Mr. Lincoln was ordered to do some
act which he deemed unauthorized. He, however, obeyed, but went to the
officer and said to him, 'Sir, you forget that we are not under the
rules and regulations of the War Department at Washington; are only
volunteers under the orders and regulations of Illinois. Keep in
your own sphere, and there will be no difficulty; but resistance will
hereafter be made to your unjust orders: and, further, my men must be
equal in all particulars, in rations, arms, camps, &c., to the regular
army. The man saw that Mr. Lincoln was right, and determined to have
justice done. Always after this we were treated equally well, and just
as the regular army was, in every particular. This brave, just, and
humane act in behalf of the volunteers at once attached officers and
rank to him, as with hooks of steel."

When the army reached Dixon, the almost universal discontent of the men
had grown so manifest and so ominous, that it could no longer be safely
disregarded. They longed "for the flesh-pots of Egypt," and fiercely
demanded their discharge. Although their time had not expired, it was
determined to march them by way of Paw-Paw Grove to Ottawa, and there
concede what the governor feared he had no power to withhold.

"While on our march from Dixon to Fox River," says Mr. Irwin, "one night
while in camp, which was formed in a square enclosing about forty acres,
our horses, outside grazing, got scared about nine o'clock; and a grand
stampede took place. They ran right through our lines in spite of us,
and ran over many of us. No man knows what noise a thousand horses
make running, unless he had been there: it beats a young earthquake,
especially among scared men, and certain they were scared then. We
expected the Indians to be on us that night. Fire was thrown, drums
beat, fifes played, which added additional fright to the horses. We saw
no real enemy that night, but a line of battle was formed. There were
no eyes for sleep that night: we stood to our posts in line; and what
frightened the horses is yet unknown."

"During this short Indian campaign," continues the same gentleman, "we
had some hard times,--often hungry; but we had a great deal of sport,
especially of nights,---foot-racing, some horse-racing, jumping, telling
anecdotes, in which Lincoln beat all, keeping up a constant laughter
and good-humor all the time; among the soldiers some card-playing, and
wrestling, in which Lincoln took a prominent part. I think it safe
to say he was never thrown in a wrestle. [Mr. Irwin, it seems, still
regards the Thompson affair as "a dog-fall."] While in the army, he kept
a handkerchief tied around him near all the time for wrestling purposes,
and loved the sport as well as any one could. He was seldom ever beat
jumping. During the campaign, Lincoln himself was always ready for
an emergency. He endured hardships like a good soldier: he never
complained, nor did he fear danger. When fighting was expected, or
danger apprehended, Lincoln was the first to say, 'Let's go.' He had
the confidence of every man of his company, and they strictly obeyed his
orders at a word. His company was all young men, and full of sport.

"One night in Warren County, a white hog--a young sow--came into our
lines, which showed more good sense, to my mind, than any hog I ever
saw. This hog swam creeks and rivers, and went with us clear through
to, I think, the mouth of Fox River; and there the boys killed it, or it
would doubtless have come home with us. If it got behind in daylight as
we were marching, which it did sometimes, it would follow on the
track, and come to us at night. It was naturally the cleverest,
friendly-disposed hog any man ever saw, and its untimely death was by
many of us greatly deplored, for we all liked the hog for its friendly
disposition and good manners; for it never molested any thing, and kept
in its proper place."

On the 28th of May the volunteers were discharged. The governor had
already called for two thousand more men to take their places; but, in
the mean time, he made the most strenuous efforts to organize a small
force out of the recently discharged, to protect the frontiers until the
new levies were ready for service. He succeeded in raising one regiment
and a spy company. Many officers of distinction, among them Gen.
Whiteside himself, enlisted as private soldiers, and served in that
capacity to the end of the war. Capt. Lincoln became Private Lincoln of
the "Independent Spy Company," Capt. Early commanding; and, although
he was never in an engagement, he saw some hard service in scouting and
trailing, as well as in carrying messages and reports.

About the middle of June the new troops were ready for the field, and
soon after moved up to Rock River. Meanwhile the Indians had overrun the
country. "They had scattered their war-parties all over the North from
Chicago to Galena, and from the Illinois River into the Territory of
Wisconsin; they occupied every grove, waylaid every road, hung around
every settlement, and attacked every party of white men that attempted
to penetrate the country." There had been some desultory fighting at
various points. Capt. Snyder, in whose company Gen. Whiteside was
a private, had met the Indians at Burr Oak. Grove, and had a sharp
engagement; Mr. St. Vrain, an Indian agent, with a small party of
assistants, had been treacherously murdered near Fort Armstrong; several
men had been killed at the lead mines, and the Wisconsin volunteers
under Dodge had signally punished the Indians that killed them; Galena
had been threatened and Fort Apple, twelve miles from Galena, had
sustained a bloody siege of fifteen hours; Capt. Stephenson of Galena
had performed an act which "equalled any thing in modern warfare in
daring and desperate courage," by driving a party of Indians larger
than his own detachment into a dense thicket, and there charging them
repeatedly until he was compelled to retire, wounded himself, and
leaving three of his men dead on the ground.

Thenceforward the tide was fairly turned against Black Hawk. Twenty-four
hundred men, under experienced officers, were now in the field against
him; and, although he succeeded in eluding his pursuers for a brief
time, every retreat was equivalent to a reverse in battle, and all his
manoeuvres were retreats. In the latter part of July he was finally
overtaken by the volunteers under Henry, along the bluffs of the
Wisconsin River, and defeated in a decisive battle. His ruin was
complete: he abandoned all hope of conquest, and pressed in disorderly
and disastrous retreat toward the Mississippi, in vain expectation of
placing that barrier between him and his enemy.

On the fourth day, after crossing the Wisconsin, Gen. Atkinson's advance
reached the high grounds near the Mississippi. Henry and his brigade,
having won the previous victory, were placed at the rear in the order
of march, with the ungenerous purpose of preventing them from winning
another. But Black Hawk here resorted to a stratagem which very nearly
saved the remnant of his people, and in the end completely foiled the
intentions of Atkinson regarding Henry and his men. The old chief,
with the high heart which even such a succession of reverses could not
subdue, took twenty warriors and deliberately posted himself, determined
to hold the army in check or lead it away on a false trail, while his
main body was being transferred to the other bank of the river. He
accordingly made his attack in a place where he was favored by trees,
logs, and tall grass, which prevented the discovery of his numbers.
Finding his advance engaged, Atkinson formed a line of battle, and
ordered a charge; but Black Hawk conducted his retreat with such
consummate skill that Atkinson believed he was just at the heels of the
whole Indian army, and under this impression continued the pursuit far
up the river.

When Henry came up to the spot where the fight had taken place, he
readily detected the trick by various evidences about the ground.
Finding the main trail in the immediate vicinity, he boldly fell upon it
without orders, and followed it until he came up with the Indians in
a swamp on the margin of the river, where he easily surprised and
scattered them. Atkinson, hearing the firing in the swamp, turned back,
and arrived just in time to assist in the completion of the massacre. A
few of the Indians had already crossed the river: a few had taken refuge
on a little willow island in the middle of the stream. The island was
charged,--the men wading to it in water up to their arm-pits,--the
Indians were dislodged and killed on the spot, or shot in the water
while attempting to swim to the western shore. Fifty prisoners only were
taken, and the greater part of these were squaws and children. This
was the battle of the Bad Axe,--a terrific slaughter, considering the
numbers engaged, and the final ruin of Black Hawk's fortunes.

Black Hawk and his twenty warriors, among whom was his own son, made
the best of their way to the Dalles on the Wisconsin, where they seem to
have awaited passively whatever fate their enemies should contrive for
them. There were some Sioux and Winnebagoes in Atkinson's camp,--men who
secretly pretended to sympathize with Black Hawk, and, while acting
as guides to the army, had really led it astray on many painful and
perilous marches. It is certain that Black Hawk had counted on the
assistance of those tribes; but after the fight on the Wisconsin, even
those who had consented to act as his emissaries about the person of
the hostile commander not only deserted him, but volunteered to hunt him
down. They now offered to find him, take him, and bring him in, provided
that base and cowardly service should be suitably acknowledged. They
were duly employed. Black Hawk became their prisoner, and was presented
by them to the Indian agent with two or three shameless and disgusting
speeches from his captors. He and his son were carried to Washington
City, and then through the principal cities of the country, after which
President Jackson released him from captivity, and sent him back to his
own people. He lived to be eighty years old, honored and beloved by his
tribe, and after his death was buried on an eminence overlooking
the Mississippi, with such rites as are accorded only to the most
distinguished of native captains,--sitting upright in war dress and
paint, covered by a conspicuous mound of earth.

We have given a rapid and perhaps an unsatisfactory sketch of the
comparatively great events which brought the Black Hawk War to a close.
So much at least was necessary, that the reader might understand the
several situations in which Mr. Lincoln found himself during the short
term of his second enlistment. We fortunately possess a narrative of his
individual experience, covering the whole of that period, from the pen
of George W. Harrison, his friend, companion, and messmate. It is given
in full; for there is no part of it that would not be injured by the
touch of another hand. It is an extremely interesting story, founded
upon accurate personal knowledge, and told in a perspicuous and graphic
style, admirably suited to the subject.

"The new company thus formed was called the 'Independent Spy Company;'
not being under the control of any regiment or brigade, but receiving
orders directly from the commander-in-chief, and always, when with the
army, camping within the lines, and having many other privileges, such
as never having camp-duties to perform, drawing rations as much and as
often as we pleased, &c, Dr. Early (deceased) of Springfield was elected
captain. Five members constituted a tent, or 'messed' together. Qur mess
consisted of Mr. Lincoln, Johnston (a half-brother of his), Fanchier,
Wyatt, and myself. The 'Independent Spy Company' was used chiefly to
carry messages, to send an express, to spy the enemy, and to ascertain
facts. I suppose the nearest we were to doing battle was at Gratiot's
Grove, near Galena. The spy company of Posey's brigade was many miles
in advance of the brigade, when it stopped in the grove at noon for
refreshments. Some of the men had turned loose their horses, and others
still had theirs in hand, when five or six Sac and Fox Indians came near
them. Many of the white men broke after them, some on horseback, some on
foot, in great disorder and confusion, thinking to have much sport with
their prisoners immediately. The Indians thus decoyed them about two
miles from the little cabins in the grove, keeping just out of danger,
when suddenly up sprang from the tall prairie grass two hundred and
fifty painted warriors, with long spears in hand, and tomahawks and
butcher-knives in their belts of deer-skin and buffalo, and raised such
a yell that our friends supposed them to be more numerous than Black
Hawk's whole clan, and, instantly filled with consternation, commenced
to retreat. But the savages soon began to spear them, making it
necessary to halt in the flight, and give them a fire, at which
time they killed two Indians, one of them being a young chief gayly
apparelled. Again, in the utmost horror, such as savage yells alone can
produce, they fled for the little fort in the grove. Having arrived,
they found the balance of their company, terrified by the screams of
the whites and the yells of the savages, closely shut up in the double
cabin, into which _they_ quickly plunged, and found the much-needed
respite. The Indians then prowled around the grove, shooting nearly
all the company's horses, and stealing the balance of them. There, from
cracks between the logs of the cabin, three Indians were shot and
killed in the act of reaching for the reins of bridles on horses.
They endeavored to conceal their bodies by trees in an old field which
surrounded the fort; but, reaching with sticks for bridles, they exposed
their heads and necks, and all of them were shot with two balls each
through the neck. These three, and the two killed where our men wheeled
and fired, make five Indians known to be killed; and on their retreat
from the prairie to the grove, five white men were cut into small
pieces. The field of this action is the greatest battle-ground we saw.
The dead still lay unburied until after we arrived at sunrise the next
day. The forted men, fifty strong, had not ventured to go out until they
saw us, when they rejoiced greatly that friends and not dreaded enemies
had come. They looked like men just out of cholera,--having passed
through the cramping stage. The only part we could then act was to seek
the lost men, and with hatchets and hands to bury them. We buried the
white men, and trailed the dead young chief where he had been drawn on
the grass a half-mile, and concealed in the thicket. Those who trailed
this once noble warrior, and found him, were Lincoln, I think, Wyatt,
and myself. By order of Gen. Atkinson, our company started on this
expedition one evening, travelled all night, and reached Gratiot's at
sunrise. A few hours after, Gen. Posey came up to the fort with his
brigade of nearly a thousand men, when he positively refused to pursue
the Indians,--being strongly solicited by Capt. Early, Lincoln, and
others,--squads of Indians still showing themselves in a menacing manner
one and a half miles distant.

"Our company was disbanded at Whitewater, Wis., a short time before the
massacre at Bad Axe by Gen. Henry; and most of our men started for home
on the following morning; but it so happened that the night previous
to starting on this long trip, Lincoln's horse and mine were stolen,
probably by soldiers of our own army, and we were thus compelled to
start outside the cavalcade; but I laughed at our fate, and he joked at
it, and we all started off merrily. But the generous men of our company
walked and rode by turns with us; and we fared about equal with the
rest. But for this generosity, our legs would have had to do the better
work; for in that day, this then dreary route furnished no horses to buy
or to steal; and, whether on horse or afoot, we always had company, for
many of the horses' backs were too sore for riding.

"Thus we came to Peoria: here we bought a canoe, in which we two paddled
our way to Pekin. The other members of our company, separating in
various directions, stimulated by the proximity of home, could never
have consented to travel at our usual tardy mode. At Pekin, Lincoln made
an oar with which to row our little boat, while I went through the town
in order to buy provisions for the trip. One of us pulled away at the
one oar, while the other sat astern to steer, or prevent circling. The
river being very low was without current, so that we had to pull hard
to make half the speed of legs on land,--in fact, we let her float all
night, and on the next morning always found the objects still visible
that were beside us the previous evening. The water was remarkably
clear, for this river of plants, and the fish appeared to be sporting
with us as we moved over or near them.

"On the next day after we left Pekin, we overhauled a raft of saw-logs,
with two men afloat on it to urge it on with poles and to guide it in
the channel. We immediately pulled up to them and went on the raft,
where we were made welcome by various demonstrations, especially by
that of an invitation to a feast on fish, corn-bread, eggs, butter,
and coffee, just prepared for our benefit. Of these good things we
ate almost immoderately, for it was the only warm meal we had made for
several days. While preparing it, and after dinner, Lincoln entertained
them, and they entertained us for a couple of hours very amusingly.

"This slow mode of travel was, at the time, a new mode, and the novelty
made it for a short time agreeable. We descended the Illinois to
Havana, where we sold our boat, and again set out the old way, over the
sand-ridges for Petersburg. As we drew near home, the impulse became
stronger, and urged us on amazingly. The long strides of Lincoln, often
slipping back in the loose sand six inches every step, were just right
for me; and he was greatly diverted when he noticed me behind him
stepping along in his tracks to keep from slipping.

"About three days after leaving the army at Whitewater, we saw a battle
in full operation about two miles in advance of us. Lincoln was riding
a young horse, the property of L. D. Matheny. I was riding a sprightly
animal belonging to John T. Stuart. At the time we came in sight of the
scene, our two voluntary footmen were about three-fourths of a mile in
advance of us, and we about half a mile behind most of our company, and
three or four on foot still behind us, leading some sore-backed horses.
But the owners of our horses came running back, and, meeting us all in
full speed, rightfully ordered us to dismount. We obeyed: they mounted,
and all pressed on toward the conflict,--they on horseback, we on foot.
In a few moments of hard walking and terribly close observation, Lincoln
said to me, 'George, this can't be a very dangerous battle.' Reply:
'Much shooting, nothing falls.' It was at once decided to be a sham for
the purpose of training cavalry, instead of Indians having attacked a
few white soldiers, and a few of our own men, on their way home, for the
purpose of killing them."




CHAPTER VI

THE volunteers from Sangamon returned to their homes shortly before the
State election, at which, among other officers, assembly-men were to be
chosen. Lincoln's popularity had been greatly enhanced by his service
in the war, and some of his friends urged him with warm solicitations
to become a candidate at the coming election. He prudently resisted, and
declined to consent, alleging in excuse his limited acquaintance in the
county at large, until Mr. James Rutledge, the founder of New Salem,
added the weight of his advice to the nearly unanimous desire of the
neighborhood. It is quite likely that his recent military career was
thought to furnish high promise of usefulness in civil affairs; but Mr.
Rutledge was sure that he saw another proof of his great abilities in a
speech which Abe was induced to make, just about this time, before the
New-Salem Literary Society. The following is an account of this speech
by R. B. Rutledge, the son of James:--

"About the year 1832 or 1833, Mr. Lincoln made his first effort
at public speaking. A debating club, of which James Rutledge was
president, was organized, and held regular meetings. As he arose to
speak, his tall form towered above the little assembly. Both hands were
thrust down deep in the pockets of his pantaloons. A perceptible smile
at once lit up the faces of the audience, for all anticipated the
relation of some humorous story. But he opened up the discussion in
splendid style, to the infinite astonishment of his friends. As he
warmed with his subject, his hands would forsake his pockets and would
enforce his ideas by awkward gestures, but would very soon seek their
easy resting-places. He pursued the question with reason and argument so
pithy and forcible that all were amazed. The president at his fireside,
after the meeting, remarked to his wife, that there was more in Abe's
head than wit and fun; that he was already a fine speaker; that all he
lacked was culture to enable him to reach the high destiny which he knew
was in store for him. From that time Mr. Rutledge took a deeper interest
in him.

"Soon after Mr. Rutledge urged him to announce himself as a candidate
for the Legislature. This he at first declined to do, averring that it
was impossible to be elected. It was suggested that a canvass of the
county would bring him prominently before the people, and in time would
do him good. He reluctantly yielded to the solicitations of his friends,
and made a partial canvass."

In those days political animosities were fierce enough; but, owing to
the absence of nominating conventions, party lines were not, as yet,
very distinctly drawn in Illinois. Candidates announced themselves; but,
usually, it was done after full consultation with influential friends,
or persons of considerable power in the neighborhood of the candidate's
residence. We have already seen the process by which Mr. Lincoln was
induced to come forward. There were often secret combinations among a
number of candidates, securing a mutual support; but in the present case
there is no trace of such an understanding.

This (1832) was the year of Gen. Jackson's election. The Democrats
stigmatized their opponents as "Federalists," while the latter were
steadily struggling to shuffle off the odious name. For the present they
called themselves Democratic Republicans; and it was not until 1833 or
1834, that they formally took to themselves the designation of Whig. The
Democrats were known better as Jackson men than as Democrats, and were
inexpressibly proud of either name. Four or five years afterward their
enemies invented for their benefit the meaningless and hideous word
"Locofoco."

Since 1826 every general election in the State had resulted in a
Democratic victory. The young men were mostly Democrats; and the most
promising talents in the State were devoted to the cause, which seemed
destined to achieve success wherever there was a contest. In a new
country largely peopled by adventurers from older States, there were
necessarily found great numbers who would attach themselves to the
winning side merely because it was the winning side.

It is unnecessary to restate here the prevailing questions in national
politics,--Jackson's stupendous struggle with the bank, "hard money,"
"no monopoly," internal improvements, the tariff, and nullification, or
the personal and political relations of the chieftains,--Jackson, Clay,
and Calhoun. Mr. Lincoln will shortly disclose in one of his speeches
from the stump which of those questions were of special interest to the
people of Illinois, and consequently which of them principally occupied
his own attention.

The Democrats were divided into "whole-hog men" and "nominal Jackson
men;" the former being thoroughly devoted to the fortunes and principles
of their leader, while the latter were willing to trim a little for the
sake of popular support. It is probable that Mr. Lincoln might be fairly
classed as a "nominal Jackson man," although the precise character of
some of the views he then held, or is supposed to have held, on
national questions, is involved in considerable doubt. He had not wholly
forgotten Jones, or Jones's teachings. He still remembered his high
disputes with Offutt in the shanty at Spring Creek, when he effectually
defended Jackson against the "abuse" of his employer. He was not Whig,
but "Whiggish," as Dennis Hanks expresses it. It is not likely that a
man who deferred so habitually to the popular sentiment around him would
have selected the occasion of his settlement in a new place to go over
bodily to a hopeless political minority. At all events, we have at least
three undisputed facts, which make it plain that he then occupied an
intermediate position between the extremes of all parties. First, he
received the votes of all parties at New Salem; second, he was the next
year appointed postmaster by Gen. Jackson; and, third, the Democrats ran
him for the legislature two years afterwards; and he was elected by a
larger majority than any other candidate.

"Our old way of conducting elections," says Gov. Ford, "required each
aspirant to announce himself as a candidate. The most prudent, however,
always consulted a little caucus of select, influential friends. The
candidates then travelled around the county, or State, in proper
person, making speeches, conversing with the people, soliciting votes,
whispering slanders against their opponents, and defending themselves
against the attacks of their adversaries; but it was not always best
to defend against such attacks. A candidate in a fair way to be elected
should never deny any charge made against him; for, if he does, his
adversaries will prove all that they have said, and much more. As a
candidate did not offer himself as the champion of any party, he usually
agreed with all opinions, and promised every thing demanded by the
people, and most usually promised, either directly or indirectly, his
support to all the other candidates at the same election. One of the
arts was to raise a quarrel with unpopular men who were odious to the
people, and then try to be elected upon the unpopularity of others, as
well as upon his own popularity. These modes of electioneering were not
true of all the candidates, nor perhaps of half of them, very many of
them being gentlemen of first-class integrity."

That portion of the people whose influence lay in their fighting
qualities, and who were prone to carry a huge knife in the belt of
the hunting-shirt, were sometimes called the "butcher-knife boys," and
sometimes "the half-horse and half-alligator men." This class, according
to Gov. Ford, "made a kind of balance-of-power party." Their favorite
was sure of success; and nearly all political contests were decided by
"butcher-knife influence." "In all elections and in all enactments of
the Legislature, great pains were taken by all candidates, and all
men in office, to make their course and measures acceptable" to these
knights of steel and muscle.

At a later date they enjoyed a succession of titles, such as "barefoot
boys," "the flat-footed boys," and "the big-pawed boys."

In those times, Gov. Ford avers that he has seen all the rum-shops and
groceries of the principal places of a county chartered by candidates,
and kept open for the gratuitous accommodation of the free and
independent electors for several weeks before the vote. Every Saturday
afternoon the people flocked to the county-seat, to see the candidates,
to hear speeches, to discuss prospects, to get drunk and fight.

"Toward evening they would mount their ponies, go reeling from side
to side, galloping through town, and throwing up their caps and hats,
screeching like so many infernal spirits broke loose from their nether
prison; and thus they separated for their homes." These observations
occur in Ford's account of the campaign of 1830, which resulted in the
choice of Gov. Reynolds,--two years before Mr. Lincoln first became a
candidate,--and lead us to suppose that the body of electors before whom
that gentleman presented himself were none too cultivated or refined.

Mr. Lincoln's first appearance on the stump, in the course of the
canvass, was at Pappsville, about eleven miles west of Springfield, upon
the occasion of a public sale by the firm of Poog & Knap. The sale
over, speech-making was about to begin, when Mr. Lincoln observed strong
symptoms of inattention in his audience, who had taken that particular
moment to engage in what Mr. James A. Herndon pronounces "a general
fight." Lincoln saw that one of his friends was suffering more than he
liked in the _melee_; and, stepping into the crowd, he shouldered them
sternly away from his man, until he met a fellow who refused to
fall back: him he seized by the nape of the neck and the seat of
his breeches, and tossed him "ten or twelve feet easily." After this
episode,--as characteristic of him as of the times,--he mounted the
platform, and delivered, with awkward modesty, the following speech:--

"Gentlemen and Fellow-Citizens, I presume you all know who I am. I am
humble Abraham Lincoln. I have been solicited by many friends to become
a candidate for the Legislature. My politics are short and sweet, like
the old woman's dance. I am in favor of a national bank. I am in favor
of the internal-improvement system and a high protective tariff. These
are my sentiments and political principles. If elected, I shall be
thankful; if not, it will be all the same."

In these few sentences Mr. Lincoln adopted the leading principles of the
Whig party,--Clay's "American System" in full. In his view, as we
shall see by another paper from him when again a candidate in 1834, the
internal-improvement system required the distribution of the proceeds
of the sales of the public lands amongst the States. He says nothing of
South Carolina, of nullification, of disunion; and on these subjects it
is quite probable his views were like Mr. Webster's, and his sympathies
with Jackson. The opinions announced in this speech, on all the subjects
touched by the speaker, were as emphatically Whig as they could be
made in words; yet as far as they related to internal improvements, and
indirectly favored the increase of bank issues, they were such as most
of the "nominal Jackson men" in Illinois professed to hold, and such as
they united with the Whigs to enforce, then and afterwards, in the State
Legislature. The "whole-hog men" would have none of them, and therein
lay the distinction. Although the Democratic party continued to have a
numerical majority for many years in the Legislature, the nominal men
and the Whigs coalesced to control legislation in accordance with Whig
doctrines. Even with such a record made and making by them, the "nominal
men" persisted in calling themselves Democrats, while Jackson was
vetoing the Maysville Road Bill, grappling with the National Bank, and
exposing the oppressive character of the Tariff Act then in force, which
imposed the highest scale of duties since the first enactment for
"protection" in 1816. It was their practice to run men like themselves
for the State offices where the chances of a plain-spoken Whig were
hopeless; and, by means of the "nominal" character of the candidate,
secure enough Democratic votes, united with the Whigs, to elect him. In
the very next canvass Mr. Lincoln himself was taken up by such a
combination and triumphantly elected. Such things were made feasible by
the prevalent mode of making nominations without the salutary
intervention of regular party conventions and committees. We repeat that
Mr. Lincoln's position was midway between the extremes in local
politics.

His friend, Mr. A. Y. Ellis, who was with him during a part of this
campaign, says, "He wore a mixed jeans coat, claw-hammer style, short in
the sleeves, and bobtail,--in fact, it was so short in the tail he could
not sit on it,--flax and tow linen pantaloons, and a straw hat. I
think he wore a vest, but do not remember how it looked. He then wore
pot-metal boots.

"I accompanied him on one of his electioneering trips to Island Grove;
and he made a speech which pleased his party friends very well indeed,
though some of the Jackson men tried to make sport of it. He told
several anecdotes in his speech, and applied them, as I thought, very
well. He also told the boys several stories which drew them after him. I
remember them; but modesty and my veneration for his memory forbid me to
relate them."

Mr. J. R. Herndon, his friend and landlord, heard him make several
speeches about this time, and gives us the following extract from one,
which seems to have made a special impression upon the minds of his
auditors: "Fellow-citizens, I have been told that some of my opponents
have said that it was a disgrace to the county of Sangamon to have such
a looking man as I am stuck up for the Legislature. Now, I thought this
was a free country: that is the reason I address you today. Had I have
known to the contrary, I should not have consented to run; but I will
say one thing, let the shoe pinch where it may: when I have been a
candidate before you some five or six times, and have been beaten every
time, I will consider it a disgrace, and will be sure never to try it
again; but I am bound to beat that man if I am beat myself."

These were not the only speeches he made in furtherance of his present
claims, but they are all of which we have any intelligible account.
There was one subject upon which he felt himself peculiarly competent to
speak,--the practical application of the "internal-improvement system"
to the river which flowed by the doors of the constituency he addressed.
He firmly believed in the right of the Legislature of the State or the
Congress of the United States to appropriate the public money to local
improvements for the sole advantage of limited districts; and that he
believed it good policy to exercise the right, his subsequent conduct
in the Legislature, and an elaborate speech in Congress, are sufficient
proof. In this doctrine he had the almost unanimous support of the
people of Illinois. Almost every man in the State was a speculator in
town lots or lands. Even the farmers had taken up or held the very lands
they tilled with a view to a speculation in the near future. Long after
the Democratic party in the South and East, leaving Mr. Calhoun in
a state of isolation, had begun to inculcate different views of
constitutional power and duty, it was a dangerous thing for a politician
in Illinois to intimate his agreement with them. Mr. Lincoln knew well
that the policy of local improvement at the general expense was at that
moment decidedly the most popular platform he could mount; but he felt
that this was not enough for his individual purposes, since it was no
invention of his, and belonged to nearly everybody else as much as to
him. He therefore prudently ingrafted upon it a hobby of his own: "The
Improvement of the Sangamon River,"--a plan to straighten it by means of
cuts, to clear out its obstructions, and make it a commercial highway
at the cost of the State. That the idea was nearly, if not quite
impracticable, the trip of "The Talisman" under Mr. Lincoln's piloting,
and the fact that the river remained unimproved during all the years
of the "internal-improvement" mania, would seem to be pretty clear
evidence. But the theme was agreeable to the popular ear, and had been
dear to Lincoln from the moment he laid his eyes on the Sangamon. It was
the great topic of his speech against Posey and Ewing in Macon County,
when, under the auspices of John Hanks, he "beat" those professional
politicians so completely that they applauded him themselves. His
experience in navigating the river was not calculated to make him forget
it, and it had occupied his thoughts more or less from that day forward.
Now that it might be turned to good use, where he was personally
interested, he set about preparing a written address on it, and on
some other questions of local interest, upon which he bestowed infinite
pains. The "grammatical errors" in the first draft were corrected by Mr.
McNamar, the pioneer of New Salem as a business point, and the gentleman
who was destined to be Mr. Lincoln's rival in the most important
love-affair of his life. He may have consulted the schoolmaster
also; but, if he had done so, it is hardly to be surmised that the
schoolmaster would have left so important a fact out of his written
reminiscences. It is more probable that Mr. Lincoln confined his
applications for assistance on this most important matter to the quarter
where he could get light on politics as well as grammar. However that
may have been, the following is the finished paper:--

To the People of Sangamon County.

Fellow-Citizens,--Having become a candidate for the honorable office of
one of your Representatives in the next General Assembly of this State,
in accordance with an established custom and the principles of true
republicanism, it becomes my duty to make known to you, the people, whom
I propose to represent, my sentiments with regard to local affairs.

Time and experience have verified to a demonstration the public utility
of internal improvements. That the poorest and most thinly-populated
countries would be greatly benefited by the opening of good roads, and
in the clearing of navigable streams within their limits, is what no
person will deny. Yet it is folly to undertake works of this or any
other kind, without first knowing that we are able to finish them,--as
half-finished work generally proves to be labor lost. There cannot justly
be any objection to having railroads and canals, any more than to other
good things, provided they cost nothing. The only objection is to paying
for them; and the objection arises from the want of ability to pay.

With respect to the County of Sangamon, some more easy means of
communication than it now possesses, for the purpose of facilitating
the task of exporting the surplus products of its fertile soil, and
importing necessary articles from abroad, are indispensably necessary.
A meeting has been held of the citizens of Jacksonville and the
adjacent country, for the purpose of deliberating and inquiring into the
expediency of constructing a railroad from some eligible point on the
Illinois River, through the town of Jacksonville, in Morgan County, to
the town of Springfield, in Sangamon County. This is, indeed, a very
desirable object. No other improvement that reason will justify us in
hoping for can equal in utility the railroad. It is a never-failing
source of communication between places of business remotely situated
from each other. Upon the railroad the regular progress of commercial
intercourse is not interrupted by either high or low water, or freezing
weather, which are the principal difficulties that render our future
hopes of water communication precarious and uncertain.

Yet however desirable an object the construction of a railroad through
our country may be; however high our imaginations may be heated at
thoughts of it,--there is always a heart-appalling shock accompanying
the account of its cost, which forces us to shrink from our pleasing
anticipations. The probable cost of this contemplated railroad is
estimated at $290,000; the bare statement of which, in my opinion, is
sufficient to justify the belief that the improvement of the Sangamon
River is an object much better suited to our infant resources.

Respecting this view, I think I may say, without the fear of being
contradicted, that its navigation may be rendered completely practicable
as high as the mouth of the South Fork, or probably higher, to vessels
of from twenty-five to thirty tons' burden, for at least one-half of all
common years, and to vessels of much greater burden a part of the time.
From my peculiar circumstances, it is probable, that for the last twelve
months I have given as particular attention to the stage of the water in
this river as any other person in the country. In the month of March,
1831, in company with others, I commenced the building of a flatboat on
the Sangamon, and finished and took her out in the course of the spring.
Since that time I have been concerned in the mill at New Salem. These
circumstances are sufficient evidence that I have not been very
inattentive to the stages of the water. The time at which we crossed the
mill-dam being in the last days of April, the water was lower than it
had been since the breaking of winter in February, or than it was for
several weeks after. The principal difficulties we encountered in
descending the river were from the drifted timber, which obstructions
all know are not difficult to be removed. Knowing almost precisely the
height of water at that time, I believe I am safe in saying that it has
as often been higher as lower since.

From this view of the subject, it appears that my calculations with
regard to the navigation of the Sangamon cannot but be founded in
reason; but, whatever may be its natural advantages, certain it is, that
it never can be practically useful to any great extent, without being
greatly improved by art. The drifted timber, as I have before mentioned,
is the most formidable barrier to this object. Of all parts of this
river, none will require so much labor in proportion to make it
navigable, as the last thirty or thirty-five miles; and going with the
meanderings of the channel, when we are this distance above its mouth
we are only between twelve and eighteen miles above Beardstown, in
something near a straight direction; and this route is upon such low
ground as to retain water in many places during the season, and in all
parts such as to draw two-thirds or three-fourths of the river-water at
all high stages.

This route is on prairie land the whole distance; so that it appears
to me, by removing the turf a sufficient width, and damming up the old
channel, the whole river in a short time would wash its way through,
thereby curtailing the distance, and increasing the velocity of the
current, very considerably: while there would be no timber on the banks
to obstruct its navigation in future; and, being nearly straight,
the timber which might float in at the head would be apt to go clear
through. There are also many places above this where the river, in its
zigzag course, forms such complete peninsulas, as to be easier to cut
at the necks than to remove the obstructions from the bends, which, if
done, would also lessen the distance.

What the cost of this work would be, I am unable to say. It is probable,
however, that it would not be greater than is common to streams of the
same length. Finally, I believe the improvement of the Sangamon River
to be vastly important and highly desirable to the people of the county;
and, if elected, any measure in the Legislature having this for its
object, which may appear judicious, will meet my approbation and shall
receive my support.

It appears that the practice of drawing money at exorbitant rates of
interest has already been opened as a field for discussion; so I suppose
I may enter upon it without claiming the honor, or risking the danger,
which may await its first explorer. It seems as though we are never
to have an end to this baneful and corroding system, acting almost as
prejudicial to the general interests of the community as a direct tax of
several thousand dollars annually laid on each county, for the benefit
of a few individuals only, unless there be a law made fixing the limits
of usury. A law for this purpose, I am of opinion, may be made, without
materially injuring any class of people. In cases of extreme necessity,
there could always be means found to cheat the law; while in all other
cases it would have its intended effect. I would favor the passage of
a law on this subject which might not be very easily evaded. Let it be
such that the labor and difficulty of evading it could only be justified
in cases of greatest necessity.1

     1 Until the year 1833 there had been no legal limit to the
     rate of interest to be fixed by contract. But usury had been
     carried to such an unprecedented degree of extortion and
     oppression as to cause the Legislature to enact severe usury
     laws, by which all interest above twelve per cent was
     condemned. It had been no uncommon thing before this to
     charge one hundred and one hundred and fifty per cent, and
     sometimes two and three hundred per cent. But the common
     rate of interest, by contract, had been about fifty per
     cent.--Ford's History, page 233.

Upon the subject of education, not presuming to dictate any plan
or system respecting it, I can only say that I view it as the most
important subject which we as a people can be engaged in. That every
man may receive at least a moderate education, and thereby be enabled to
read the histories of his own and other countries, by which he may duly
appreciate the value of our free institutions, appears to be an object
of vital importance, even on this account alone, to say nothing of the
advantages and satisfaction to be derived from all being able to read
the Scriptures and other works, both of a religious and moral nature,
for themselves.

For my part, 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 the happy period.

With regard to existing laws, some alterations are thought to be
necessary. Many respectable men have suggested that our estray laws--the
law respecting the issuing of executions, the road-law, and some
others--are deficient in their present form, and require alterations.
But, considering the great probability that the framers of those laws
were wiser than myself, I should prefer not meddling with them, unless
they were first attacked by others; in which case I should feel it both
a privilege and a duty to take that stand, which, in my view, might tend
most to the advancement of justice.

But, fellow-citizens, I shall conclude. Considering the great degree of
modesty which should always attend youth, it is probable I have already
been more presuming than becomes me. However, upon the subjects of
which I have treated, I have spoken as I have thought. I may be wrong in
regard to any or all of them; but, holding it a sound maxim, that it is
better only sometimes to be right than at all times wrong, so soon as I
discover my opinions to be erroneous, I shall be ready to renounce them.

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. 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.

Your Friend and Fellow-Citizen,

A. LINCOLN.

New Salem, March 9, 1832.

Mr. Lincoln was defeated at the election, having four hundred and
seventy votes less than the candidate who had the highest number.
But his disappointment was softened by the action of his immediate
neighbors, who gave him an almost unanimous support. With three solitary
exceptions, he received the whole vote of his precinct,--two hundred and
seventy-seven,--being one more than the whole number cast for both the
candidates for Congress.




CHAPTER VII

THE results of the canvass for the Legislature were precisely such as
had been predicted, both by Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Rutledge: he had been
defeated, as he expected himself; and it had done "him much good," in
the politician's sense, as promised by Mr. Rutledge. He was now somewhat
acquainted with the people outside of the New Salem district, and
generally marked as a young man of good parts and popular manners. The
vote given him at home demonstrated his local strength, and made his
favor a thing of value to the politicians of all parties.

Soon after his return from the army, he had taken quarters at the house
of J. R. Herndon, who loved him then, and always, with as much sincerity
as one man can love another. Mr. Herndon's family likewise "became
much attached to him." He "nearly always had one" of Herndon's children
"around with him." Mr. Herndon says of him further, that he was "at home
wherever he went;" making himself wonderfully agreeable to the people he
lived with, or whom he happened to be visiting. Among other things, "he
was very kind to the widow and orphan, and chopped their wood."

Lincoln, as we have seen already, was not enamored of the life of a
common laborer,--mere hewing and drawing. He preferred to clerk, to go
to war, to enter politics,--any thing but that dreary round of daily
toil and poor pay. But he was now, as he would say, "in a fix:" clerks
were not wanted every day in New Salem and he began to cast about for
some independent business of his own, by which he could earn enough to
pay board and buy books. In every community where he had lived, "the
merchant" had been the principal man. He felt that, in view of his
apprenticeship under those great masters, Jones and Offutt, he was fully
competent to "run a store," and was impatient to find an opening in that
line.

Unfortunately for him, the circumstances of the business men of New
Salem were just then peculiarly favorable to his views. At least three
of them were as anxious to sell out as Lincoln was to buy.

Lincoln, as already stated, was at this time living with "Row" Herndon.
Row and his brother "Jim" had taken "a store down to New Salem early in
that year." But Jim "didn't like the place," and sold out his interests
to an idle, convivial fellow, named Berry. Six weeks later Row Herndon
grew tired of his new partner, and sold his interest to Lincoln. The
store was a mixed one,--dry goods and groceries.

About the same time Mr. Radford, who kept one of the New Salem
groceries, fell into disfavor with the "Clary's Grove Boys," who
generously determined that he should keep a grocery no longer. They
accordingly selected a convenient night for breaking in his windows,
and, in their own elegant phrase, "gutting his establishment." Convinced
that these neighborly fellows were inclined to honor him with further
attentions, and that his bones might share the fate of his windows,
Radford determined to sell out with the earliest dawn of the coming day.
The next day he was standing disconsolate in the midst of his wreck,
when Bill Green rode up. Green thought he saw a speculation in Radford's
distress, and offered him four hundred dollars for the whole concern.
Radford eagerly closed with him; and in a few minutes Green owned
the grocery, and Radford was ready for the road to a more congenial
settlement. It is said that Green employed Lincoln to make an inventory
of the stock. At all events, Lincoln was satisfied that Green's bargain
was a very good one, and proposed that he and Berry should take it off
his hands at a premium of two hundred and fifty dollars. Radford had
Green's note for four hundred dollars; but he now surrendered, it and
took Lincoln & Berry's for the same amount, indorsed by Green; while
Lincoln & Berry gave Green a note for two hundred and fifty dollars, the
latter's profit in the trade.

Mr. Rutledge "also owned a small grocery in the village;" and this was
speedily absorbed by the enterprising firm of Lincoln & Berry, who now
had the field to themselves, being sole proprietors "of the only store
of the kind in New Salem."

Whether Mr. Lincoln sold liquor by the dram over the counter of this
shop remains, and will forever remain, an undetermined question. Many
of his friends aver that he did, and as many more aver that he did not.
When Douglas, with that courtesy for which he distinguished himself in
the debates with Lincoln, revived the story, Lincoln replied, that,
even if it were true, there was but little difference between them;
for, while he figured on one side of the counter, Douglas figured on
the other. It is certain liquors were a part of the stock of all the
purchases of Lincoln & Berry. Of course they sold them by the quantity,
and probably by the drink. Some of it they _gave_ away, for no man could
keep store without setting out the customary dram to the patrons of the
place.1

     1 Here is the evidence of James Davis, a Democrat, "aged
     sixty," who is willing to "give the Devil his due:"--

     "Came to Clary's Grove in 1829; knew Lincoln well; knew Jim
     and Row Herndon: they sold out to Berry,--one of them did;
     afterwards the other sold out to Lincoln. The store was a
     mixed one,--dry goods, a few groceries, such as sugar,
     salt, &c., and whiskey solely kept for their customers, or
     to sell by the gallon, quart, or pint,--not otherwise. The
     Herndons probably had the Blankenship goods. Radford had a
     grocery-store,--salt, pepper, and suchlike things, with
     whiskey. It is said Green bought this out, and instantly
     sold to Berry & Lincoln. Lincoln & Berry broke. Berry
     subsequently kept a doggery, a whiskey saloon, as I do now,
     or did. Am a Democrat; never agreed in politics with Abe. He
     was an honest man. Give the Devil his due; he never sold
     whiskey by the dram in New Salem! I was in town every week
     for years; knew, I think, all about it. I always drank my
     dram, and drank at Berry's often; ought to know. Lincoln got
     involved, I think, in the first operation. Salem Hill was a
     barren."

The difficulty of gathering authentic evidence on this subject is
well illustrated in the following extract from Mr. George Spears of
Petersburg:--

"I took my horse this morning, and went over to New Salem, among the
P----s and A----s, and made all the inquiries I could, but could learn
nothing. The old ladies would begin to count up what had happened in New
Salem when such a one of their children was born, and such a one had
a bastard; but it all amounted to nothing. I could arrive at no dates,
only when those children were born. Old Mrs. Potter affirms that Lincoln
did sell liquors in a grocery. I can't tell whether he did or not."

All that winter (1832-3) Lincoln struggled along with a bad partner,
and a business which began wrong, and grew worse every day. Berry had no
qualities which atoned for his evil habits.. He preferred to consume
the liquors on hand rather than to sell them, and exerted himself so
successfully, that in a few months he had ruined the credit of the firm,
squandered its assets, and destroyed his own health. The "store" was a
dead failure; and the partners were weighed down with a parcel of debts,
against which Lincoln could scarcely have borne up, even with a better
man to help him. At last they sold out to two brothers named Trent. The
Trents continued the business for a few months, when they broke up and
ran away. Then Berry, encouraged by the example of the Trents, "cleared
out" also, and, dying soon after, left poor Lincoln the melancholy task
of settling up the affairs of their ill-starred partnership.

In all the preceding transactions, the absence of any cash consideration
is the one thing very striking. It is a fair illustration of the
speculative spirit pervading the whole people. Green bought from Radford
on credit; Lincoln & Berry bought from Green on credit; they bought from
the Herndons on credit; they bought from Rutledge on credit; and they
sold to the Trents on credit. Those that did not die or run away had a
sad time enough in managing the debts resulting from their connection
with this unlucky grocery. Radford assigned Lincoln & Berry's note to
a Mr. Van Bergen, who got judgment on it, and swept away all Lincoln's
little personal property, including his surveying instruments,--his very
means of livelihood, as we shall see at another place. The Herndons
owed E. C. Blankenship for the goods they sold, and assigned Lincoln &
Berry's note in payment. Mr. Lincoln struggled to pay, by slow degrees,
this harassing debt to Blankenship, through many long and weary years.
It was not until his return from Congress, in 1849, that he got the last
dollar of it discharged. He paid Green _his_ note of two hundred and
fifty dollars, in small instalments, beginning in 1839, and ending in
1840. The history of his debt to Rutledge is not so well known. It was
probably insignificant as compared with the others; and Mr. Rutledge
proved a generous creditor, as he had always been a kind and considerate
friend.

Certain that he had no abilities for trade, Mr. Lincoln took the best
resolution he could have formed under the circumstances. He sat down to
his books just where he was, believing that knowledge would be power,
and power profit. He had no reason to shun his creditors, for these were
the men of all others who most applauded the honesty of his conduct
at the period of his greatest pecuniary misfortune. He talked to them
constantly of the "old debt," "the national debt," as he sometimes
called it,--promised to pay when he could, and they devoutly relied upon
every word he said.

Row Herndon moved to the country, and Lincoln was compelled to change
his boarding-place. He now began to live at a tavern for the first time
in his life. It was kept by various persons during his stay,--first, it
seems, by Mr. Rutledge, then by Henry Onstatt, and last by Nelson Alley.
It was a small log-house, covered with clapboards, and contained four
rooms.

Lincoln began to read law while he lived with Herndon. Some of his
acquaintances insist that he began even earlier than this, and assert,
by way of proof, that he was known to borrow a well-worn copy of
Blackstone from A. T. Bogue, a pork-dealer at Beardstown. At all events,
he now went to work in earnest, and studied law as faithfully as if he
had never dreamed of any other business in life. As a matter of course,
his slender purse was unequal to the purchase of the needful books: but
this circumstance gave him little trouble; for, although he was short of
funds, he was long in the legs, and had nothing to do but to walk off to
Springfield, where his friend, John T. Stuart, cheerfully supplied
his wants. Mr. Stuart's partner, H. C. Dummer, says, "He was an
uncouth-looking lad, did not say much, but what he did say he said
straight and sharp."

"He used to read law," says Henry McHenry, "in 1832 or 1833, barefooted,
seated in the shade of a tree, and would grind around with the shade,
just opposite Berry's grocery-store, a few feet south of the door."
He occasionally varied the attitude by lying flat on his back, and
"_putting his feet up the tree_"--a situation which might have been
unfavorable to mental application in the case of a man with shorter
extremities.

"The first time I ever saw Abe with a law-book in his hand," says Squire
Godbey, "he was sitting astride of Jake Bales's woodpile in New Salem.
Says I, 'Abe, what are you studying?'--'Law,' says Abe. 'Great God
Almighty!' responded I." It was too much for Godbey: he could not
suppress the blasphemy at seeing such a figure acquiring science in such
an odd situation.

Minter Graham asserts that Abe did a little "of what we call sitting up
to the fine gals of Illinois;" but, according to other authorities, he
always had his book with him "when in company," and would read and
talk alternately. He carried it along in his walks to the woods and the
river; read it in daylight under the shade-tree by the grocery, and at
night by any friendly light he could find,--most frequently the one he
kindled himself in the shop of his old benefactor, the cooper.

Abe's progress in the law was as surprising as the intensity of his
application to study. He never lost a moment that might be improved. It
is even said that he read and recited to himself on the road and by the
wayside as he came down from Springfield with the books he had borrowed
from Stuart. The first time he went up he had "mastered" forty pages of
Blackstone before he got back. It was not long until, with his
restless desire to be doing something practical, he began to turn his
acquisitions to account in forwarding the business of his neighbors. He
wrote deeds, contracts, notes, and other legal papers, for them, "using
a small dictionary and an old form-book;" "petifogged" incessantly
before the justice of the peace, and probably assisted that functionary
in the administration of justice as much as he benefited his own
clients. This species of country "student's" practice was entered upon
very early, and kept up until long after he was quite a distinguished
man in the Legislature. But in all this he was only trying himself:
as he was not admitted to the bar until 1837, he did not regard it
as legitimate practice, and never charged a penny for his services.
Although this fact is mentioned by a great number of persons, and the
generosity of his conduct much enlarged upon, it is seriously to be
regretted that no one has furnished us with a circumstantial account of
any of his numerous cases before the magistrate.

But Mr. Lincoln did not confine himself entirely to the law. He was not
yet quite through with Kirkham nor the schoolmaster. The "valuable copy"
of the grammar "he delighted to peruse" is still in the possession of R.
B. Rutledge, with the thumb-marks of the President all over it. "He also
studied natural philosophy, chemistry, astronomy, &c. He had no regular
teacher, but perhaps received more assistance from Minter Graham than
from any other person."

He read with avidity all the newspapers that came to New Salem,--chiefly
"The Sangamon Journal," "The Missouri Republican," and "The Louisville
Journal." 1 The latter was his favorite: its wit and anecdotes were
after his own heart; and he was a regular subscriber for it through
several years when he could ill afford a luxury so costly.

     1 According to Mr. McNamar, Lincoln took "The Sangamon
     Journal" and "The Louisville Journal" from 1832 to 1837; and
     Hill and Bale took "The Missouri Republican" and "The
     Cincinnati Gazette." "The Missouri Republican" was first
     issued as a daily in September, 1836. Its size was then
     twenty-five by thirty-six inches.

Mr. Lincoln was never a profound historical student: if he happened
to need historical facts for the purposes of a political or legal
discussion, he read them on the spur of the occasion. For this reason
his opinions of current affairs all through his life were based
more upon individual observation and reflection than upon scientific
deductions from the experience of the world. Yet at this time, when he
probably felt more keenly than ever after the want of a little learning
to embellish the letters and speeches he was ambitious to compose, he is
said to have read Rollin's "Ancient History," Gibbon's "Rise and Fall of
the Roman Empire," and similar works, with great diligence and care. The
books were borrowed from William Green, Bowlin Greene, and other parties
in and about New Salem.

But he greatly preferred literature of another sort, such as Mrs. Lee
Hentz's novels; some of which he found among the effects of Mr. Ellis,
at the time his companion and occasional bedfellow. "He was very fond,"
Mr. Ellis declares, "of short stories, one and two columns long,--like
'Cousin Sally Dillard,' 'Becky Wilson's Courtship,' The Down-easter and
the Bull,' 'How a bashful man became a married man, with five little
bashful boys, and how he and his red-headed wife became Millerites, and
before they were to ascend agreed to make a clean breast of it to
each other;' and how, when the old lady was through, the Down-easter
earnestly wished that Gabriel might blow his horn without delay." One
New Salemite insists that Mr. Lincoln told this latter story "with
embezzlements" (embellishments), and therefore he is firmly convinced
that Mr. Lincoln "had a hand" in originating it. The catalogue of
literature in which he particularly delighted at New Salem is completed
by the statement of Mr. Rutledge, that he took great pleasure in "Jack
Downing's Letters."

Mr. Lincoln still relished a popular song with a broad "point" or a
palpable moral in it as much as he had ever enjoyed the vocal efforts of
Dennis Hanks and his rollicking compeers of the Gentryville grocery. He
even continued his own unhappy attempts, although with as little success
as before, and quite as much to the amusement of his friends. To the
choice collection of miscellaneous ballads acquired in Indiana, he
now added several new favorites, like "Old Sukey Blue Skin," and some
selections from the "Missouri Harmony," with variations by himself. He
was also singularly fond of an Irish song, "which tells how St. Patrick
came to be born on the 17th day of March."

"You ask me," says Mr. Ellis, "if I remember the first time I saw Mr.
Lincoln. Yes, I do.... I was out collecting back tax for Gen. James D.
Henry. I went from the tavern down to Jacob Bales's old mill, and then
I first saw Mr. Lincoln. He was sitting on a saw-log talking to Jack and
Rial Armstrong and a man by the name of Hohammer. I shook hands with
the Armstrongs and Hohammer, and was conversing with them a few minutes,
when we were joined by my old friend and former townsman, George
Warburton, pretty tight as usual; and he soon asked me to tell him the
old story about Ben Johnson and Mrs. Dale's blue dye, &c., which I did.
And then Jack Armstrong said, 'Lincoln, tell Ellis the story about Gov.
J. Sichner, his city-bred son, and his <DW65> Bob;' which he did,
with several others, by Jack's calling for them. I found out then that
Lincoln was a cousin to Charley Hanks of Island Grove. I told him I knew
three of the boys,--Joe, Charley, and John,--and his uncle, old Billy
Hanks, who lived up on the North Fork of the Sangamon River, afterwards
near Decatur."1

     1 "I myself knew old Billy Hanks, his mother's brother, and
     he was a very sensible old man. He was father to Mrs.
     Dillon, on Spring Creek; and Charley, Billy, jr., and John
     were his sons: they were all low-flung,--could neither read
     nor write. Some of them used to live in Island Grove,
     Sangamon County.... I remember the time that Lincoln and E.
     D. Baker ran in convention, to decide who should run for
     Congress in old Sangamon; that some of Baker's friends
     accused Mr. Lincoln of belonging to a proud and an
     aristocratic family,--meaning the Edwardses and Todds, I
     suppose; and, when it came to Mr. Lincoln's ears, he laughed
     heartily, and remarked, 'Well, that sounds strange to me: I
     do not remember of but one that ever came to see me, and
     while he was in town he was accused of stealing a jew's-
     harp.' Josh Speed remembers his saying this. I think you
     ought to remember it. Beverly Powell and myself lived with
     Bell and Speed, and I think he said so in their store. After
     that a Miss Hanks came to spend the winter with Mrs.
     Lincoln."--A. Y. Ellis.

This interview took place shortly after the Black Hawk War; but it was
not until the next year (1833), the period at which we have now arrived,
that Lincoln and Ellis became "intimate." At that time Ellis went there
to keep a store, and boarded "at the same log-tavern" where Lincoln was.
Lincoln, being "engaged in no particular business," merely endeavoring
to make a lawyer, a surveyor, and a politician of himself, gave a great
deal of his time to Ellis and Ellis's business. "He also used to assist
me in the store," says this new friend, "on busy days, but he always
disliked to wait on the ladies: he preferred trading with the men and
boys, as he used to say. I also remember that he used to sleep in the
store, on the counter, when they had too much company at the tavern.

"I well remember how he was dressed: he wore flax and tow linen
pantaloons,--I thought about five inches too short in the legs,--and
frequently he had but one suspender, no vest or coat. He wore a calico
shirt, such as he had in the Black Hawk War; coarse brogans, tan color;
blue yarn socks, and straw hat, old style, and without a band.

"Mr. Lincoln was in those days a very shy man of ladies. On one
occasion, while we boarded at this tavern, there came a family,
containing an old lady and her son and three stylish daughters, from the
State of Virginia, and stopped there for two or three weeks; and, during
their stay, I do not remember of Mr. Lincoln ever eating at the same
table when they did. I then thought it was on account of his awkward
appearance and his wearing apparel."

There lived at New Salem at this time, and for some years afterward,
a festive gentleman named Kelso, a school-teacher, a merchant, or a
vagabond, according to the run of his somewhat variable "luck." When
other people got drunk at New Salem, it was the usual custom to tussle
and fight, and tramp each other's toes, and pull each other's noses;
but, when Kelso got drunk, he astonished the rustic community with
copious quotations from Robert Burns and William Shakspeare,--authors
little known to fame among the literary men of New Salem. Besides
Shakspeare and Burns, Mr. Kelso was likewise very fond of fishing, and
could catch his game "when no other man could get a bite." Mr. Lincoln
hated fishing with all his heart. But it is the testimony of the
country-side, from Petersburg to Island Grove, that Kelso "drew Lincoln
after him by his talk;" that they became exceedingly intimate; that they
loitered away whole days together, along the banks of the quiet streams;
that Lincoln learned to love inordinately our "divine William" and
"Scotia's Bard," whom his friend mouthed in his cups, or expounded more
soberly in the intervals of fixing bait and dropping line. Finally he
and Kelso boarded at the same place; and with another "merchant," named
Sincho, of tastes congenial and wits as keen as Kelso's, they were
"always found together, battling and arguing." Bill Green ventures the
opinion, that Lincoln's incessant reading of Shakspeare and Burns had
much to do in giving to his mind the "sceptical" tendency so
fully developed by the labors of his pen in 1834-5, and in social
conversations during many years of his residence at Springfield.

Like Offutt, Kelso disappeared suddenly from New Salem, and apparently
from the recollection of men. Each with a peculiar talent of his own,
kind-hearted, eccentric creatures, no man's enemy and everybody's prey,
they strolled out into the great world, and left this little village
to perish behind them. Of Kelso a few faint traces have been found in
Missouri; but if he ever had a lodging more permanent than the wayside
tavern, a haystack, or a hedge, no man was able to tell where it was.
Of Offutt not a word was ever heard: the most searching and cunning
inquiries have failed to discover any spot where he lingered for a
single hour; and but for the humble boy, to whom he was once a gentle
master, no human being that knew him then would bestow a thought upon
his name. In short, to use the expressive language of Mr. Lincoln
himself, he literally "petered out."

Mr. Lincoln was often annoyed by "company." His quarters at the tavern
afforded him little privacy, and the shade of the tree in front of the
grocery was scarcely a sufficiently secluded situation for the purposes
of an ardent student. There were too many people to wonder and laugh at
a man studying law with "his feet up a tree;" too many to worry him for
the stories and jokes which it was supposed he could furnish on demand.
For these reasons it became necessary that he should "retire to the
country occasionally to rest and study." Sometimes he went to James
Short's on the Sand Ridge; sometimes to Minter Graham's; sometimes to
Bowlin Greenes; sometimes to Jack Armstrong's, and as often, perhaps,
to Able's or Row Herndon's. All of these men served him faithfully and
signally at one time and another, and to all of them he was sincerely
attached. When Bowlin Greene died, in 1842, Mr. Lincoln, then in the
enjoyment of great local reputation, undertook to deliver a funeral
oration over the remains of his beloved friend; but, when he rose to
speak, his voice was choked with deep emotion: he stood a few moments,
while his lips quivered in the effort to form the words of fervent
praise he sought to utter, and the tears ran down his yellow and
shrivelled cheeks. Some of those who came to hear him, and saw his tall
form thus sway in silence over the body of Bowlin Greene, say he looked
so helpless, so utterly bereft and pitiable, that every heart in the
audience was hushed at the spectacle. After repeated efforts, he found
it impossible to speak, and strode away, openly and bitterly sobbing,
to the widow's carriage, in which he was driven from the scene. Mr.
Herndon's papers disclose less than we should like to know concerning
this excellent man: they give us only this burial scene, with the fact
that Bowlin Greene had loaned Mr. Lincoln books from their earliest
acquaintance, and on one occasion had taken him to his home, and cared
for him with the solicitude of a devoted friend through several weeks of
great suffering and peril. The circumstances of the attempted eulogy are
mentioned here to show the relations which subsisted between Mr. Lincoln
and some of the benefactors we have enumerated.

But all this time Mr. Lincoln had a living to make, a running board-bill
to pay, and nothing to pay it with. He was, it is true, in the hands of
excellent friends, so far as the greater part of his indebtedness was
concerned; but he was industrious by nature, and wanted to be working,
and paying as he went. He would not have forfeited the good opinion
of those confiding neighbors for a lifetime of ease and luxury. It was
therefore a most happy thing for him, and he felt it to be so, when
he attracted the attention of John Calhoun, the surveyor of Sangamon
County.

Calhoun was the type of a perfect gentleman,--brave, courteous, able,
and cultivated. He was a Democrat then, and a Democrat when he died. All
the world knows how he was president of the Lecompton Convention; how
he administered the trust in accordance with his well-known convictions;
and how, after a life of devotion to Douglas, he was adroitly betrayed
by that facile politician, and left to die in the midst of obloquy and
disaster. At the time we speak of, he was one of the most popular men
in the State of Illinois, and was one of the foremost chieftains of the
political party which invariably carried the county and the district in
which Mr. Lincoln lived. He knew Lincoln, and admired him. He was well
assured that Lincoln knew nothing of surveying; but he was equally
certain that he could soon acquire it. The speculative fever was at
its height; he was overrun with business: the country was alive with
strangers seeking land; and every citizen was buying and selling with a
view to a great fortune in the "flush times" coming. He wanted a deputy
with common sense and common honesty: he chose Lincoln, because nobody
else possessed these qualities in a more eminent degree. He hunted him
up; gave him a book; told him to study it, and said, that, as soon as he
was ready, he should have as much work as he could do.

Lincoln took the book, and "retired to the country;" that is, he went
out to Minter Graham's for about six weeks, in which time, by the aid of
that good master, he became an expert surveyor, and was duly appointed
Calhoun's deputy. Of course he made some money, merely his pay for work;
but it is a remarkable fact, that, with his vast knowledge of the lands
in Sangamon and adjacent counties, he never made a single speculation
on his own account. It was not long until he acquired a considerable
private business. The accuracy of his surveys were seldom, if ever,
questioned. Disputes regarding "corners" and "lines" were frequently
submitted to his arbitration; and the decision was invariably accepted
as final. It often happened that his business kept him away from New
Salem, and his other studies, for weeks at a time; but all this while he
was gathering friends against the day of election.

In after years--from 1844 onward--it was his good or bad fortune
frequently to meet Calhoun on the stump; but he never forgot his
benefaction to him, and always regarded him as the ablest and best man
with whom he ever had crossed steel. To the day of Calhoun's death
they were warmly attached to each other. In the times when it was
most fashionable and profitable to denounce Calhoun and the Le-compton
Constitution, when even Douglas turned to revile his old friend and
coadjutor, Mr. Lincoln was never known to breathe a word of censure on
his personal character.

On the 7th of May, 1833, Mr. Lincoln was appointed postmaster at
New Salem. His political opinions were not extreme; and the Jackson
administration could find no man who was at the same time more orthodox
and equally competent to perform the duties of the office. He was not
able to rent a room, for the business is said to have been carried on in
his hat; but, from the evidence before us, we imagine that he kept the
office in Mr. Hill's store, Mr. Hill's partner, McNamar, having been
absent since 1832. He held the place until late in 1836, when New Salem
partially disappeared, and the office was removed to Petersburg. For
a little while before his own appointment, he is said to have acted as
"deputy-postmaster" under Mr. Hill.

The mail arrived duly once a week; and the labors of distributing and
delivering it were by no means great. But Mr. Lincoln was determined
that the dignity of the place should not suffer while he was the
incumbent. He therefore made up for the lack of real business by
deciphering the letters of the uneducated portion of the community, and
by reading the newspapers aloud to the assembled inhabitants in front of
Hill's store.

But his easy good-nature was sometimes imposed upon by inconsiderate
acquaintances; and Mr. Hill relates one of the devices by which
he sought to stop the abuse. "One Elmore Johnson, an ignorant but
ostentatious, proud man, used to go to Lincoln's post-office every
day,--sometimes three or four times a day, if in town,--and inquire,
'Any thing for me?' This bored Lincoln, yet it amused him. Lincoln fixed
a plan,--wrote a letter to Johnson as coming from a negress in Kentucky,
saying many good things about opossum, dances, corn-shuckings, &c.;
'John's! come and see me; and old master won't kick you out of the
kitchen any more!' Elmore took it out; opened it; couldn't read a word;
pretended to read it; went away; got some friends to read it: they read
it correctly; he thought the reader was fooling him, and went to others
with the same result. At last he said he would get _Lincoln_ to read it,
and presented it to Lincoln. It was almost too much for Lincoln, but he
read it. The man never asked afterwards, 'Any thing here for me?"

It was in the latter part of 1834 that Mr. Lincoln's personal property
was sold under the hammer, and by due process of law, to meet the
judgment obtained by Van Bergen on the note assigned to him by Radford.
Every thing he had was taken; but it was the surveyor's instruments
which it hurt him most to part with, for by their use he was making a
tolerable living, and building up a respectable business. This time,
however, rescue came from an unexpected quarter.

When Mr. Lincoln first came to New Salem, he employed a woman to make
him a pair of pantaloons, which, probably from the scarcity of material,
were cut entirely too short, as his garments usually were. Soon
afterwards the woman's brother came to town, and she pointed Abe out to
him as he walked along the street. The brother's name was James Short.
"Without the necessity of a formal introduction," says Short, "we fell
in together, and struck up a conversation, the purport of which I
have now forgotten. He made a favorable impression upon me by his
conversation on first acquaintance through his intelligence and
sprightliness, which impression was deepened from time to time, as I
became better acquainted with him." This was a lucky "impression" for
Abe. Short was a fast friend, and in the day of trouble a sure and able
one. At the time the judgment was obtained, Short lived on the Sand
Ridge, four miles from New Salem; and Lincoln was in the habit of
walking out there almost daily. Short was then unconscious of the main
reason of Mr. Lincoln's remarkable devotion to him: there was a lady in
the house whom Lincoln secretly but earnestly loved, and of whom there
is much to be said at another place. If the host had known every thing,
however, poor Abe would have been equally welcome; for he made himself a
strangely agreeable guest here, as he did everywhere else. In busy times
he pulled off his roundabout, and helped Short in the field with more
energy than any hired man would have displayed. "He was," said Short,
"the best hand at husking corn on the stalk I ever saw. I used to
consider myself very good; but he would gather two loads to my one."

These visits increased Short's disposition to serve him; and it touched
him sorely when he heard Lincoln moaning about the catastrophe that
hung over him in the form of Van Bergen's judgment. "An execution
was issued," says he, "and levied on Lincoln's horse, saddle, bridle,
compass, chain, and other surveyor's instruments. He was then very much
discouraged, and said he would let the whole thing go by the board. He
was at my house very much,--half the time. I did all I could to put him
in better spirits. I went on the delivery-bond with him; and when the
sale came off, which Mr. Lincoln did not attend, I bid in the above
property at a hundred and twenty dollars, and immediately gave it up
again to him. Mr. Lincoln afterwards repaid me when he had moved to
Springfield. Greene also turned in on this judgment his horse, saddle,
and bridle at a hundred and twenty-five dollars; and Lincoln afterwards
repaid him."

But, after all, Mr. Lincoln had no friend more intimate than Jack
Armstrong, and none that valued him more highly. Until he finally
left New Salem for Springfield, he "rusticated" occasionally at Jack's
hospitable cabin, situated "four miles in the country," as the polished
metropolitans of New Salem would say. Jack's wife, Hannah, before
alluded to, liked Abe, and enjoyed his visits not less than Jack did.
"Abe would come out to our house," she says, "drink milk, eat mush,
corn-bread, and butter, bring the children candy, and rock the cradle
while I got him something to eat.... I foxed his pants; made his
shirts... He has gone with us to father's; he would tell stories, joke
people, girls and boys, at parties. He would nurse babies,--do any thing
to accommodate anybody.... I had no books about my house; loaned him
none. We didn't think about books and papers. We worked; had to live.
Lincoln has staid at our house two or three weeks at a time."

If Jack had "to work to live," as his wife has it, he was likewise
constrained to fight and wrestle and tumble about with his unhappy
fellow-citizens, in order to enjoy the life he earned by labor. He
frequently came "to town," where his sportive inclinations ran riot,
except as they were checked and regulated by the amicable interposition
of Abe,--the prince of his affections, and the only man who was
competent to restrain him.

"The children at school had made a wide sliding walk," from the top
of Salem Hill to the river-bank, down which they rode on sleds and
boards,--a distance of two hundred and fifty or three hundred yards.
Now, it was one of the suggestions of Jack's passion for innocent
diversion to nail up in hogsheads such of the population as incurred
his displeasure, and send them adrift along this frightful descent. Sol.
Spears and one Scanlon were treated to an adventure of this kind; but
the hogshead in which the two were caged "leaped over an embankment,
and came near killing Scanlon." After that the sport was considered less
amusing, and was very much discouraged by that portion of the community
who feared, that, in the absence of more convenient victims, "the boys"
might light on them. Under these circumstances, Jack, for once in his
life, thought it best to abandon coercion, and negotiate for subjects.
He selected an elderly person of bibulous proclivities, and tempted him
with a great temptation. "Old man Jordan _agreed_ to be rolled down the
hill for a gallon of whiskey;" but Lincoln, fully impressed with the
brutality of the pastime, and the danger to the old sot, "stopped it."
Whether he did it by persuasion or force, we know not, but probably by a
judicious employment of both.

"I remember once," says Mr. Ellis, "of seeing Mr. Lincoln out of temper,
and laughing at the same time. It was at New Salem. The boys were
having a jollification after an election. They had a large fire made of
shavings and hemp-stalks; and some of the boys made a bet with a fellow
that I shall call 'Ike,' that he couldn't run his little bob-tail pony
through the fire. Ike took them up, and trotted his pony back about one
hundred yards, to give him a good start, as he said. The boys all formed
a line on either side, to make way for Ike and his pony. Presently
here he come, full tilt, with his hat off; and, just as he reached the
blazing fire, Ike raised in his saddle for the jump straight ahead; but
pony was not of the same opinion, so he flew the track, and pitched
poor Ike into the devouring element. Mr. Lincoln saw it, and ran to his
assistance, saying, 'You have carried this thing far enough.' I could
see he was mad, though he could not help laughing himself. The poor
fellow was considerably scorched about the head and face. Jack Armstrong
took him to the doctor, who shaved his head to fix him up, and put salve
on the burn. I think Mr. Lincoln was a little mad at Armstrong, and Jack
himself was very sorry for it. Jack gave Ike next morning a dram, his
breakfast, and a seal-skin cap, and sent him home."

"One cold winter day, Lincoln saw a poor fellow named "Ab Trent" hard at
work chopping up "a house," which Mr. Hill had employed him to convert
into firewood. Ab was barefooted, and shivered pitifully while he
worked. Lincoln watched him a few moments, and asked him what he was to
get for the job. Ab answered, 'One dollar;' and, pointing to his naked
and suffering feet, said that he wished to buy a pair of shoes. Lincoln
seized the axe, and, ordering the boy to comfort himself at the nearest
fire, chopped up 'the house' so fast that Ab and the owner were both
amazed when they saw it done." According to Mr. Rutledge, "Ab remembered
this act with the liveliest gratitude. Once he, being a cast-iron
Democrat, determined to vote against his party and for Mr. Lincoln;
but the friends, as he afterwards said with tears in his eyes, made
him drunk, and he had voted against Abe. Thus he did not even have an
opportunity to return the noble conduct of Mr. Lincoln by this small
measure of thanks."

We have given some instances of Mr. Lincoln's unfailing disposition to
succor the weak and the unfortunate. He never seems to have hesitated on
account of actual or fancied danger to himself, but boldly espoused the
side of the oppressed against the oppressor, whoever and whatever the
latter might be. In a fisticuff or a rough-and-tumble fight, he was one
of the most formidable men of the region in which he lived. It took a
big bully, and a persevering one, to force him into a collision; but,
being in, his enemy found good reason to beware of him. He was cool,
calculating, but swift in action, and terribly strong. Nevertheless, he
never promoted a quarrel, and would be at infinite trouble any time to
compose one. An unnecessary broil gave him pain; and whenever there was
the slightest hope of successful mediation, whether by soft speech or by
the strong hand, he was instant and fearless for peace. His good-nature,
his humor, his fertility in expedients, and his alliance, offensive
and defensive, with Jack Armstrong, made him almost irresistible in
his benevolent efforts to keep the ordinary ruffian of New Salem within
decent bounds. If he was talking to Squire Godbey or Row Herndon (each
of them give incidents of the kind), and he heard the sounds or saw
the signs which betoken a row in the street, he would jump up, saying,
"Let's go and stop it." He would push through the "ring" which was
generally formed around the combatants, and, after separating the
latter, would demand a truce and "a talk;" and so soon as he got them
to talking, the victory was his. If it happened to be rough Jack himself
who was at the bottom of the disturbance, he usually became very much
ashamed of his conduct, and offered to "treat," or do any thing else
that would atone for his brutality.

Lincoln has often been seen in the old mill on the river-bank to lift
a box of stones weighing from a thousand to twelve hundred pounds.
Of course it was not done by a straight lift of the hands: he "was
harnessed to the box with ropes and straps." It was even said he could
easily raise a barrel of whiskey to his mouth when standing upright, and
take a drink out of the bung-hole; but of course one cannot believe it.
Frequent exhibitions of such strength doubtless had much to do with his
unbounded influence over the rougher class of men.

He possessed the judicial quality of mind in a degree so eminent, and it
was so universally recognized, that he never could attend a horse-race
without being importuned to act as a judge, or witness a bet without
assuming the responsibility of a stakeholder. "In the spring or
summer of 1832," says Henry McHenry, "I had a horse-race with George
Warbur-ton. I got Lincoln, who was at the race, to be a judge of the
race, much against his will and after hard persuasion. Lincoln decided
correctly; and the other judge said, 'Lincoln is the fairest man I ever
bad to deal with: if Lincoln is in this county when I die, I want him
to be my administrator, for he is the only man I ever met with that was
wholly and unselfishly honest.'" His ineffable purity in determining the
result of a scrub-race had actually set his colleague to thinking of his
latter end.

But Lincoln endured another annoyance much worse than this. He was
so generally esteemed, and so highly admired, that, when any of his
neighbors had a fight in prospect, one of the parties was sure to insist
upon his acting as his second. Lincoln was opposed to fights, but there
were some fights that had to be fought; and these were "set," a day
fixed, and the neighborhood notified. In these cases there was no room
for the offices of a mediator; and when the affair was pre-ordained,
"and must come off," Mr. Lincoln had no excuse for denying the request
of a friend.

"Two neighbors, Harry Clark and Ben Wilcox," says Mr. Rutledge, "had had
a lawsuit. The defeated declared, that, although he was beaten in the
suit, he could whip his opponent. This was a formal challenge, and was
at once carried to the ears of the victor (Wilcox), and as promptly
accepted. The time, place, and seconds were chosen with due regularity;
Mr. Lincoln being Clark's, and John Brewer, Wilcox's second. The parties
met, stripped themselves all but their breeches, went in, and Mr.
Lincoln's principal was beautifully whipped. These combats were
conducted with as much ceremony and punctiliousness as ever graced
the duelling-ground. After the conflict, the seconds conducted their
respective principals to the river, washed off the blood, and assisted
them to dress. During this performance, the second of the party opposed
to Mr. Lincoln remarked, 'Well, Abe, my man has whipped yours, and I
can whip you.' Now, this challenge came from a man who was very small in
size. Mr. Lincoln agreed to fight, provided he would chalk out his size
on Mr. Lincoln's person, and every blow struck outside of that mark
should be counted foul. After this sally, there was the best possible
humor, and all parties were as orderly as if they had been engaged in
the most harmless amusement."

In 1834 Lincoln was again a candidate for the Legislature, and this time
was elected by a larger majority than any other man on the ticket. By
this time the party with which he acted in the future was "discriminated
as Whig;" and he did not hesitate to call himself a Whig, although he
sought and received the votes of a great many Democrats. Just before the
time had arrived for candidates to announce themselves, he went to John
T. Stuart, and told him "the Democrats wanted to run him." He made the
same statement to Ninian W. Edwards. Edwards and Stuart were both his
personal and political friends, and they both advised him to let
the Democrats have their way. Major Stuart's advice was certainly
disinterested; for, in pursuance of it, two of the Whig candidates,
Lincoln and Dawson, made a bargain with the Democrats which very
nearly proved fatal to Stuart himself. He was at that time the favorite
candidate of the Whigs for the Legislature; but the conduct of Lincoln
and Dawson so demoralized the party, that his vote was seriously
diminished. Up to this time Sangamon had been stanchly Democratic;
but even in this election of 1834 we perceive slight evidences of that
party's decay, and so early as 1836 the county became thoroughly Whig.

We shall give no details of this campaign, since we should only be
repeating what is written of the campaign of 1832. But we cannot
withhold one extract from the reminiscences of Mr. Row Herndon:--

"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.

"The next day was speaking at Berlin. He went from my house with Dr.
Barnett, the man that had asked me who this man Lincoln was. I told him
that he was a candidate for the Legislature. He laughed and said, 'Can't
the party raise no better material than that?' I said, 'Go to-morrow,
and hear all before you pronounce judgment.' When he came back, I
said, 'Doctor, what say you now?' 'Why, sir,' said he, 'he is a perfect
take-in: he knows more than all of them put together.'"

Lincoln got 1,376 votes, Dawson 1,370, Carpenter 1,170, Stuart 1,164.
Lincoln was at last duly elected a Representative by a very flattering
majority, and began to look about for the pecuniary means necessary to
maintain his new dignity. In this extremity he had recourse to an old
friend named Coleman Smoot.

One day in 1832, while he was clerking for Offutt, a stranger came into
the store, and soon disclosed the fact that his name was Smoot. Abe was
behind the counter at the moment; but, hearing the name, he sprang over
and introduced himself. Abe had often heard of Smoot, and Smoot had
often heard of Abe. They had been as anxious to meet as ever two
celebrities were; but hitherto they had never been able to manage it.
"Smoot," said Lincoln, after a steady survey of his person, "I am very
much disappointed in you: I expected to see an old Probst of a fellow."
(Probst, it appears, was the most hideous specimen of humanity in all
that country.) "Yes," replied Smoot; "and I am equally disappointed,
for I expected to see a good-looking man when I saw you." A few neat
compliments like the foregoing laid the foundation of a lasting intimacy
between the two men, and in his present distress Lincoln knew no one who
would be more likely than Smoot to respond favorably to an application
for money.

"After he was elected to the Legislature," says Mr. Smoot, "he came to
my house one day in company with Hugh Armstrong. Says he, 'Smoot, did
you vote for me?' I told him I did. 'Well,' says he, 'you must loan me
money to buy suitable clothing, for I want to make a decent appearance
in the Legislature.' I then loaned him two hundred dollars, which he
returned to me according to promise."

The interval between the election and his departure for the seat of
government was employed by Mr. Lincoln partly in reading, partly in
writing.

The community in which he lived was pre-eminently a community of
free-thinkers in matters of religion; and it was then no secret, nor has
it been a secret since, that Mr. Lincoln agreed with the majority of his
associates in denying to the Bible the authority of divine revelation.
It was his honest belief,--a belief which it was no reproach to hold
at New Salem, Anno Domini 1834, and one which he never thought of
concealing. It was no distinction, either good or bad, no honor, and no
shame. But he had made himself thoroughly familiar with the writings
of Paine and Volney,--"The Ruins" by one and "The Age of Reason" by
the other. His mind was full of the subject, and he felt an itching to
write. He did write, and the result was a "little book." It was probably
merely an extended essay; but it is ambitiously spoken of as "a book" by
himself and by the persons who were made acquainted with its contents.
In this work he intended to demonstrate,--

<b>"First, that the Bible was not God's revelation; and,

"Secondly, that Jesus was not the Son of God."</b>

These were his leading propositions, and surely they were comprehensive
enough; but the reader will be better able to guess at the arguments
by which they were sustained, when he has examined some of the evidence
recorded in Chapter XIX.

No leaf of this little volume has survived. Mr. Lincoln carried it
in manuscript to the store of Mr. Samuel Hill, where it was read and
discussed. Hill was himself an unbeliever, but his son considered
this book "infamous." It is more than probable that Hill, being a warm
personal friend of Lincoln, feared that the publication of the essay
would some day interfere with the political advancement of his favorite.
At all events, he snatched it out of his hand, and thrust it into the
fire, from which not a shred escaped. The sequel will show that even Mr.
Hill's provident forethought was not altogether equal to the prevention
of the injury he dreaded.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE reader is already familiar with the name of James Rutledge, the
founder of New Salem, and the owner in part of the famous mill on the
Sangamon. He was born in South Carolina, and was of the illustrious
Rutledge family of that State. From South Carolina he emigrated to
Kentucky, and thence to Illinois. In 1828 he settled at New Salem, built
the mill and laid out the village in conjunction with Mr. Cameron,
a retired minister of the Cumberland Presbyterians. Mr. Rutledge's
character seems to have been pure and high; for wherever his name occurs
in the voluminous records before us,--in the long talks and the numerous
epistles of his neighbors,--it is almost invariably coupled with some
expression of genuine esteem and respect.

At one time, and along with his other business,--which appears to have
been quite extensive and various,--Mr. Rutledge kept the tavern, the
small house with four rooms on the main street of New Salem, just
opposite Lincoln's grocery. There Mr. Lincoln came to board late in
1832, or early in 1833. The family consisted of the father, mother,
and nine children,--three of them born in Kentucky and six in Illinois;
three grown up, and the rest quite young. Ann, the principal subject of
this chapter, was the third child. She was born on the 7th of January,
1813, and was about nineteen years of age when Mr. Lincoln came to live
in the house.

When Ann was a little maiden just turned of seventeen, and still
attending the school of that redoubtable pedagogue Min-ter Graham, there
came to New Salem a young gentleman of singular enterprise, tact, and
capacity for business. He is identical with the man whom we have already
quoted as "the pioneer of New Salem as a business point," and who built
the first storehouse there at the extravagant cost of fifteen dollars.
He took boarding with Mr. Rutledge's friend and partner, James Cameron,
and gave out his name as John McNeil. He came to New Salem with no other
capital than good sense and an active and plucky spirit; but somehow
fortune smiled indiscriminately on all his endeavors, and very soon--as
early as the latter part of 1832--he found himself a well-to-do and
prosperous man, owning a snug farm seven miles north of New Salem, and
a half-interest in the largest store of the place. This latter property
his partner, Samuel Hill, bought from him at a good round sum; for
McNeil now announced his intention of being absent for a brief period,
and his purpose was such that he might need all his available capital.

In the mean time the partners, Hill and McNeil, had both fallen in love
with Ann Rutledge, and both courted her with devoted assiduity. But the
contest had long since been decided in favor of McNeil, and Ann loved
him with all her susceptible and sensitive heart. When the time drew
near for McNeil to depart, he confided to Ann a strange story,--and, in
the eyes of a person less fond, a very startling story. His name was
not John McNeil at all, but John McNamar. His family was a highly
respectable one in the State of New York; but a few years before his
father had failed in business, and there was great distress at home. He
(John) then conceived the romantic plan of running away, and, at some
undefined place in the far West, making a sudden fortune with which to
retrieve the family disaster. He fled accordingly, changed his name to
avoid the pursuit of his father, found his way to New Salem, and--she
knew the rest. He was now able to perform that great act of filial piety
which he set out to accomplish, would return at once to the relief of
his parents, and, in all human probability, bring them back with him to
his new home in Illinois. At all events, she might look for his return
as speedily as the journey could be made with ordinary diligence; and
thenceforward there should be no more partings between him and his fair
Ann. She believed this tale, because she loved the man that told it;
and she would have believed it all the same if it had been ten times as
incredible. A wise man would have rejected it with scorn, but the girl's
instinct was a better guide; and McNamar proved to be all that he said
he was, although poor Ann never saw the proof which others got of it.

McNamar rode away "on old Charley," an antiquated steed that had seen
hard usage in the Black Hawk War. Charley was slow, stumbled dreadfully,
and caused his rider much annoyance and some hard swearing. On this
provoking animal McNamar jogged through the long journey from New Salem
to New York, and arrived there after many delays, only to find that his
broken and dispirited father was fast sinking into the grave. After
all his efforts, he was too late: the father could never enjoy the
prosperity which the long-absent and long-silent son had brought him.
McNamar wrote to Ann that there was sickness in the family, and he could
not return at the time appointed. Then there were other and still other
postponements; "circumstances over which he had no control" prevented
his departure from time to time, until years had rolled away, and Ann's
heart had grown sick with hope deferred. She never quite gave him up,
but continued to expect him until death terminated her melancholy watch.
His inexplicable delay, however, the infrequency of his letters, and
their unsatisfactory character,--these and something else had broken her
attachment, and toward the last she waited for him only to ask a release
from her engagement, and to say that she preferred another and a more
urgent suitor. But without his knowledge and formal renunciation of his
claim upon her, she did not like to marry; and, in obedience to this
refinement of honor, she postponed her union with the more pressing
lover until Aug. 25, 1835, when, as many persons believe, she died of a
broken heart.

Lincoln's friend Short was in some way related to the Rutledges, and
for a while Lincoln visited Ann two or three times a week at his house.
According to him, "Miss Rutledge was a good-looking, smart, lively girl,
a good housekeeper, with a moderate education, and without any of the
so-called accomplishments." L. M. Greene, who knew her well, talks about
her as "a beautiful and very amiable young woman;" and "Nult" Greene is
even more enthusiastic. "This young lady," in the language of the latter
gentleman, "was a woman of exquisite beauty; but her intellect was
quick, sharp, deep, and philosophic, as well as brilliant. She had
as gentle and kind a heart as an angel, full of love, kindliness, and
sympathy. She was beloved by everybody, and everybody respected and
loved her, so sweet and angelic was she. Her character was more than
good: it was positively noted throughout the county. She was a woman
worthy of Lincoln's love." McNamar, her unfortunate lover, says, "Miss
Ann was a gentle, amiable maiden, without any of the airs of your city
belles, but winsome and comely withal; a blonde in complexion, with
golden hair, cherry-red lips, and a bonny blue eye." Even the women
of the neighborhood united with the men to praise the name of this
beautiful but unhappy girl. Mrs. Hardin Bale "knew her well. She had
auburn hair, blue eyes, fair complexion; was a slim, pretty, kind,
tender, good-hearted woman; in height about five feet three inches, and
weighed about a hundred and twenty pounds. She was beloved by all who
knew her. McNamar, Hill, and Lincoln all courted her near the same time.
She died as it were of grief. Miss Rutledge was beautiful." Such was
Ann Rutledge, the girl in whose grave Mr. Lincoln said, "My heart lies
buried." When Mr. Lincoln first saw Ann, she was probably the most
refined woman with whom he had then ever spoken,--a modest, delicate
creature, fascinating by reason of the mere contrast with the rude
people by whom they were both surrounded. She had a secret, too, and a
sorrow,--the unexplained and painful absence of McNamar,--which no doubt
made her all the more interesting to him whose spirit was often even
more melancholy than her own. It would be hard to trace the growth of
such an attachment at a time and place so distant; but that it actually
grew, and became an intense and mutual passion, the evidence before us
is painfully abundant.

Mr. Lincoln was always welcome at the little tavern, at Short's on
the Sand Ridge, or at the farm, half a mile from Short's, where the
Rutledges finally abode. Ann's father was his devoted friend, and the
mother he called affectionately "Aunt Polly." It is probable that the
family looked upon McNamar's delay with more suspicion than Ann did
herself. At all events, all her adult relatives encouraged the suit
which Lincoln early began to press; and as time, absence, and apparent
neglect, gradually told against McNamar, she listened to him with
augmenting interest, until, in 1835, we find them formally and solemnly
betrothed. Ann now waited only for the return of McNamar to marry
Lincoln. David Rutledge urged her to marry immediately, without regard
to any thing but her own happiness; but she said she could not consent
to it until McNamar came back and released her from her pledge. At
length, however, as McNamar's re-appearance became more and more
hopeless, she took a different view of it, and then thought she would
become Abe's wife as soon as he found the means of a decent livelihood.
"Ann told me once," says James M. in a letter to R. B. Rutledge, in
coming from camp-meeting on Rock Creek, "that engagements made too far
ahead sometimes failed; that one _had_ failed (meaning her engagement
with McNamar), and gave me to understand, that, as soon as certain
studies were completed, she and Lincoln would be married."

In the summer of 1835 Ann showed unmistakable symptoms of failing
health, attributable, as most of the neighborhood believed, to the
distressing attitude she felt bound to maintain between her two lovers.
On the 25th of August, in that year, she died of what the doctors chose
to call "brain-fever." In a letter to Mr. Herndon, her brother
says, "You suggest that the probable cause of Ann's sickness was her
conflicts, emotions, &c. As to this I cannot say. I, however, have my
own private convictions. The character of her sickness was brain-fever."
A few days before her death Lincoln was summoned to her bedside. What
happened in that solemn conference was known only to him and the dying
girl. But when he left her, and stopped at the house of John Jones, on
his way home, Jones saw signs of the most terrible distress in his
face and his conduct. When Ann actually died, and was buried, his grief
became frantic: he lost all self-control, even the consciousness of
identity, and every friend he had in New Salem pronounced him insane,
mad, crazy. "He was watched with especial vigilance," as William Green
tells us, "during storms, fogs, damp, gloomy weather, for fear of an
accident." "At such times he raved piteously, declaring, among other wild
expressions of his woe, 'I can never be reconciled to have the snow,
rains, and storms to beat upon her grave!'"

About three-quarters of a mile below New Salem, at the foot of the main
bluff, and in a hollow between two lateral bluffs, stood the house of
Bowlin Greene, built of logs and weather-boarded. Thither the friends
of Lincoln, who apprehended a total abdication of reason, determined
to transport him, partly for the benefit of a mere change of scene, and
partly to keep him within constant reach of his near and noble
friend, Bowlin Greene. During this period of his darkened and wavering
intellect, when "accidents" were momentarily expected, it was discovered
that Bowlin Greene possessed a power to persuade and guide him
proportioned to the affection that had subsisted between them in former
and better times. Bowlin Greene came for him, but Lincoln was cunning
and obstinate: it required the most artful practices of a general
conspiracy of all his friends to "disarm his suspicions," and induce
him to go and stay with his most anxious and devoted friend. But at last
they succeeded; and Lincoln remained down under the bluff for two or
three weeks, the object of undisguised solicitude and of the strictest
surveillance. At the end of that time his mind seemed to be restored,
and it was thought safe to let him go back to his old haunts,--to the
study of law, to the writing of legal papers for his neighbors, to
pettifogging before the justice of the peace, and perhaps to a little
surveying. But Mr. Lincoln was never precisely the same man again. At
the time of his release he was thin, haggard, and careworn,--like one
risen from the verge of the grave. He had always been subject to fits
of great mental depression, but after this they were more frequent and
alarming. It was then that he began to repeat, with a feeling which
seemed to inspire every listener with awe, and to carry him to the fresh
grave of Ann at every one of his solemn periods, the lines entitled,
"Immortality; or, Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?"
None heard him but knew that he selected these curiously empty, yet
wonderfully sad, impressive lines, to celebrate a grief which lay
with continual heaviness on his heart, but to which he could not with
becoming delicacy directly allude. He muttered them as he rambled
through the woods, or walked by the roaring Sangamon. He was heard to
murmur them to himself as he slipped into the village at nightfall,
after a long walk of six miles, and an evening visit to the Concord
graveyard; and he would suddenly break out with them in little social
assemblies after noticeable periods of silent gloom. They came unbidden
to his lips, while the air of affliction in face and gesture, the moving
tones and touching modulations of his voice, made it evident that every
syllable of the recitation was meant to commemorate the mournful fate of
Ann. The poem is now his: the name of the obscure author is forgotten,
and his work is imperishably associated with the memory of a great man,
and interwoven with the history of his greatest Sorrow. Mr. Lincoln's
adoption of it has saved it from merited oblivion, and translated it
from the "poet's corner" of the country newspaper to a place in the
story of his own life,--a story that will continue to be written, or
written about, as long as our language exists.

Many years afterwards, when Mr. Lincoln, the best lawyer of his section,
with one exception, travelled the circuit with the court and a crowd
of his jolly brethren, he always rose early, be fore any one else was
stirring, and, raking together a few glowing coals on the hearth, he
would sit looking into them, musing and talking with himself, for hours
together. One morning, in the year of his nomination, his companions
found him in this attitude, when "Mr. Lincoln repeated aloud, and at
length, the poem 'Immortality,'" indicating his preference for the two
last stanzas, but insisting that the entire composition "sounded to him
as much like true poetry as any thing that he had ever heard."

In Carpenter's "Anecdotes and Reminiscences of President Lincoln,"
occurs the following passage:--?

"The evening of March 22, 1864, was a most interesting one to me. I was
with the President alone in his office for several hours. Busy with pen
and papers when I went in, he presently threw them aside, and commenced
talking to me of Shakspeare, of whom he was very fond. Little 'Tad,' his
son, coming in, he sent him to the library for a copy of the plays,
and then read to me several of his favorite passages. Relapsing into a
sadder strain, he laid the book aside, and, leaning back in his chair,
said,--

"'There is a poem which has been a great favorite with me for years,
which was first shown to me when a young man by a friend, and which I
afterwards saw and cut from a newspaper, and learned by heart. I would,'
he continued, 'give a great deal to know who wrote it; but I have never
been able to ascertain.'

"Then, half closing his eyes, he repeated the verses to me:--

     "'Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
     Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
     A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
     He passeth from life to his rest in the grave.

     The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
     Be scattered around, and together be laid;
     And the young and the old, and the low and the high,
     Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie.

     The infant a mother attended and loved;
     The mother that infant's affection who proved;
     The husband that mother and infant who blest,--
     Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.

     [The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
     Shone beauty and pleasure, her triumphs are by;
     And the memory of those who loved her and praised,
     Are alike from the minds of the living erased.]

     The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne,
     The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,
     The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,
     Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.

     The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap,
     The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep,
     The beggar who wandered in search of his bread,
     Have faded away like the grass that we tread.

     [The saint who enjoyed the communion of Heaven,
     The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven,
     The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,
     Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.]

     So the multitude goes, like the flower or the weed,
     That withers away to let others succeed;
     So the multitude comes, even those we behold,
     To repeat every tale that has often been told.

     For we are the same our fathers have been;
     We see the same sights our fathers have seen;
     We drink the same stream, we view the same sun,
     And run the same course our fathers have run.

     The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;
     From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink;
     To the life we are clinging they also would cling;
     But it speeds from us all like a bird on the wing.

     They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;
     They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;
     They grieved, but no wail from their slumber will come;
     They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.

     They died, ay, they died: we things that are now,
     That walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
     And make in their dwellings a transient abode,
     Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.

     Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
     Are mingled together in sunshine and rain;
     And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,
     Still follow each other like surge upon surge.

     'Tis the wink of an eye,'tis the draught of a breath,
     From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
     From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,--
     Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?'"

It was only a year or two after the death of Ann Rutledge that Mr.
Lincoln told Robert L. Wilson, a distinguished colleague in the
Legislature, parts of whose letter will be printed in another place,
that, although "he appeared to enjoy life rapturously," it was a
mistake; that, "when alone, he was so overcome by mental depression,
that he never dared to carry a pocket-knife." And during all Mr.
Wilson's extended acquaintance with him he never did own a knife,
notwithstanding he was inordinately fond of whittling.

Mr. Herndon says, "He never addressed another woman, in my opinion,
'Yours affectionately,' and generally and characteristically abstained
from the use of the word '_love._' That word cannot be found more than
a half-dozen times, if that often, in all his letters and speeches since
that time. I have seen some of his letters to other ladies, but he never
says 'love.' He never ended his letters with 'Yours affectionately,'
but signed his name, 'Your friend, A. Lincoln.'" After Mr. Lincoln's
election to the Presidency, he one day met an old friend, Isaac Cogdale,
who had known him intimately in the better days of the Rutledges at New
Salem. "Ike," said he, "call at my office at the State House about
an hour by sundown. The company will then all be gone." Cogdale went
according to request; "and sure enough," as he expressed it, "the
company dropped off one by one, including Lincoln's clerk."

"'I want to inquire about old times and old acquaintances,' began Mr.
Lincoln. 'When we lived in Salem, there were the Greenes, Potters,
Armstrongs, and Rutledges. These folks have got scattered all over the
world,--some are dead. Where are the Rutledges, Greenes, &c.?'

"After we had spoken over old times," continues Cogdale,--"persons,
circumstances,--in which he showed a wonderful memory, I then dared to
ask him this question:--

"'May I now, in turn, ask you one question, Lincoln?'

"'Assuredly. I will answer your question, if a fair one, with all my
heart.'

"'Well, Abe, is it true that you fell in love and courted Ann Rutledge?'

"'It is true,--true: indeed I did. I have loved the name of Rutledge to
this day. I have kept my mind on their movements ever since, and love
them dearly.'

"'Abe, is it true,'" still urged Cogdale, "that you ran a little wild
about the matter?'

"'I did really. I ran off the track. It was my first. I loved the woman
dearly. She was a handsome girl; would have made a good, loving wife;
was natural and quite intellectual, though not highly educated. I did
honestly and truly love the girl, and think often, often, of her now.'"

A few weeks after the burial of Ann, McNamar returned to New Salem.
He saw Lincoln at the post-office, and was struck with the deplorable
change in his appearance. A short time afterwards Lincoln wrote him
a deed, which he still has, and prizes highly, in memory of his great
friend and rival. His father was at last dead; but he brought back with
him his mother and her family. In December of the same year his mother
died, and was buried in the same graveyard with Ann. During his absence,
Col. Rutledge had occupied his farm, and there Ann died; but "the
Rutledge farm" proper adjoined this one to the south. "Some of Mr.
Lincoln's corners, as a surveyor, are still visible on lines traced by
him on both farms."

On Sunday, the fourteenth day of October, 1866, William H. Herndon
knocked at the door of John McNamar, at his residence, but a few feet
distant from the spot where Ann Rutledge breathed her last. After some
preliminaries not necessary to be related, Mr. Herndon says, "I asked
him the question:--

"'Did you know Miss Rutledge? If so, where did she die?'

"He sat by his open window, looking westerly; and, pulling me closer to
himself, looked through the window and said, 'There, by that,'--choking
up with emotion, pointing his long forefinger, nervous and trembling,
to the spot,--'there, by that currant-bush, she died. The old house in
which she and her father died is gone.'

"After further conversation, leaving the sadness to momentarily pass
away, I asked this additional question:--

"'Where was she buried?'

"'In Concord burying-ground, one mile south-east of this place.'"

Mr. Herndon sought the grave. "S. C. Berry," says he, "James Short (the
gentleman who purchased in Mr. Lincoln's compass and chain in 1834,
under an execution against Lincoln, or Lincoln & Berry, and gratuitously
gave them back to Mr. Lincoln), James Miles, and myself were together.

"I asked Mr. Berry if he knew where Miss Rutledge was buried,--the place
and exact surroundings. He replied, 'I do. The grave of Miss Rutledge
lies just north of her brother's, David Rutledge, a young lawyer of
great promise, who died in 1842, in his twenty-seventh year.'

"The cemetery contains but an acre of ground, in a beautiful and
secluded situation. A thin skirt of timber lies on the east, commencing
at the fence of the cemetery. The ribbon of timber, some fifty yards
wide, hides the sun's early rise. At nine o'clock the sun pours all
his rays into the cemetery. An extensive prairie lies west, the forest
north, a field on the east, and timber and prairie on the south. In this
lonely ground lie the Berrys, the Rutledges, the Clarys, the Armstrongs,
and the Joneses, old and respected citizens,--pioneers of an early day.
I write, or rather did write, the original draught of this description
in the immediate presence of the ashes of Miss Ann Rutledge, the
beautiful and tender dead. The village of the dead is a sad, solemn
place. Its very presence imposes truth on the mind of the living writer.
Ann Rutledge lies buried north of lier brother, and rests sweetly on
his left arm, angels to guard her. The cemetery is fast filling with
the hazel and the dead."

A lecture delivered by William H. Herndon at Springfield, in 1866,
contained the main outline, without the minuter details, of the
story here related. It was spoken, printed, and circulated without
contradiction from any quarter. It was sent to the Rutledges, McNeeleys,
Greenes, Short, and many other of the old residents of New Salem and
Petersburg, with particular requests that they should correct any
error they might find in it. It was pronounced by them all truthful
and accurate; but their replies, together with a mass of additional
evidence, have been carefully collated with the lecture, and the result
is the present chapter. The story of Ann Rutledge, Lincoln, and McNamar,
as told here, is as well proved as the fact of Mr. Lincoln's election to
the Presidency.




CHAPTER IX

FOLLOWING strictly the chronological order hitherto observed in the
course of this narrative, we should be compelled to break off the story
of Mr. Lincoln's love-affairs at New Salem, and enter upon his public
career in the Legislature and before the people. But, while by that
means we should preserve continuity in one respect, we should lose it in
another; and the reader would perhaps prefer to take in at one view
all of Mr. Lincoln's courtships, save only that one which resulted in
marriage.

Three-quarters of a mile, or nearly so, north of Bowlin Greene's, and
on the summit of a hill, stood the house of Bennett Able, a small frame
building eighteen by twenty feet. Able and his wife were warm friends
of Mr. Lincoln; and many of his rambles through the surrounding country,
reading and talking to himself, terminated at their door, where he
always found the latch-string on the outside, and a hearty welcome
within. In October, 1833, Mr. Lincoln met there Miss Mary Owens, a
sister of Mrs. Able, and, as we shall presently learn from his own
words, admired her, although not extravagantly. She remained but four
weeks, and then went back to her home in Kentucky.

Miss Owens's mother being dead, her father married again; and Miss
Owens, for good reasons of her own, thought she would rather live with
her sister than with her stepmother. Accordingly, in the fall of 1836,
she re-appeared at Able's, passing through New Salem on the day of the
presidential election, where the men standing about the polls stared and
wondered at her "beauty." Twenty eight or nine years of age, "she was,"
in the language of Mr. L. M. Greene, "tall and portly; weighed about
one hundred and twenty pounds, and had large blue eyes, with the finest
trimmings I ever saw. She was jovial, social, loved wit and humor, had a
liberal English education, and was considered wealthy. Bill," continues
our excellent friend, "I am getting old; have seen too much trouble to
give a lifelike picture of this woman. I won't try it. None of the
poets or romance-writers has ever given to us a picture of a heroine so
beautiful as a good description of Miss Owens in 1836 would be."

Mrs. Hardin Bale, a cousin to Miss Owens, says "she was blue-eyed,
dark-haired, handsome,--not pretty,--was rather large and tall,
handsome, truly handsome, matronly looking, over ordinary size in height
and weight.... Miss Owens was handsome, that is to say, noble-looking,
matronly seeming."

Respecting her age and looks, Miss. Owens herself makes the following
note, Aug. 6, 1866:---

"Born in the year eight; fair skin, deep-blue eyes, with dark curling
hair; height five feet five inches, weighing about one hundred and fifty
pounds."

Johnson G. Greene is Miss Owens's cousin; and, whilst on a visit to her
in 1866, he contrived to get her version of the Lincoln courtship at
great length. It does not vary in any material part from the account
currently received in the neighborhood, and given by various persons,
whose oral or written testimony is preserved in Mr. Herndon's collection
of manuscripts. Greene (J. G.) described her in terms about the same
as those used by Mrs. Bale, adding that "she was a nervous and muscular
woman," very "intellectual,"--"the most intellectual woman he ever
saw,"--"with a forehead massive and angular, square, prominent, and
broad."

After Miss Owens's return to New Salem, in the fall of 1813, Mr. Lincoln
was unremitting in his attentions; and wherever she went he was at
her side. She had many relatives in the neighborhood,--the Bales, the
Greenes, the Grahams: and, if she went to spend an afternoon or an
evening with any of these, Abe was very likely to be on hand to conduct
her home. He asked her to marry him; but she prudently evaded a positive
answer until she could make up her mind about questionable points of his
character. She did not think him coarse or cruel; but she did think
him thoughtless, careless, not altogether as polite as he might be,--in
short, "deficient," as she expresses it, "in those little links which
make up the great chain of woman's happiness." His heart was good, his
principles were high, his honor sensitive; but still, in the eyes of
this refined, young lady, he did not seem to be quite the gentleman. "He
was lacking in the smaller attentions;" and, in fact, the whole affair
is explained when she tells us that "_his education was different from"
hers_.

One day Miss Owens and Mrs. Bowlin Greene were making their way slowly
and tediously up the hill to Able's house, when they were joined by
Lincoln. Mrs. Bowlin Greene was carrying "a great big fat child, heavy,
and crossly disposed." Although the woman bent pitiably under her
burden, Lincoln offered her no assistance, but, dropping behind with
Miss Owens, beguiled the way according to his wishes. When they reached
the summit, "Miss Owens said to Lincoln laughingly, 'You would not make
a good husband. Abe.' They sat on the fence; and one word brought on
another, till a split or breach ensued."

Immediately after this misunderstanding, Lincoln went off toward Havana
on a surveying expedition, and was absent about three weeks. On the
first day of his return, one of Able's boys was sent up "to town" for
the mail. Lincoln saw him at the post-office, and "asked if Miss Owens
was at Mr. Able's." The boy said "Yes."--"Tell her," said Lin-join,
"that I'll be down to see her in a few minutes." Now, Miss Owens had
determined to spend that evening at Minter Graham's; and when the boy
gave in the report, "she thought a moment, and said to herself, 'If
I can draw Lincoln up there to Graham's, it will be all right.'" This
scheme was to operate as a test of Abe's love; but it shared the fate of
some of "the best-laid schemes of mice and men," and went "all agley."

Lincoln, according to promise, went down to Able's, and asked if Miss
Owens was in. Mrs. Able replied that she had gone to Graham's, about one
and a half miles from Able's due south-west. Lincoln said, "Didn't she
know I was coming?" Mrs. Able answered, "No;" but one of the children
said, "Yes, ma, she did, for I heard Sam tell her so." Lincoln sat a
while, and then went about his business. "The fat was now in the fire.
Lincoln thought, as he was extremely poor, and Miss Owens very rich, it
was a fling on him on that account. Abe was mistaken in his guesses,
for wealth cut no figure in Miss Owens's eyes. Miss Owens regretted her
course. Abe would not bend; and Miss Owens wouldn't. She said, if she
had it to do over again she would play the cards differently.... She had
two sons in the Southern army. She said that if either of them had got
into difficulty, she would willingly have gone to old Abe for relief."

In Miss Owens's letter of July 22, 1866, it will be observed! that she
tacitly admitted to Mr. Gaines Greene "the circumstances in connection
with Mrs. Greene and child." Although she here denies the precise words
alleged to have been used by her in the little quarrel at the top of the
hill, she does not deny the impression his conduct left upon her mind,
but presents additional evidence of it by the relation of another
incident of similar character, from which her inferences were the same.

Fortunately we are not compelled, to rely upon tradition, however
authentic, for the facts concerning this interesting episode in Mr.
Lincoln's life. Miss Owens is still alive to tell her own tale, and
we have besides his letters to the lady herself. Mr. Lincoln wrote his
account of it as early as 1838. As in duty bound, we shall permit the
lady to speak first. At her particular request, her present name and
residence are suppressed.


------, May 1, 1866.

Mr. W. H. Herndon.

Dear Sir,--After quite a struggle with my feelings, I have at last
decided to send you the letters in my possession written by Mr.
Lincoln, believing, as I do, that you are a gentleman of honor, and will
faithfully abide by all you have said.

My associations with your lamented friend were in Menard County, whilst
visiting a sister, who then resided near Petersburg. I have learned
that my maiden name is now in your possession; and you have ere this, no
doubt, been informed that I am a native Kentuckian.

As regards Miss Rutledge, I cannot tell you any thing, she having died
previous to my acquaintance with Mr. Lincoln; and I do not now recollect
of ever hearing him mention her name. Please return the letters at your
earliest convenience.

Very respectfully yours,

Mary S.------.


------, May 22,1866.

Mr. W. H. Herndon.

My dear Sir,--Really you catechise me in true lawyer style; but I feel
you will have the goodness to excuse me if I decline answering all your
questions in detail, being well assured that few women would have ceded
as much as I have under all the circumstances.

You say you have heard why our acquaintance terminated as it did. I,
too, have heard the same bit of gossip; but I never used the remark
which Madam Rumor says I did to Mr. Lincoln. I think I did on one
occasion say to my sister, who was very anxious for us to be married,
that I thought Mr. Lincoln was deficient in those little links which
make up the chain of woman's happiness,--at least, it was so in my case.
Not that I believed it proceeded from a lack of goodness of heart: but
his training had been different from mine; hence there was not that
congeniality which would otherwise have existed.

From his own showing, you perceive that his heart and hand were at my
disposal; and I suppose that my feelings were not sufficiently enlisted
to have the matter consummated. About the beginning of the year 1833 I
left Illinois, at which time our acquaintance and correspondence ceased
without ever again being renewed.

My father, who resided in Green County, Kentucky, was a gentleman of
considerable means; and I am persuaded that few persons placed a higher
estimate on education than he did.

Respectfully yours,

Mart S.------.


------, July 22, 1866.

Mr. W. H. Herndon.

Dear Sir,--I do not think that you are pertinacious in asking the
question relative to old Mrs. Bowlin Greene, because I wish to set you
right on that question. Your information, no doubt, came through my
cousin, Mr. Gaines Greene, who visited us last winter. Whilst here, he
was laughing at me about Mr. Lincoln, and among other things spoke about
the circumstance in connection with Mrs. Greene and child. My impression
is now that I tacitly admitted it, for it was a season of trouble with
me, and I gave but little heed to the matter. We never had any hard
feelings toward each other that I know of. On no occasion did I say to
Mr. Lincoln that I did not believe he would make a kind husband, because
he did not tender his services to Mrs. Greene in helping of her carry
her babe. As I said to you in a former letter, I thought him lacking
in smaller attentions. One circumstance presents itself just now to my
mind's eye. There was a company of us going to Uncle Billy Greene's. Mr.
Lincoln was riding with me; and we had a very bad branch to cross. The
other gentlemen were very officious in seeing that their partners got
over safely. We were behind, he riding in, never looking back to see
how I got along. When I rode up beside him, I remarked, "You are a nice
fellow! I suppose you did not care whether my neck was broken or not."
He laughingly replied (I suppose by way of compliment) that he knew I
was plenty smart to take care of myself.

In many things he was sensitive, almost to a fault. He told me of an
incident: that he was crossing a prairie one day, and saw before him "a
hog mired down," to use his own language. He was rather "fixed up;" and
he resolved that he would pass on without looking towards the shoat.
After he had gone by, he said the feeling was irresistible; and he had
to look back, and the poor thing seemed to say wistfully, "There, now,
my last hope is gone;" that he deliberately got down, and relieved it
from its difficulty.

In many things we were congenial spirits. In politics we saw eye to eye,
though since then we differed as widely as the South is from the North.
But methinks I hear you say, "Save me from a political woman!" So say I.

The last message I ever received from him was about a year after we
parted in Illinois. Mrs. Able visited Kentucky; and he said to her
in Springfield, "Tell your sister that I think she was a great fool,
because she did not stay here, and marry me." Characteristic of the man.

Respectfully yours,

Mary S.------.

Vandalia, Dec. 13, 1836.

Mary,--I have been sick ever since my arrival, or I should have written
sooner. It is but little difference, however, as I have very little
even yet to write. And more, the longer I can avoid the mortification
of looking in the post-office for your letter, and not finding it, the
better. You see I am mad about that _old letter_ yet. I don't like very
well to risk you again. I'll try you once more, anyhow.

The new State House is not yet finished, and consequently the
Legislature is doing little or nothing. The Governor delivered an
inflammatory political message, and it is expected there will be some
sparring between the parties about it as soon as the two Houses get to
business. Taylor delivered up his petitions for the new county to one
of our members this morning. I am told he despairs of its success, on
account of all the members from Morgan County opposing it. There are
names enough on the petition, I think, to justify the members from our
county in going for it; but if the members from Morgan oppose it, which
they say they will, the chance will be bad.

Our chance to take the seat of government to Springfield is better than
I expected. An internal-improvement convention was held here since we
met, which recommended a loan of several million of dollars, on the
faith of the State, to construct railroads. Some of the Legislature are
for it, and some against it: which has the majority I cannot tell.
There is great strife and struggling for the office of the United States
Senator here at this time. It is probable we shall ease their pains in
a few days. The opposition men have no candidate of their own; and
consequently they will smile as complacently at the angry snarl of the
contending Van-Buren candidates and their respective friends, as the
Christian does at Satan's rage. You recollect that I mentioned at the
outset of this letter that I had been unwell. That is the fact, though
I believe I am about well now; but that, with other things I cannot
account for, have conspired, and have gotten my spirits so low that I
feel that I would rather be any place in the world than here. I really
cannot endure the thought of staying here ten weeks. Write back as soon
as you get this, and, if possible, say something that will please me;
for really I have not been pleased since I left you. This letter is
so dry and stupid that I am ashamed to send it, but with my present
feelings I cannot do any better.

Give my best respects to Mr. and Mrs. Able and family.

Your friend,

Lincoln.

Springfield, May 7, 1837.

Miss Mary S. Owens.

Friend Mary,--I have commenced two letters to send you before this, both
of which displeased me before I got half done, and so I tore them up.
The first I thought was not serious enough, and the second was on the
other extreme. I shall send this, turn out as it may.

This thing of living in Springfield is rather a dull business, after
all; at least, it is so to me. I am quite as lonesome here as I ever was
anywhere in my life. I have been spoken to by but one woman since I've
been here, and should not have been by her, if she could have avoided
it. I've never been to church yet, nor probably shall not be soon. I
stay away because I am conscious I should not know how to behave myself.

I am often thinking about what we said of your coming to live at
Springfield. I am afraid you would not be satisfied. There is a great
deal of flourishing about in carriages here, which it would be your doom
to see without sharing it. 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 can 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 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. For my part, I have already decided.
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.

You must write me a good long letter after you get this. You have
nothing else to do; and, though it might not seem interesting to you
after you have written it, it would be a good deal of company to me in
this "busy wilderness." Tell your sister, I don't want to hear any more
about selling out and moving, That gives me the hypo whenever I think of
it.

Yours, &c.,

Lincoln.

Springfield, Aug. 16, 1837.

Friend Mary,--You will no doubt think it rather strange that I should
write you a letter on the same day on which we parted; and I can only
account for it by supposing that seeing you lately makes me think of you
more than usual; while at our late meeting we had but few expressions
of thoughts. You must know that I cannot see you, or think of you, with
entire indifference; and yet it may be that you are mistaken in regard
to what my real feelings toward you are. If I knew you were not, I
should not trouble you with this letter. Perhaps any other man would
know enough without further information; but I consider it my peculiar
right to plead ignorance, and your bounden duty to allow the plea. I
want in all cases to do right; and most particularly so in all cases
with women. I want, at this particular time, more than any thing else,
to do right with you: and if I knew it would be doing right, as I rather
suspect it would, to let you alone, I would do it. And, for the purpose
of making the matter as plain as possible, I now say that you can now
drop the subject, dismiss your thoughts (if you ever had any) from me
forever, and leave this letter unanswered, without calling forth one
accusing murmur from me. And I will even go further, and say, that, if
it will add any thing to your comfort or peace of mind to do so, it is
my sincere wish that you should. Do not understand by this that I wish
to cut your acquaintance. I mean no such thing. What I do wish is, that
our further acquaintance shall depend upon yourself. If such further
acquaintance would constitute nothing to your happiness, I am sure it
would not to mine. If you feel yourself in any degree bound to me, I am
now willing to release you, provided you wish it; while, on the other
hand, I am willing, and even anxious, to bind you faster, if I can
be convinced that it will, in any considerable degree, add to your
happiness. This, indeed, is the whole question with me. Nothing would
make me more miserable than to believe you miserable,--nothing more
happy than to know you were so.

In what I have now said, I think I cannot be misunderstood; and to make
myself understood is the only object of this letter.

If it suits you best to not answer this, farewell. A long life and
a merry one attend you. But, if you conclude to write back, speak as
plainly as I do. There can be neither harm nor danger in saying to me
any thing you think, just in the manner you think it.

My respects to your sister. Your friend,

Lincoln.

After his second meeting with Mary, Mr. Lincoln had little time to
prosecute his addresses in person; for early in December he was called
away to his seat in the Legislature; but, if his tongue was silent in
the cause, his pen was busy.

During the session of the Legislature of 1886-7, Mr. Lincoln made the
acquaintance of Mrs. O. H. Browning, whose husband was also a member.
The acquaintance ripened into friendship, and that winter and the next
Mr. Lincoln spent a great deal of time in social intercourse with the
Brownings. Mrs. Browning knew nothing as yet of the affair with Miss
Owens; but as the latter progressed, and Lincoln became more and more
involved, she noticed the ebb of his spirits, and often rallied him
as the victim of some secret but consuming passion. With this for his
excuse, Lincoln wrote her, after the adjournment of the Legislature, a
full and connected account of the manner in which he had latterly been
making "a fool of" himself. For many reasons the publication of this
letter is an extremely painful duty. If it could be withheld, and the
act decently reconciled to the conscience of a biographer professing to
be honest and candid, it should never see the light in these pages. Its
grotesque humor, its coarse exaggerations in describing the person of a
lady whom the writer was willing to marry, its imputation of toothless
and weatherbeaten old age to a woman really young and handsome, its
utter lack of that delicacy of tone and sentiment which one naturally
expects a gentleman to adopt when he thinks proper to discuss the merits
of his late mistress,--all these, and its defective orthography, it
would certainly be more agreeable to suppress than to publish. But, if
we begin by omitting or mutilating a document which sheds so broad a
light upon one part of his life and one phase of his character, why may
we not do the like as fast and as often as the temptations arise? and
where shall the process cease? A biography worth writing at all is worth
writing fully and honestly; and the writer who suppresses or mangles
the truth is no better than he who bears false witness in any other
capacity. In April, 1838, Miss Owens finally departed from Illinois;
and in that same month Mr. Lincoln wrote Mrs. Browning:--

Springfield, April 1, 1838.

Dear Madam,--Without appologising for being egotistical, I shall make
the history of so much of my life as has elapsed since I saw you the
subject of this letter. And, by the way, I now discover, that, in order
to give a full and inteligible account of the things I have done and
suffered since I saw you, I shall necessarily have to relate some that
happened before.

It was, then, in the autumn of 1836, that a married lady of my
acquaintance, and who was a great friend of mine, being about to pay a
visit to her father & other relatives residing in Kentucky, proposed
to me that on her return she would bring a sister of hers with her on
condition that I would engage to become her brother-in-law with all
convenient despatch. I, of course, accepted the proposal, for you know
I could not have done otherwise, had I really been averse to it; but
privately, between you and me, I was most confoundedly well pleased with
the project. I had seen the said sister some three years before, thought
her inteligent and agreeable, and saw no good objection to plodding
life through hand in hand with her. Time passed on, the lady took her
journey, and in due time returned, sister in company, sure enough. This
astonished me a little; for it appeared to me that her coming so
readily showed that she was a trifle too willing; but, on reflection,
it occurred to me that she might have been prevailed on by her married
sister to come, without any thing concerning me ever having been
mentioned to her; and so I concluded, that, if no other objection
presented itself, I would consent to wave this. All this occurred to me
on _hearing_ of her arrival in the neighborhood; for, be it remembered,
I had not yet _seen_ her, except about three years previous, as above
mentioned. In a few days we had an interview; and, although I had seen
her before, she did not look as my imagination had pictured her. I knew
she was oversize, but she now appeared a fair match for Falstaff. I knew
she was called an "old maid," and I felt no doubt of the truth of at
least half of the appelation; but now, when I beheld her, I could not
for my life avoid thinking of my mother; and this, not from withered
features, for her skin was too full of fat 'to permit of its contracting
into wrinkles, but from her want of teeth, weather-beaten appearance
in general, and from a kind of notion that ran in my head that nothing
could have commenced at the size of infancy and reached her present bulk
in less than thirty-five or forty years; and, in short, I was not at
all pleased with her. But what could I do? I had told her sister that I
would take her for better or for worse; and I made 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 had no doubt they had;
for I was now fairly convinced that no other man on earth would have
her, and hence the conclusion that they were bent on holding me to my
bargain. "Well," thought I, "I have said it, and, be the consequences
what they may, it shall not be my fault if I fail to do it." 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 sett off against her defects. I tried to imagine her handsome,
which, but for her unfortunate corpulency, was actually true. Exclusive
of this, no woman that I have ever seen has a finer face. I also tried
to convince myself that the mind was much more to be valued than the
person; and in this she was not inferior, as I could discover, to any
with whom I had been acquainted.

Shortly after this, without attempting to come to any positive
understanding with her, I sat out for Vandalia, when and where you first
saw me. During my stay there I had letters from her which did not change
my opinion of either her intelect or intention, but, on the contrary,
confirmed it in both.

All this while, although I was fixed, "firm as the surge-repelling
rock," in my resolution, I found I was continually repenting the
rashness which had led me to make it. Through life, I have been in no
bondage, either real or imaginary, from the thraldom of which I so much
desired to be free. After my return home, I saw nothing to change my
opinions of her in any particular. She was the same, and so was I. I
now spent my time in planing how I might get along through life after my
contemplated change of circumstances should have taken place, and how I
might procrastinate the evil day for a time, which I really dreaded as
much, perhaps more, than an Irishman does the halter.

After all my suffering upon this deeply-interesting subject, here I am,
wholly, unexpectedly, completely, out of the "scrape;" and I now want to
know if you can guess how I got out of it,--out, clear, in every sense
of the term; no violation of word, honor, or conscience. I don't believe
you can guess, and so I might as well tell you at once. As the lawyer
says, it was done in the manner following, to wit: After I had delayed
the matter as long as I thought I could in honor do (which, by the way,
had brought me round into the last fall), I concluded I might as well
bring it to a consumation without further delay; and so I mustered
my resolution, and made the proposal to her direct: but, shocking to
relate, she answered, No, At first I supposed she did it through an
affectation of modesty, which I thought but ill became her under the
peculiar circumstances of her case; but, on my renewal of the charge, I
found she repeled it with greater firmness than before. I tried it again
and again, but with the same success, or rather with the same want of
success.

I finally was forced to give it up; at which I verry unexpectedly found
myself mortified almost beyond endurance. I was mortified, it seemed
to me, 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 really a little in love with her. But let it all go. I'll try and
outlive it. Others have been made fools of by the 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 can never be satisfied with
any one who would be blockhead enough to have me.

When you receive this, write me a long yarn about something to amuse me.
Give my respects to Mr. Browning.

Your sincere friend,

A. Lincoln,

Mrs. O. H. Browning.




CHAPTER X

THE majority of Mr. Lincoln's biographers--and they are many and
credulous--tell us that he _walked_ from New Salem to Vandalia, a
distance of one hundred miles, to take his seat, for the first time, in
the Legislature of the State. But that is an innocent mistake; for he
was resolved to appear with as much of the dignity of the senator as
his circumstances would permit. It was for this very purpose that he
had borrowed the two hundred dollars from Coleman Smoot; and, when the
choice between riding and walking presented itself, he sensibly enough
got into the stage, with his new clothes on, and rode to the scene of
his labors.

When he arrived there, he found a singular state of affairs. Duncan had
been chosen Governor at the recent August election by "the whole-hog
Jackson men;" but he was absent in Congress during the whole of the
campaign; and, now that he came to the duties of his office, it was
discovered that he had been all the while an anti-Jackson man, and was
quite willing to aid the Whigs in furtherance of some of their worst
schemes. These schemes were then just beginning to be hatched in great
numbers; but in due time they were enacted into laws, and prepared
Illinois with the proper weights of public debt and "rag" currency, to
sink her deeper than her neighbors into the miseries of financial ruin
in 1837. The speculating fever was just reaching Illinois; the land and
town-lot business had barely taken shape at Chicago; and State banks and
multitudinous internal improvements were yet to be invented. But this
Legislature was a very wise one in its own conceit, and was not slow
to launch out with the first of a series of magnificent experiments. It
contented itself, however, with chartering a State bank, with a capital
of one million five hundred thousand dollars; rechartering, with a
capital of three hundred thousand dollars, the Shawneetown Bank, which
had broken twelve years before; and providing for a loan of five hundred
thousand dollars, on the credit of the State, wherewith to make a
beginning on the Illinois and Michigan Canal. The bill for the latter
project was drawn and introduced by Senator James M. Strode, the
gentleman who described with such moving eloquence the horrors of
Stillman's defeat. These measures Gov. Ford considers "the beginning of
all the bad legislation which followed in a few years, and which, as is
well known, resulted in general ruin." Mr. Lincoln favored them all, and
faithfully followed out the policy of which they were the inauguration
at subsequent sessions of the same body. For the present, nevertheless,
he was a silent member, although he was assigned a prominent place on
the Committee on Public Accounts and Expenditures. The bank-charters
were drawn by a Democrat who hoped to find his account in the issue; all
the bills were passed by a Legislature "nominally" Democratic; but the
Board of Canal Commissioners was composed exclusively of Whigs, and the
Whigs straightway assumed control of the banks.

It was at a special session of this Legislature that Lincoln first saw
Stephen A. Douglas, and, viewing his active little person with immense
amusement, pronounced him "the _least_ man he ever saw." Douglas had
come into the State (from Vermont) only the previous year, but, having
studied law for several months, considered himself eminently qualified
to be State's attorney for the district in which he lived, and was now
come to Vandalia for that purpose. The place was already filled by a
man of considerable distinction; but the incumbent remaining at home,
possibly in blissful ignorance of his neighbor's design, was easily
supplanted by the supple Vermonter.

It is the misfortune of legislatures in general, as it was in those days
the peculiar misfortune of the Legislature of Illinois, to be beset by
a multitude of gentlemen engaged in the exclusive business of
"log-rolling." Chief among the "rollers" were some of the most
"distinguished" members, each assisted by an influential delegation from
the district, bank, or "institution" to be benefited by the legislation
proposed. An expert "log-roller," an especially wily and persuasive
person, who could depict the merits of his scheme with roseate but
delusive eloquence, was said to carry "a gourd of possum fat," and the
unhappy victim of his art was said to be "_greased and swallowed_."

It is not to be supposed that anybody ever succeeded in anointing a
single square inch of Mr. Lincoln's person with the "fat" that deluded;
but historians aver that "the Long Nine," of whom he was the longest
and cleverest, possessed "gourds" of extraordinary dimensions, and
distributed "grease" of marvellous virtues. But of that at another
place.

In 1836 Mr. Lincoln was again a candidate for the Legislature; his
colleagues on the Whig ticket in Sangamon being, for Representatives,
John Dawson, William F. Elkin, N. W. Edwards, Andrew McCormick, Dan
Stone, and R. L. Wilson; and for Senators, A. G. Herndon and Job
Fletcher. They were all elected but one, and he was beaten by John
Calhoun.

Mr. Lincoln opened the campaign by the following manifesto:--

New Salem, June 13, 1836.

To the Editor of "The Journal."

In your paper of last Saturday, I see a communication over the signature
of "Many Voters," in which the candidates who are announced in the
"Journal" are called upon to "show their hands." Agreed. Here's mine.

I go for all sharing the privileges of the government who assist in
bearing its burdens. Consequently, I go for admitting all _whites_ to
the right of suffrage who pay taxes or bear arms (_by no means excluding
females_).

If elected, I shall consider the whole people of Sangamon my
constituents, as well those that oppose as those that support me.

While acting as their Representative, I shall be governed by their will
on all subjects upon which I have the means of knowing what their will
is; and upon all others I shall do what my own judgment teaches me
will best advance their interests. Whether elected or not, I go for
distributing the proceeds of the sales of the public lands to the
several States, to enable our State, in common with others, to dig
canals and construct railroads without borrowing money and paying the
interest on it.

_If alive on the first Monday in November, I shall vote for Hugh L.
White for President._

Very respectfully,

A. Lincoln.

The elections were held on the first Monday in August, and the campaign
began about six weeks or two months before. Popular meetings were
advertised in "The Sangamon Journal" and "The State Register,"--organs
of the respective parties. Not unfrequently the meetings were joint,
--composed of both parties,--when, as Lincoln would say, the candidates
"put in their best licks," while the audience "rose to the height of
the great argument" with cheers, taunts, cat-calls, fights, and other
exercises appropriate to the free and untrammelled enjoyment of the
freeman's boon.

The candidates travelled from one grove to another on horseback; and,
when the "Long Nine" (all over six feet in height) took the road, it
must have been a goodly sight to see.

"I heard Lincoln make a speech," says James Gourly, "in Mechanicsburg,
Sangamon County, in 1836. John Neal had a fight at the time: the roughs
got on him, and Lincoln jumped in and saw fair play. We staid for dinner
at Green's, close to Mechanicsburg,--drank whiskey sweetened with
honey. There the questions discussed were internal improvements, Whig
principles." (Gourly was a great friend of Lincoln's, for Gourly had had
a foot-race "with H. B. Truett, now of California," and Lincoln had been
his "judge;" and it was a remarkable circumstance, that nearly everybody
for whom Lincoln "judged" came out ahead.)

"I heard Mr. Lincoln during the same canvass," continues Gourly. "It
was at the Court House, where the State House now stands. The Whigs and
Democrats had a general quarrel then and there. N. W. Edwards drew a
pistol on Achilles Morris." But Gourly's account of this last scene
is unsatisfactory, although the witness is willing; and we turn to
Lincoln's colleague, Mr. Wilson, for a better one. "The Saturday evening
preceding the election the candidates were addressing the people in
the Court House at Springfield. Dr. Early, one of the candidates on
the Democratic side, made some charge that N. W. Edwards, one of the
candidates on the Whig side, deemed untrue. Edwards climbed on a table,
so as to be seen by Early, and by every one in the house, and at the top
of his voice told Early that the charge was false. The excitement that
followed was intense,--so much so, that fighting men thought that a
duel must settle the difficulty. Mr. Lincoln, by the programme, followed
Early. He took up the subject in dispute, and handled it fairly, and
with such ability that every one was astonished and pleased. So that
difficulty ended there. Then, for the first time, developed by the
excitement of the occasion, he spoke in that tenor intonation of voice
that ultimately settled down into that clear, shrill monotone style of
speaking that enabled his audience, however large, to hear distinctly
the lowest sound of his voice."

It was during this campaign, possibly at the same meeting, that Mr.
Speed heard him reply to George Forquer. Forquer had been a leading
Whig, one of their foremost men in the Legislature of 1834, but had then
recently changed sides, and thereupon was appointed Register of the Land
Office at Springfield. Mr. Forquer was an astonishing man: he not
only astonished the people by "changing his coat in politics," but by
building the best frame-house in Springfield, and erecting over it the
only lightning-rod the entire region could boast of. At this meeting he
listened attentively to Mr. Lincoln's first speech, and was much annoyed
by the transcendent power with which the awkward young man defended the
principles he had himself so lately abandoned. "The speech" produced
a profound impression, "especially upon a large number of Lincoln's
friends and admirers, who had come in from the country" expressly to
hear and applaud him.

"At the conclusion of Lincoln's speech" (we quote from Mr. Speed),
"the crowd was dispersing, when Forquer rose and asked to be heard. He
commenced by saying that the young man would have to be taken down, and
was sorry that the task devolved upon him. He then proceeded to answer
Lincoln's speech in a style, which, while it was able and fair, yet, in
his whole manner, asserted and claimed superiority. Lincoln stood
near him, and watched him during the whole of his speech. When Forquer
concluded, he took the stand again. I have often heard him since, in
court and before the people, but never saw him appear so well as upon
that occasion. He replied to Mr. Forquer with great dignity and force;
but I shall never forget the conclusion of that speech. Turning to Mr.
Forquer, he said, that he had commenced his speech by announcing that
'this young man would have to be taken down.' Turning then to the crowd,
he said, 'It is for you, not for me, to say whether I am up or down. The
gentleman has alluded to my being a young man: I am older in years than
I am in the tricks and trades of politicians. I desire to live, and I
desire place and distinction as a politician; but I would rather die
now, than, like the gentleman, live to see the day that I would have to
erect a lightning-rod to protect a guilty conscience from an offended
God.'"

He afterwards told Speed that the sight of that same rod "had led him to
the study of the properties of electricity and the utility of the rod as
a conductor."

Among the Democratic orators stumping the county at this time was Dick
Taylor, a pompous gentleman, who went abroad in superb attire, ruffled
shirts, rich vest, and immense watch-chains, with shining and splendid
pendants. But Dick was a severe Democrat in theory, made much of
"the hard-handed yeomanry," and flung many biting sarcasms upon the
aristocratic pretensions of the Whigs,--the "rag barons" and the
manufacturing "lords." He was one day in the midst of a particularly
aggravating declamation of this sort, "when Abe began to feel devilish,
and thought he would take the wind out of Dick's sails by a little
sport." He therefore "edged" slyly up to the speaker, and suddenly
catching his vest by the lower corner, and giving it a sharp pull
upward, it opened wide, and out fell upon the platform, in full view of
the astonished audience, a mass of ruffled shirt, gold watch, chains,
seals, and glittering jewels. Jim Matheny was there, and nearly
broke his heart with mirth. "The crowd couldn't stand it, but shouted
uproariously." It must have been then that Abe delivered the following
speech, although Ninian W. Edwards places it in 1840:--

"While he [Col. Taylor] was making these charges against the Whigs
over the country, riding in fine carriages, wearing ruffled shirts,
kid gloves, massive gold watch-chains, with large gold seals, and
flourishing a heavy gold-headed cane, he [Lincoln] was a poor boy,
hired on a flatboat at eight dollars a month, and had only one pair of
breeches to his back, and they were buckskin,--'and,' said Lincoln, 'if
you know the nature of buckskin, when wet and dried by the sun, they
will shrink,--and mine kept shrinking, until they left several inches
of my legs bare between the tops of my socks and the lower part of my
breeches; and, whilst I was growing taller, they were becoming shorter,
and so much tighter, that they left a blue streak around my legs that
can be seen to this day. If you call this aristocracy, I plead guilty
to the charge.'" Hitherto Sangamon County had been uniformly Democratic;
but at this election the Whigs carried it by an average majority of
about four hundred, Mr. Lincoln receiving a larger vote than any other
candidate. The result was in part due to a transitory and abortive
attempt of the anti-Jackson and anti-Van-Buren men to build up a third
party, with Judge White of Tennessee as its leader. This party was not
supposed to be wedded to the "specie circular," was thought to be open
to conviction on the bank question, clamored loudly about the business
interests and general distress of the country, and was actually in favor
of the distribution of the proceeds of the sales of the public lands.
In the nomenclature of Illinois, its members might have been called
"nominal Jackson men;" that is to say, men who continued to act with the
Democratic party, while disavowing its cardinal principles,--traders,
trimmers, cautious schismatics who argued the cause of Democracy from a
brief furnished by the enemy. The diversion in favor of White was just
to the hand of the Whigs, and they aided it in every practicable way.
Always for an expedient when an expedient would answer, a compromise
when a compromise would do, the "hand" Mr. Lincoln "showed" at the
opening of the campaign contained the "White" card among the highest of
its trumps. "If alive on the first Monday in November, I shall vote for
Hugh L. White for President." A number of local Democratic politicians
assisting him to play it, it won the game in 1836, and Sangamon County
went over to the Whigs.

At this election Mr. Douglas was made a Representative from Morgan
County, along with Col. Hardin, from whom he had the year before taken
the State's attorneyship. The event is notable principally because Mr.
Douglas was nominated by a convention, and not by the old system of
self-announcement, which, under the influence of Eastern immigrants, like
himself, full of party zeal, and attached to the customs of the places
whence they came, was gradually but surely falling into disfavor. Mr.
Douglas served only one session, and then became Register of the Land
Office at Springfield. The next year he was nominated for Congress in
the Peoria District, under the convention system, and in the same year
Col. Stephenson was nominated for Governor in the same way. The Whigs
were soon compelled to adopt the device which they saw marshalling the
Democrats in a state of complete discipline; whilst they themselves were
disorganized by a host of volunteer candidates and the operations of
innumerable cliques and factions. At first "it was considered a Yankee
contrivance," intended to abridge the liberties of the people; but
the Whig "people" were as fond of victory, offices, and power as their
enemies were, and in due time they took very kindly to this effectual
means of gaining them. A speech of Ebenezer Peck of Chicago, "before
a great meeting of the lobby, during the special session of 1835-6
at Vandalia," being a production of special ingenuity and power,
is supposed to have contributed largely to the introduction of the
convention system into the middle and southern parts of the State. Mr.
Peck was then a fervent Democrat, whom the Whigs delighted to malign
as a Canadian monarchist; but in after times he was the fast and able
friend of their great leader, Abraham Lincoln.

One of the first and worst effects of the stricter organization
of parties in Illinois, as well as in other States, was the strong
diversion of public attention from State to Federal affairs. Individual
candidates were no longer required to "show their hands:" they accepted
"platforms" when they accepted nominations; and without a nomination
it was mere quixotism to stand at all. District, State, and national
conventions, acting and re-acting upon one another, produced a concert
of sentiment and conduct which overlaid local issues, and repressed
independent proceedings. This improved party machinery supplied the
readiest and most effective means of distributing the rapidly-increasing
patronage of the Federal Executive; and those who did not wish to be
cut off from its enjoyment could do no less than re-affirm with becoming
fervor, in their local assemblages, the latest deliverance of the faith
by the central authority. The promoters of heresies and schisms, the
blind leaders who misled a county or a State convention, and seduced it
into the declaration of principles of its own, had their seats contested
in the next general council of the party, were solemnly sat upon,
condemned, "delivered over to Satan to be buffeted," and cast out of the
household of faith, to wander in the wilderness and to live upon husks.
It was like a feeble African bishop imputing heresy to the Christian
world, with Rome at its head. A man like Mr. Lincoln, who earnestly
"desired place and distinction as a politician," labored without hope
while his party affinities remained the subject of a reasonable doubt.
He must be "a whole-hog man" or nothing, a Whig or a Democrat. Mr.
Lincoln chose his company with commendable decision, and wasted no
tender regrets upon his "nominal" Democratic friends. For White against
Harrison, in November, 1836, he led the Whigs into action when the
Legislature met in December; and when the hard-cider campaign of 1840
commenced, with its endless meetings and processions, its <DW53>-skins
and log-cabins, its intrigue, trickery, and fun, his musical voice
rose loudest above the din for "Old Tippecanoe;" and no man did better
service, or enjoyed those memorable scenes more, than he who was to be
the beneficiary of a similar revival in 1860.

When this legislature met in the winter of 1836-7, the bank and
internal-improvement infatuation had taken full possession of a majority
of the people, as well as of the politicians. To be sure, "Old Hickory"
had given a temporary check to the wild speculations in Western land by
the specie circular, about the close of his administration, whereby gold
and silver were made "land-office money;" and the Government declined
to exchange any more of the public domain for the depreciated paper of
rotten and explosive banks. Millions of notes loaned by the banks on
insufficient security or no security at all were by this timely
measure turned back into the banks, or converted to the uses of a more
legitimate and less dangerous business. But, even if the specie circular
had not been repealed, it would probably have proved impotent against
the evils it was designed to prevent, after the passage of the Act
distributing among the States the surplus (or supposed surplus) revenues
of the Federal Government.

The last dollar of the old debt was paid in 1833. There were from time
to time large unexpended and unappropriated balances in the treasury.
What should be done with them? There was no sub-treasury as yet, and
questions concerning the mere safe-keeping of these moneys excited the
most tremendous political contests. The United States Bank had always
had the use of the cash in the treasury in the form of deposits; but the
bank abused its trust,--used its enormous power over the currency
and exchanges of the country to achieve political results in its own
interest, and, by its manifold sins and iniquities, compelled Gen.
Jackson to remove the deposits. Ultimately the bank took shelter in
Pennsylvania, where it began a new fraudulent life under a surreptitious
clause tacked to the end of a road law on its passage through the
General Assembly. In due time the "beast," as Col. Benton loved to call
it, died in its chosen lair a shameful and ignominious death, cheating
the public with a show of solvency to the end, and leaving a fine array
of bill-holders and depositors to mourn one of the most remarkable
delusions of modern times.

Withdrawn, or rather withheld (for they were never withdrawn), from the
Bank of the United States, the revenues of the Federal Government were
deposited as fast as they accrued in specie-paying State banks.
They were paid in the notes of the thousand banks, good, bad, and
indifferent, whose promises to pay constituted the paper currency of the
day. It was this money which the Whigs, aided by Democratic recusants,
proposed to give away to the States. They passed an Act requiring it
to be _deposited_ with the States,--ostensibly as a safe and convenient
method of keeping it; but nobody believed that it would ever be called
for, or paid if it was. It was simply an extraordinary largess; and
pending the very embarrassment caused by itself, when the government
had not a dollar wherewith to pay even a pension, and the temporary
expedient was an issue of treasury notes against the better judgment of
the party in power, the possibility of withdrawing these deposits was
never taken into the account. The Act went into effect on the 1st of
January, 1837, and was one of the immediate causes of the suspension
and disasters of that year. "The condition of our deposit banks was
desperate,--wholly inadequate to the slightest pressure on their vaults
in the ordinary course of business, much less that of meeting the daily
government drafts and the approaching deposit of near forty millions
with the States." Nevertheless, the deposits began at the rate of
ten millions to the quarter. The deposit banks "blew up;" and all the
others, including that of the United States, closed their doors to
customers and bill-holders, which gave them more time to hold public
meetings, imputing the distress of the country to the hard-money policy
of Jackson and Van Buren, and agitating for the re-charter of Mr.
Biddle's profligate concern as the only remedy human ingenuity could
devise.

It was in the month previous to the first deposit with the
States,--about the time when Gov. Ford says, "lands and town-lots were
the only articles of export" from Illinois; when the counters of Western
land-offices were piled high with illusory bank-notes in exchange for
public lands, and when it was believed that the West was now at last
about to bound forward in a career of unexampled prosperity, under the
forcing process of public improvements by the States, with the aid and
countenance of the Federal Government,--that Mr. Lincoln went up to
attend the first session of the new Legislature at Vandalia. He was big
with projects: his real public service was just now about to begin. In
the previous Legislature he had been silent, observant, studious. He had
improved the opportunity so well, that of all men in this new body, of
equal age in the service, he was the smartest parliamentarian and the
cunningest "log-roller." He was fully determined to identify himself
conspicuously with the "liberal" legislation in contemplation, and
dreamed of a fame very different from that which he actually obtained as
an antislavery leader. It was about this time that he told his friend,
Mr. Speed, that he aimed at the great distinction of being called "the
De Witt Clinton of Illinois."

Meetings with a view to this sort of legislation had been held in all,
or nearly all, the counties in the State during the preceding summer
and fall. Hard-money, strict-construction, no-monopoly, anti-progressive
Democrats were in a sad minority. In truth, there was little division
of parties about these matters which were deemed so essential to the
prosperity of a new State. There was Mr. Lincoln, and there was Mr.
Douglas, in perfect unison as to the grand object to be accomplished,
but mortally jealous as to which should take the lead in accomplishing
it. A few days before the Legislature assembled, "a mass convention" of
the people of Sangamon County "instructed" their members "to vote for a
_general system of internal improvements_." The House of Representatives
organized in the morning; and in the evening its hall was surrendered
to a convention of delegates from all parts of the State, which "devised
and recommended to the Legislature a system of internal improvements,
the chief feature of which was, that it should be commensurate with
the wants of the people." This result was arrived at after two days of
debate, with "Col. Thomas Mather, of the State Bank, as president."

Mr. Lincoln served on the Committee on Finance, and was a most laborious
member, instant in season and out of season, for the great measures of
the Whig party. It was to his individual exertion that the Whigs were
indebted in no small degree for the complete success of their favorite
schemes at this session. A railroad from Galena to the mouth of the Ohio
was provided for; another from Alton to Shawneetown; another from Alton
to Mount Carmel; another from Alton to the eastern boundary of the State
towards Terre Haute; another from Quincy by way of Springfield to
the Wabash; another from Bloomington to Pekin; another from Peoria to
Warsaw,--in all about thirteen hundred miles. But in this comprehensive
"system," "commensurate with the wants of the people," the rivers were
not to be overlooked; and accordingly the Kaskaskia, the Illinois, the
Great Wabash, the Little Wabash, and the Rock rivers were to be duly
improved. To set these little matters in motion, a loan of eight
millions of dollars was authorized; and, to complete the canal from
Chicago to Peru, another loan of four millions of dollars was voted
at the same session,--two hundred thousand dollars being given as a
gratuity to those counties which seemed to have no special interest in
any of the foregoing projects. Work on all these roads was to commence,
not only at the same time, but at both ends of each road, and at all
the river-crossings. There were as yet no surveys of any route, no
estimates, no reports of engineers, or even unprofessional viewers.
"Progress" was not to wait on trifles; capitalists were supposed to be
lying in wait to catch these precious bonds; the money would be raised
in a twinkling, and being applied with all the skill of "a hundred De
Witt Clintons,"--a class of gentlemen at that time extremely numerous
and obtrusive,--the loan would build the railroads, the railroads would
build cities, cities would create farms, foreign capital would rush
to so inviting a field, the lands would be taken up with marvellous
celerity, and the "land-tax" going into a sinking fund, _that_, with
some tolls and certain sly speculations to be made by the State, would
pay principal and interest of the debt without ever a cent of taxation
upon the people. In short, everybody was to be enriched, while the
munificence of the State in selling its credit and spending the proceeds
would make its empty coffers overflow with ready money. It was a dark
stroke of statesmanship, a mysterious device in finance, which, whether
from being misunderstood, or from being mismanaged, bore from the
beginning fruits the very reverse of those it had promised.

A Board of Canal Commissioners was already in existence; but now were
established, as necessary parts of the new "system," a Board of Fund
Commissioners and a Board of Commissioners of Public Works.

The capital stock of the Shawneetown Bank was increased to one million
seven hundred thousand dollars, and that of the State Bank to three
million one hundred thousand dollars. The State took the new stock, and
proposed to pay for it "with the surplus revenues of the United States,
and the residue by a sale of State bonds." The banks were likewise
made fiscal agencies, to place the loans, and generally to manage the
railroad and canal funds. The career of these banks is an extremely
interesting chapter in the history of Illinois,--little less so than the
rise and collapse of the great internal-improvement system. But, as it
has already a place in a chronicle of wider scope and greater merit than
this, it is enough to say that in due time they went the way of their
kind,--the State lost by them, and they lost by the State, in morals as
well as in money.

The means used in the Legislature to pass the "system" deserve some
notice for the instruction of posterity. "First, a large portion of
the people were interested in the success of the canal, which was
threatened, if other sections of the State were denied the improvements
demanded by them; and thus the friends of the canal were forced to
log-roll for that work by supporting others which were to be ruinous to
the country. Roads and improvements were proposed everywhere, to enlist
every section of the State. Three or four efforts were made to pass a
smaller system; and, when defeated, the bill would be amended by the
addition of other roads, until a majority was obtained for it. Those
counties which could not be thus accommodated were to share in the fund
of two hundred thousand dollars. Three roads were appointed to terminate
at Alton, before the Alton interest would agree to the system. The seat
of government was to be removed to Springfield. Sangamon County, in
which Springfield is situated, was then represented by two Senators
and seven Representatives, called the 'Long Nine,' all Whigs but one.
Amongst them were some dexterous jugglers and managers in politics,
whose whole object was to obtain the seat of government for Springfield.
This delegation, from the beginning of the session, threw itself as
a unit in support of, or in opposition to, every local measure of
interest, but never without a bargain for votes in return on the
seat-of-government question. Most of the other counties were small,
having but one Representative and many of them with but one for a
whole representative district; and this gave Sangamon County a decided
preponderance in the log-rolling system of those days. It is worthy of
examination whether any just and equal legislation can ever be sustained
where some of the counties are great and powerful, and others feeble.
But by such means 'The Long-Nine' rolled along like a snowball,
gathering accessions of strength at every turn, until they swelled up
a considerable party for Springfield, which party they managed to take
almost as a unit in favor of the internal-improvement system, in
return for which the active supporters of that system were to vote for
Springfield to be the seat of government. Thus it was made to cost the
State about six millions of dollars to remove the seat of government
from Vandalia to Springfield, half of which sum would have purchased all
the real estate in that town at three prices; and thus by log-rolling
on the canal measure; by multiplying railroads; by terminating three
railroads at Alton, that Alton might become a great city in opposition
to St. Louis; by distributing money to some of the counties to be wasted
by the county commissioners; and by giving the seat of government to
Springfield,--was the whole State bought up, and bribed to approve the
most senseless and disastrous policy which ever crippled the energies of
a growing country." 1

     1 Ford's History of Illinois.

Enumerating the gentlemen who voted for this combination of
evils,--among them Stephen A. Douglas, John A. McClernand, James
Shields, and Abraham Lincoln,--and reciting the high places of honor and
trust to which most of them have since attained, Gov. Ford pronounces
"all of them spared monuments of popular wrath, evincing how safe it is
to a politician, but how disastrous it may be to the country, to keep
along with the present fervor of the people."

"It was a maxim with many politicians just to keep along even with the
humor of the people, right or wrong;" and this maxim Mr. Lincoln held
then, as ever since, in very high estimation. But the "humor" of his
constituents was not only intensely favorable to the new scheme of
internal improvements: it was most decidedly their "humor" to have the
capital at Springfield, and to make a great man of the legislator who
should take it there. Mr. Lincoln was doubtless thoroughly convinced
that the popular view of all these matters was the right one; but, even
if he had been unhappily afflicted with individual scruples of his own,
he would have deemed it but simple duty to obey the almost unanimous
voice of his constituency. He thought he never could serve them better
than by giving them just what they wanted; and that to collect the
will of his people, and register it by his own vote, was the first
and leading obligation of a representative. It happened that on this
occasion the popular feeling fell in very pleasantly with his young
dream of rivalling the fame of Clinton; and here, also, was a fine
opportunity of repeating, in a higher strain and on a loftier stage, the
ingenious arguments, which, in the very outset of his career, had proved
so hard for "Posey and Ewing," when he overthrew those worthies in the
great debate respecting the improvement of the Sangamon River.

"The Internal-Improvement Bill," says Mr. Wilson (one of the "Long
Nine"), "and a bill to permanently locate the seat of government of the
State, were the great measures of the session of 1836-7. Vandalia was
then the seat of government, and had been for a number of years. A new
state house had just been built. Alton, Decatur, Peoria, Jacksonville,
Illiapolis, and Springfield were the points seeking the location, if
removed from Vandalia. The delegation from Sangamon were a unit, acting
in concert in favor of the permanent location at Springfield. The bill
was introduced at an early day in the session, to locate, by a joint
vote of both Houses of the Legislature. The friends of the other points
united to defeat the bill, as each point thought the postponement of the
location to some future period would give strength to their location.
The contest on this bill was long and severe. Its enemies laid it on
the table twice,--once on the table to the fourth day of July, and
once indefinitely postponed it. To take a bill from the table is always
attended with difficulty; but when laid on the table to a day beyond
the session, or when indefinitely postponed, it requires a vote of
reconsideration, which always is an intense struggle. In these dark
hours, when our bill to all appearances was beyond resuscitation, and
all our opponents were jubilant over our defeat, and when friends could
see no hope, Mr. Lincoln never for one moment despaired; but, collecting
his colleagues to his room for consultation, his practical common sense,
his thorough knowledge of human nature, then made him an overmatch for
his compeers, and for any man that I have ever known."

"We surmounted all obstacles, passed the bill, and, by a joint vote of
both Houses, located the seat of government of the State of Illinois at
Springfield, just before the adjournment of the Legislature, which took
place on the fourth day of March, 1837. The delegation acting during
the whole session upon all questions as a unit, gave them strength and
influence, that enabled them to carry through their measures and give
efficient aid to their friends. The delegation was not only remarkable
for their numbers, but for their length, most of them measuring six
feet and over. It was said at the time that that delegation measured
fifty-four feet high. Hence they were known as 'The Long Nine.' So that
during that session, and for a number of years afterwards, all the bad
laws passed at that session of the Legislature were chargeable to the
management and influence of 'The Long Nine.'

"He (Mr. Lincoln) was on the stump and in the halls of the Legislature a
ready debater, manifesting extraordinary ability in his peculiar manner
of presenting his subject. He did not follow the beaten track of other
speakers and thinkers, but appeared to comprehend the whole situation
of the subject, and take hold of its principles. He had a remarkable
faculty for concentration, enabling him to present his subject in such a
manner, as nothing but conclusions were presented."

It was at this session of the Legislature, March 3, 1837, that Mr.
Lincoln began that antislavery record upon which his fame through all
time must chiefly rest. It was a very mild beginning; but even that
required uncommon courage and candor in the day and generation in which
it was done.

The whole country was excited concerning the doctrines and the practices
of the Abolitionists. These agitators were as yet but few in numbers:
but in New England they comprised some of the best citizens, and the
leaders were persons of high character, of culture and social influence;
while, in the Middle States, they were, for the most part, confined
to the Society of Friends, or Quakers. All were earnest, active, and
uncompromising in the propagation of their opinions; and, believing
slavery to be the "sum of all villanies," with the utmost pertinacity
they claimed the unrestricted right to disseminate their convictions in
any manner they saw fit, regardless of all consequences. They paid not
the slightest heed to the wishes or the opinions of their opponents.
They denounced all compromises with an unsparing tongue, and would allow
no law of man to stand, in their eyes, above the law of God.

George Thompson, identified with emancipation in the British West
Indies, had come and gone. For more than a year he addressed public
meetings in New England, the Central States, and Ohio, and contributed
not a little to the growing excitement by his fierce denunciations of
the slave-holding class, in language with which his long agitation in
England had made him familiar. He was denounced, insulted, and
mobbed; and even in Boston he was once posted as an "infamous foreign
scoundrel," and an offer was made of a hundred dollars to "snake him
out" of a public meeting. In fact, Boston was not at all behind other
cities and towns in its condemnation of the Abolitionists. A
great meeting in Faneuil Hall, called by eighteen hundred leading
citizens,--Whigs and Democrats,--condemned their proceedings in language
as strong and significant as Richard Fletcher, Peleg Sprague, and
Harrison Gray Otis could write it. But Garrison still continued
to publish "The Liberator," filling it with all the uncompromising
aggressiveness of his sect, and distributing it throughout the Southern
States. It excited great alarm in the slaveholding communities where its
secret circulation, in the minds of the slaveholders, tended to incite
the slaves to insurrections, assassinations, and running away; but
in the place where it was published it was looked upon with general
contempt and disgust. When the Mayor of Baltimore wrote to the Mayor of
Boston to have it suppressed, the latter (the eloquent Otis) replied,
"that his officers had ferreted out the paper and its editor, whose
office was an obscure hole; his only visible auxiliary a <DW64> boy; his
supporters a few insignificant persons of all colors."

At the close of the year 1835, President Jackson had called the
attention of Congress to the doings of these people in language
corresponding to the natural wrath with which he viewed the character of
their proceedings. "I must also," said he, "invite your attention to the
painful excitements in the South by attempts to circulate through the
mails inflammatory appeals addressed to the passions of slaves, in
prints and various sorts of publications calculated to stimulate them
to insurrection, and to produce all the horrors of civil war. It is
fortunate for the country that the good sense, the generous feeling, and
deep-rooted attachment of the people of the non-slaveholding States to
the Union and their fellow-citizens of the same blood in the South have
given so strong and impressive a tone to the sentiments entertained
against the proceedings of the misguided persons who have engaged in
these unconstitutional and wicked attempts, and especially against
the emissaries from foreign parts, who have dared to interfere in this
matter, as to authorize the hope that these attempts will no longer
be persisted in.... I would therefore call the special attention of
Congress to the subject, and respectfully suggest the propriety of
passing such a law as will prohibit, under severe penalties, the
circulation in the Southern States, through the mail, of incendiary
publications, intended to instigate the slaves to insurrection."

Mr. Clay said the sole purpose of the Abolitionists was to array one
portion of the Union against the other. "With that in view, in all their
leading prints and publications, the alleged horrors of slavery are
depicted in the most glowing and exaggerated colors, to excite the
imaginations and stimulate the rage of the people of the Free States
against the people of the slaveholding States.... Why are the Slave
States wantonly and cruelly assailed? Why does the abolition press teem
with publications tending to excite hatred and animosity on the part of
the Free States against the Slave States?... Why is Congress petitioned?
Is their purpose to appeal to our understanding, and actuate our
humanity? And do they expect to accomplish that purpose by holding us
up to the scorn and contempt and detestation of the people of the Free
States and the whole civilized world?... Union on the one side will
beget union on the other.... One section will stand in menacing, hostile
array against another; the collision of opinion will be quickly followed
by the clash of arms."

Mr. Everett, then (1836) Governor of Massachusetts, informed the
Legislature, for the admonition of these unsparing agitators against
the peace of the South, that "every thing that tends to disturb the
relations created by this compact [the Constitution] is at war with its
spirit; and whatever, by direct and necessary operation, is calculated
to excite an insurrection among the slaves, has been held by highly
respectable legal authority an offence against the peace of this
Commonwealth, which may be prosecuted as a misdemeanor at common law."
It was proposed in the Legislature to pass an act defining the offence
with more certainty, and attaching to it a severer penalty. The
Abolitionists asked to be heard before the committee; and Rev. S. J.
May, Ellis Gray Loring, Prof. Charles Follen, Samuel E. Sewell, and
others of equal ability and character, spoke in their behalf. They
objected to the passage of such an act in the strongest terms, and
derided the value of a Union which could not protect its citizens in
one of their most cherished rights. During the hearing, several bitter
altercations took place between them and the chairman.

In New York, Gov. Marcy called upon the Legislature "to do what may be
done consistently with the great principles of civil liberty, to put an
end to the evils which the Abolitionists are bringing upon us and the
whole country." The "character" and the "interests" of the State were
equally at stake, and both would be sacrificed unless these furious and
cruel fanatics were effectually suppressed.

In May, 1836, the Federal House of Representatives resolved, by
overwhelming votes, that Congress had no right to interfere with slavery
in the States, or in the District of Columbia, and that henceforth all
abolition petitions should be laid on the table without being printed or
referred. And, one day later than the date of Mr. Lincoln's protest, Mr.
Van Buren declared in his inaugural, that no bill abolishing slavery
in the District of Columbia, or meddling with it in the States where it
existed, should ever receive his signature. "There was no other form,"
says Benton, "at that time, in which slavery agitation could manifest
itself, or place it could find a point to operate; the ordinance of 1787
and the compromise of 1820 having closed up the Territories against
it. Danger to slave property in the States, either by direct action,
or indirectly through the District of Columbia, were the only points of
expressed apprehension."

Abolition agitations fared little better in the twenty-fifth Congress
than in the twenty-fourth. At the extra session in September of 1837,
Mr. Slade of Vermont introduced two petitions for the abolition of
slavery in the District of Columbia; but, after a furious debate and a
stormy scene, they were disposed of by the adoption of the following:--

"Resolved, That all petitions, memorials, and papers, touching the
abolition of slavery, or the buying, selling, or transferring of slaves,
in any State, District, or Territory, of the United States, be laid on
the table, without being debated, printed, read, or referred; and that
no further action whatever shall be had thereon."

In Illinois, at the time we speak of (March, 1837), an Abolitionist was
rarely seen, and scarcely ever heard of. In many parts of the State such
a person would have been treated as a criminal. It is true, there were
a few Covenanters, with whom hatred of slavery in any form and wherever
found was an essential part of their religion. Up to 1824 they had
steadily refused to vote, or in any other way to acknowledge the State
government, regarding it as "an heathen and unbaptized institution,"
because the Constitution failed to recognize "Jesus Christ as the head
of the government, and the Holy Scriptures as the only rule of faith and
practice." It was only when it was proposed to introduce slavery into
Illinois by an alteration of that "heathen" Constitution, that the
Covenanters consented to take part in public affairs. The movement which
drew them out proved to be a long and unusually bitter campaign, lasting
full eighteen months, and ending in the fall of 1824, with a popular
majority of several thousand against calling a convention for the
purpose of making Illinois a Slave State. Many of the antislavery
leaders in _this_ contest--conspicuous among whom was Gov. Coles--were
gentlemen from Slave States, who had emancipated their slaves before
removal, and were opposed to slavery, not upon religious or moral
grounds, but because they believed it would be a material injury to the
new country. Practically no other view of the question was discussed;
and a person who should have undertaken to discuss it from the "man and
brother" stand-point of more modern times would have been set down as a
lunatic. A clear majority of the people were against the introduction of
slavery into their own State; but that majority were fully agreed with
their brethren of the minority, that those who went about to interfere
with slavery in the most distant manner in the places where it already
existed were deserving of the severest punishment, as the common enemies
of society. It was in those days a mortal offence to call a man an
Abolitionist, for Abolitionist was synonymous with thief. Between a band
of men who stole horses and a band of men who stole <DW64>s, the popular
mind made small distinctions in the degrees of guilt. They were regarded
as robbers, disturbers of the peace, the instigators of arson,
murder, poisoning, rape; and, in addition to all this, traitors to the
government under which they lived, and enemies to the Union which gave
us as a people liberty and strength. In testimony of these sentiments,
Illinois enacted a "black code" of most preposterous and cruel
severity,--a code that would have been a disgrace to a Slave State, and
was simply an infamy in a free one. It borrowed the provisions of the
most revolting laws known among men, for exiling, selling, beating,
bedevilling, and torturing <DW64>s, whether bond or free. Under this law
Gov. Coles, the leader of the antislavery party, who had emancipated his
slaves, and settled them around him in his new home, but had neglected
to file a bond with the condition that his freedmen should behave well
and never become a charge upon the public, was fined two hundred dollars
in each case; and, so late as 1852, the writer of these pages very
narrowly escaped the same penalty for the same offence.

In 1835-36 Rev. Elijah P. Lovejoy had been publishing a moderately
antislavery paper at St. Louis. But the people of that city did not look
with favor upon his enterprise; and, after meeting with considerable
opposition, in the summer of 1836 he moved his types and press across
the river to Alton, Ill. Here he found an opposition more violent than
that from which he had fled. His press was thrown into the river the
night after its arrival; and he was informed that no abolition paper
would be allowed in the town. The better class of citizens, however,
deprecated the outrage, and pledged themselves to reimburse Mr. Lovejoy,
in case he would agree not to make his paper an abolition journal. Mr.
Lovejoy assured them it was not his purpose to establish such a paper in
Alton, but one of a religious character: at the same time he would not
give up his right as an American citizen to publish whatever he pleased
on any subject, holding himself answerable to the laws of his country
in so doing. With this general understanding, he was permitted to go
forward. He continued about a year, discussing in his paper the slavery
question occasionally; not, however, in a violent manner, but with a
tone of moderation. This policy, however, was not satisfactory: it was
regarded as a violation of his pledge; and the contents of his
office were again destroyed. Mr. Lovejoy issued an appeal for aid to
re-establish his paper, which met with a prompt and generous response.
He proposed to bring up another press, and announced that armed
men would protect it: meantime, a committee presented him with some
resolutions adopted at a large meeting of the citizens of Alton,
reminding him that he had previously given a pledge that in his paper he
would refrain from advocating abolitionism) and also censuring him for
not having kept his promise, and desiring to know if he intended to
continue the publication of such doctrines in the future. His response
consisted of a denial of the right of any portion of the people of
Acton to prescribe what questions he should or should not discuss in his
paper. Great excitement followed: another press was brought up on
the 21st of September, which shortly after followed the fate of its
predecessors. Another arrived Nov. 7, 1837, and was conveyed to a stone
warehouse by the riverside, where Mr. Lovejoy and a few friends (some
of them not Abolitionists) resolved to defend it to the last. That night
they were attacked. First there was a brief parley, then a volley
of stones, then an attempt to carry the building by assault. At this
juncture a shot was fired out of a second-story window, which killed a
young man in the crowd. It was said to have been fired by Lovejoy; and,
as the corpse was borne away, the wrath of the populace knew no bounds.
It was proposed to get powder from the magazine, and blow the warehouse
up. Others thought the torch would be a better agent; and, finally, a
man ran up a ladder to fire the roof. Lovejoy came out of the door, and,
firing one shot, retreated within, where he rallied the garrison for a
sortie. In the mean time many shots were fired both by the assailants
and the assailed. The house was once actually set on fire by one person
from the mob, and saved by another. But the courage of Mr. Lovejoy's
friends was gradually sinking, and they responded but faintly to his
strong appeals for action. As a last resource, he rushed to the
door with a single companion, gun in hand, and was shot dead on the
threshold. The other man was wounded in the leg, the warehouse was in
flames, the mob grew more ferocious over the blood that had been
shed, and riddled the doors and windows with volleys from all sorts of
fire-arms. The Abolitionists had fought a good fight; but seeing now
nothing but death before them, in that dismal, bloody, and burning
house, they escaped down the river-bank, by twos and threes, as best
they could, and their press was tumbled after them, into the river.
And thus ended the first attempt to establish an abolition paper in
Illinois. The result was certainly any thing but encouraging, and
indicated pretty clearly what must have been the general state of public
feeling throughout the State in regard to slavery agitation.

In fact, no State was more alive to the necessity of repressing the
Abolitionists than Illinois; and accordingly it was proposed in the
Legislature to take some action similar to that which had been
already taken, or was actually pending, in the legislatures of sister
Commonwealths, from Massachusetts through the list. A number of
resolutions were reported, and passed with no serious opposition. The
record does not disclose the precise form in which they passed; but
that is of little consequence now. That they were extreme enough may be
gathered from the considerate language of the protest, and from the fact
that _such a protest_ was considered necessary at all. The protest was
undoubtedly the product of Mr. Lincoln's pen, for his adroit directness
is seen in every word of it. He could get but one man--his colleague,
Dan Stone--to sign with him.

March 3,1837.

The following protest was presented to the House, which was read, and
ordered to be spread on the journals, to wit:--

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 reason for entering this protest.

(Signed) Dan Stone,

A. Lincoln, Representatives from the County of Sanqamon.

Mr. Lincoln says nothing here about slavery in the Territories. The
Missouri Compromise being in full force, and regarded as sacred by
all parties, it was one of its chief effects that both sections were
deprived of any pretext for the agitation of that question, from
which every statesman, Federalist or Republican, Whig or Democratic,
apprehended certain disaster to the Union. Neither would Mr. Lincoln
suffer himself to be classed with the few despised Quakers, Covenanters,
and Puritans, who were so frequently disturbing the peace of the country
by abolition-memorials to Congress and other public bodies. Slavery,
says the protest, is wrong in principle, besides being bad in economy;
but "the promulgation of abolition doctrines" is still worse. In the
States which choose to have it, it enjoys a constitutional immunity
beyond the reach of any "higher law;" and Congress must not touch
it, otherwise than to shield and protect it. Even in the District of
Columbia, Mr. Lincoln and Dan Stone would leave it entirely to the will
of the people. In fact, the whole paper, plain and simple as it is,
seems to have been drawn with no object but to avoid the imputation
of extreme views on either side. And from that day to the day of his
inauguration, Mr. Lincoln never saw the time when he would have altered
a word of it. He never sided with the Lovejoys. In his eyes their work
tended "rather to increase than to abate" the evils of slavery, and was
therefore unjust, as well as futile. Years afterwards he was the steady
though quiet opponent of Owen Lovejoy, and declared that Lovejoy's
nomination for Congress over Leonard Swett "almost turned him blind."
When, in 1860, the Democrats called Mr. Lincoln an Abolitionist, and
cited the protest of 1837 to support the charge, friends pointed to
the exact language of the document as his complete and overwhelming
refutation.

On the 10th of May, the New York banks suspended specie payments, and
two days afterwards the Bank of the United States and the Philadelphia
banks did likewise. From these the stoppage and the general ruin, among
business men and speculators alike, spread throughout the country.
Nevertheless, the Fund Commissioners of Illinois succeeded in placing a
loan during the summer, and before the end of the year work had begun
on many railroads. "Money was as plenty as dirt. Industry, in place of
being stimulated, actually languished. We exported nothing, and every
thing was paid for by the borrowed money expended among us." And this
money was bank-paper, such as a pensioner upon the Government of the
United States scorned to take in payment of his gratuity, after the
deposit banks had suspended or broken, with thirty-two millions of
Government money in their possession.

The banks which had received such generous legislation from the
Legislature that devised the internal-improvement system were not
disposed to see that batch of remarkable enterprises languish for want
of their support. One of them took at par and sold nine hundred thousand
dollars of bonds; while the other took one million seven hundred and
sixty-five thousand dollars, which it used as capital, and expanded its
business accordingly. But the banks were themselves in greater danger
than the internal-improvement system. If the State Bank refused specie
payments for sixty days, its charter was forfeited under the Act of
Assembly. But they were the main-stay of all the current speculations,
public and private; and having besides large sums of public money in
their hands, the governor was induced to call a special session of the
Legislature in July, 1837, to save them from impending dissolution. This
was done by an act authorizing or condoning the suspension of specie
payments. The governor had not directly recommended this, but he
had most earnestly recommended the repeal or modification of the
internal-improvement system; and _that_ the Legislature positively
refused. This wise body might be eaten by its own dogs, but it was
determined not to eat _them_; and in this direction there was no
prospect of relief for two years more. According to Gov. Ford, the cool,
reflecting men of the State anxiously hoped that their rulers might
be able to borrow no more money, but in this they were immediately and
bitterly disappointed. The United States Bank took some of their bonds.
Some were sold at par in this country, and others at nine per cent
discount in Europe.

In 1838, a governor (Carlin) was elected who was thought by many to be
secretly hostile to the "system;" and a new Legislature was chosen, from
which it was thought something might be hoped. Mr. Lincoln was again
elected, with a reputation so much enhanced by his activity and address
in the last Legislature, that this time he was the candidate of his
party for speaker. The nomination, however, was a barren honor, and
known to be such when given. Col. Ewing was chosen by a plurality of
one,--two Whigs and two Democrats scattering their votes. Mr. Lincoln
kept his old place on the Finance Committee. At the first session the
governor held his peace regarding the "system;" and, far from repealing
it, the Legislature added a new feature to it, and voted another
$800,000.

But the Fund Commissioners were in deep water and muddy water: they had
reached the end of their string. The credit of the State was gone,
and already were heard murmurs of repudiation. Bond County had in the
beginning pronounced the system a swindle upon the people; and Bond
County began to have admirers. Some of the bonds had been lent to New
York State banks to start upon; and the banks had presently failed. Some
had been sold on credit. Some were scattered about in various places on
special deposit. Others had been sent to London for sale, where the firm
that was selling them broke with the proceeds of a part of them in their
hands. No expedients sufficed any longer. There was no more money to be
got, and nothing left to do, but to "wind up the system," and begin the
work of common sense by providing for the interest on the sums already
expended. A special session of the Legislature in 1838-9 did the
"winding up," and thenceforth, for some years, there was no other
question so important in Illinois State politics as how to pay the
interest on the vast debt outstanding for this account. Many gentlemen
discovered that De Witt Clintons were rare, and in certain contingencies
very precious. Among these must have been Mr. Lincoln. But being again,
elected to the Legislature in 1840, again the acknowledged leader and
candidate of his party for speaker, he ventured in December of that year
to offer an expedient for paying the interest on the debt; but it was
only an expedient, and a very poor one, to avoid the obvious but
unpopular resort of direct taxation.

"Mr. Lincoln moved to strike out the bill and amendment, and insert the
following:--

"An Act providing for the payment of interest on the State debt.

"Section 1.--Be it enacted by the people of the State of Illinois
represented in the General Assembly, that the governor be authorized and
required to issue, from time to time, such an amount of State bonds, to
be called the 'Illinois Interest Bonds,' as may be absolutely necessary
for the payment of the interest upon the lawful debt of the State,
contracted before the passage of this Act.

"Section 2.--Said bonds shall bear interest at the rate of----per cent
per annum, payable half-yearly at----, and be reimbursable in years from
their respective issuings.

"Section 3.--That the State's portion of the tax hereafter arising from
all lands which were not taxable in the year one thousand eight hundred
and forty is hereby set apart as an exclusive fund for the payment of
interest on the said 'Illinois Interest Bonds;' and the faith of the
State is hereby pledged that said fund shall be applied to that object,
and no other, except at any time there should be a surplus; in which
case such surplus shall became a part of the general funds of the
treasury.

"Section 4.--That hereafter the sum of thirty cents for each hundred
dollars' worth of all taxable property shall be paid into the State
treasury; and no more than forty cents for each hundred dollars' worth
of such taxable property shall be levied and collected for county
purposes."

It was a loose document. The governor was to determine the "amount"
of bonds "necessary," and the sums for which they should be issued.
Interest was to be paid only upon the "lawful" debt; and the governor
was left to determine what part of it _was_ lawful, and what unlawful.
The last section lays a specific tax; but the proceeds are in no way
connected with the "interest bonds."

"Mr. Lincoln said he submitted this proposition with great diffidence.
He had felt his share of the responsibility devolving upon us in the
present crisis; and, after revolving in his mind every scheme which
seemed to afford the least prospect of relief, he submitted this as the
result of his own deliberations.

"The details of the bill might be imperfect; but he relied upon the
correctness of its general features.

"By the plan proposed in the original bill of hypothecating our bonds,
he was satisfied we could not get along more than two or three months
before some other step would be necessary: another session would have to
be called, and new provisions made.

"It might be objected that these bonds would not be salable, and the
money could not be raised in time. He was no financier; but he believed
these bonds thus secured would be equal to the best in market. A perfect
security was provided for the interest; and it was this characteristic
that inspired confidence, and made bonds salable. If there was any
distrust, it could not be because our means of fulfilling promises were
distrusted. He believed it would have the effect to raise our other
bonds in market.

"There was another objection to this plan, which applied to the original
bill; and that was as to the impropriety of borrowing money to pay
interest on borrowed money,--that we are hereby paying compound
interest. To this he would reply, that, if it were a fact that our
population and wealth were increasing in a ratio greater than the
increased interest hereby incurred, then this was not a good objection.
If our increasing means would justify us in deferring to a future time
the resort to taxation, then we had better pay compound interest than
resort to taxation now. He was satisfied, that, by a direct tax now,
money enough could not be collected to pay the accruing interest. The
bill proposed to provide in this way for interest not otherwise provided
for. It was not intended to apply to those bonds for the interest on
which a security had already been provided.

"He hoped the House would seriously consider the proposition. He had no
pride in its success as a measure of his own, but submitted it to
the wisdom of the House, with the hope, that, if there was any thing
objectionable in it, it would be pointed out and amended."

Mr. Lincoln's measure did not pass. There was a large party in favor,
not only of passing the interest on the State debt, which fell due in
the coming January and July, but of repudiating the whole debt outright.
Others thought the State ought to pay, not the full face of its bonds,
but only the amount received for them; while others still contended
that, whereas, many of the bonds had been irregularly, illegally,
and even fraudulently disposed of, there ought to be a particular
discrimination made against _these_, and these only. "At last Mr.
Cavarly, a member from Green, introduced a bill of two sections,
authorizing the Fund Commissioners to hypothecate internal-improvement
bonds to the amount of three hundred thousand dollars, and which
contained the remarkable provision, that the proceeds were to be applied
by that officer to the payment of all interest _legally_ due on the
public debt; thus shifting from the General Assembly, and devolving on
the Fund Commissioner, the duty of deciding on the legality of the debt.
Thus, by this happy expedient, conflicting opinions were reconciled
without direct action on the matter in controversy, and thus the two
Houses were enabled to agree upon a measure to provide temporarily for
the interest on the public debt. The Legislature further provided, at
this session, for the issue of interest bonds, to be sold in the market
at what they would bring; and an additional tax of ten cents on the
hundred dollars' worth of property was imposed and pledged, to pay the
interest on these bonds. By these contrivances, the interest for
January and July, 1841, was paid. The Fund Commissioner hypothecated
internal-improvement bonds for the money first due; and his successor in
office, finding no sale for Illinois stocks, so much had the credit of
the State fallen, was compelled to hypothecate eight hundred and four
thousand dollars of interest bonds for the July interest. On this
hypothecation he was to have received three hundred and twenty-one
thousand six hundred dollars, but was never paid more than two hundred
and sixty-one thousand five hundred dollars. These bonds have never
been redeemed from the holders, though eighty of them were afterwards
repurchased, and three hundred and fifteen thousand dollars of them
were received from the Shawneetown Bank for State stock in that
institution."1

     1 Ford's History of Illinois.

This session (the session of 1840-1) had been called two weeks earlier
than usual, to provide for the January interest on the debt. But the
banks had important business of their own in view, and proceeded to
improve the occasion. In 1837, and every year since then, the banks
had succeeded in getting acts of the Legislature which condoned their
suspension of specie payments. But, by the terms of the last act, their
charters were forfeited unless they resumed before the adjournment of
the next session. The Democrats, however, maintained that the present
special session was _a session_ in the sense of the law, and that,
before its adjournment, the banks must hand out "the hard," or die. On
the other hand, the Whigs held this session, and the regular session
which began on the first Monday in December, to be one and the same, and
proposed to give the banks another winter's lease upon life and rags.
But the banks were a power in the land, and knew how to make themselves
felt. They were the depositories of the State revenues. The auditor's
warrants were drawn upon them, and the members of the Legislature paid
in their money. The warrants were at a discount of fifty per cent; and,
if the banks refused to cash them, the members would be compelled to go
home more impecunious than they came. The banks, moreover, knew how
to make "opportune loans to Democrats;" and, with all these aids, they
organized a brilliant and eventually a successful campaign. In the
eyes of the Whigs they were "the institutions of the country," and the
Democrats were guilty of incivism in attacking them. But the Democrats
retorted with a string of overwhelming slang about rag barons, rags,
printed lies, bank vassals, ragocracy, and the "British-bought, bank,
blue-light, Federal, Whig party." It was a fierce and bitter contest;
and, witnessing it, one might have supposed that the very existence
of the State, with the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness, depended upon the result. The Democrats were bent upon
carrying an adjournment _sine die_; which, according to their theory,
killed the banks. To defeat this, the Whigs resorted to every expedient
of parliamentary tactics, and at length hit upon one entirely unknown
to any of the standard manuals: they tried to absent themselves in
sufficient numbers to leave no quorum behind. "If the Whigs absented
themselves," says Mr. Gillespie, a Whig member, "there would not be a
quorum left, even with the two who should be deputed to call the ayes
and noes. The Whigs immediately held a meeting, and resolved that they
would all stay out, except Lincoln and me, who were to call the ayes
and noes. We appeared in the afternoon: motion to adjourn _sine die_
was made, and we called the ayes and noes. The Democrats discovered the
game, and the sergeant-at-arms was sent out to gather up the absentees.
There was great excitement in the House, which was then held in a church
at Springfield. We soon discovered that several Whigs had been caught
and brought in, and that the plan had been spoiled; and we--Lincoln
and I--determined to leave the hall, and, going to the door, found
it locked, and then raised a window and jumped out, but not until
the Democrats had succeeded in adjourning. Mr. Grid-ley of McLean
accompanied us in our exit.... I think Mr. Lincoln always regretted
that he entered into that arrangement, as he deprecated every thing that
savored of the revolutionary."

In the course of the debate on the Apportionment Bill, Mr. Lincoln had
occasion to address the House in defence of "The Long Nine," who were
especially obnoxious to the Democrats. The speech concluded with the
following characteristic passage:--

"The gentleman had accused old women of being partial to the number
nine; but this, he presumed, was without foundation. A few years since,
it would be recollected by the House, that the delegation from this
county were dubbed by way of eminence 'The Long Nine,' and, by way of
further distinction, he had been called 'The Longest of the Nine.'
Now," said Mr. Lincoln, "I desire to say to my friend from Monroe (Mr.
Bissell), that if any woman, old or young, ever thought there was any
peculiar charm in this distinguished specimen of number nine, I have as
yet been so unfortunate as not to have discovered it." (Loud applause.)

But this Legislature was full of excitements. Besides the questions
about the public debt and the bank-charters, the Democrats proposed to
legislate the Circuit judges out of office, and reconstruct the Supreme
Court to suit themselves. They did this because the Supreme judges had
already decided one question of some political interest against them,
and were now about to decide another in the same way. The latter was a
question of great importance; and, in order to avoid the consequences of
such a decision, the Democrats were eager for the extremest measures.

The Constitution provided that all free white male _inhabitants_ should
vote upon six months' residence. This, the Democrats held, included
aliens; while the Whigs held the reverse. On this grave judicial
question, parties were divided precisely upon the line of their
respective interests. The aliens numbered about ten thousand, and
nine-tenths of them voted steadily with the Democracy. Whilst a great
outcry concerning it was being made from both sides, and fierce disputes
raged in the newspapers and on the stump, two Whigs at Galena got up an
amicable case, to try it in a quiet way before a Whig judge, who held
the Circuit Courts in their neighborhood. The judge decided for his
friends, like a man that he was. The Democrats found it out, and raised
a popular tumult about it that would have put Demetrius the silversmith
to shame. They carried the case to the Supreme Court, where it was
argued before the Whig majority, in December, 1889, by able and
distinguished counsellors,--Judge Douglas being one of them; but the
only result was a continuance to the next June. In the mean time Judge
Smith, the only Democrat on the bench, was seeking favor with his party
friends by betraying to Douglas the secrets of the consultation-room.

With his aid, the Democrats found a defect in the record, which sent the
case over to December, 1840, and adroitly secured the alien vote for the
great elections of that memorable year. The Legislature elected then was
overwhelmingly Democratic; and, having good reason to believe that
the aliens had small favor to expect from this court, they determined
forthwith to make a new one that would be more reasonable. There were
now nine Circuit judges in the State, and four Supreme judges, under the
Act of 1835. The offices of the Circuit judges the Democrats concluded
to abolish, and to create instead nine Supreme judges, who should
perform circuit duties. This they called "reforming the judiciary;" and
"thirsting for vengeance," as Gov. Ford says, they went about the work
with all the zeal, but with very little of the disinterested devotion,
which reformers are generally supposed to have. Douglas, counsel for one
of the litigants, made a furious speech "in the lobby," demanding the
destruction of the court that was to try his cause; and for sundry grave
sins which he imputed to the judges he gave Smith--his friend Smith--as
authority. It was useless to oppose it: this "reform" was a foregone
conclusion. It was called the "Douglas Bill;" and Mr. Douglas was
appointed to one of the new offices created by it. But Mr. Lincoln, E.
D. Baker, and other Whig members, entered upon the journal the following
protest:--

"For the reasons thus presented, and for others no less apparent, the
undersigned cannot assent to the passage of the bill, or permit it to
become a law without this evidence of their disapprobation; and they now
protest against the re-organization of the judiciary: Because,

"1st. It violates the great principles of free government by subjecting
the judiciary to the Legislature.

"2d. It is a fatal blow at the independence of the judges and the
constitutional term of their offices.

"3d. It is a measure not asked for, or wished for, by the people.

"4th. It will greatly increase the expense of our courts, or else
greatly diminish their utility.

"5th. It will give our courts a political and partisan character,
thereby impairing public confidence in their decisions.

"6th. It will impair our standing with other States and the world.

"7th. It is a party measure for party purposes, from which no practical
good to the people can possibly arise, but which may be the source of
immeasurable evils.

"The undersigned are well aware that this protest will be altogether
unavailing with the majority of this body. The blow has already fallen;
and we are compelled to stand by, the mournful spectators of the ruin it
will cause."

Mr. Lincoln was elected in 1840, to serve, of course, until the next
election in August, 1842; but for reasons of a private nature, to be
explained hereafter, he did not appear during the session of 1841-2.

In concluding this chapter, taking leave of New Salem, Vandalia, and
the Legislature, we cannot forbear another quotation from Mr. Wilson,
Lincoln's colleague from Sangamon, to whom we are already so largely in
debt:--

"In 1838 many of the Long Nines were candidates for re-election to the
Legislature. A question of the division of the county was one of the
local issues. Mr. Lincoln and myself, among others, residing in the
portion of the county sought to be organized into a new county, and
opposing the division, it became necessary that I should make a special
canvass through the north-west part of the county, then known as Sand
Ridge. I made the canvass; Mr. Lincoln accompanied me; and, being
personally well acquainted with every one, we called at nearly every
house. At that time it was the universal custom to keep some whiskey in
the house, for private use and to treat friends. The subject was always
mentioned as a matter of etiquette, but with the remark to Mr. Lincoln,
'You never drink, but maybe your friend would like to take a little.'
I never saw Mr. Lincoln drink. He often told me he never drank; had
no desire for drink, nor the companionship of drinking men. Candidates
never treated anybody in those times unless they wanted to do so.

"Mr. Lincoln remained in New Salem until the spring of 1837, when he
went to Springfield, and went into the law-office of John T. Stuart as a
partner in the practice of law, and boarded with William Butler.

"During his stay in New Salem he had no property other than what was
necessary to do his business, until after he stopped in Springfield. He
was not avaricious to accumulate property, neither was he a spendthrift.
He was almost always during those times hard up. He never owned land.

"The first trip he made around the circuit after he commenced the
practice of law, I had a horse, saddle, and bridle, and he had none.
I let him have mine. I think he must have been careless, as the saddle
skinned the horse's back.

"While he lived in New Salem he visited me often. He would stay a day or
two at a time: we generally spent the time at the stores in Athens. He
was very fond of company: telling or hearing stories told was a
source of great amusement to him. He was not in the habit of reading
much,--never read novels. Whittling pine boards and shingles, talking
and laughing, constituted the entertainment of the days and evenings.

"In a conversation with him about that time, he told me, that, although
he appeared to enjoy life rapturously, still he was the victim of
terrible melancholy. He sought company, and indulged in fun and hilarity
without restraint, or stint as to time; but when by himself, he told me
that he was so overcome by mental depression that he never dared carry
a knife in his pocket; and as long as I was intimately acquainted with
him, previous to his commencement of the practice of the law, he never
carried a pocket-knife. Still he was not misanthropic: he was kind and
tender-hearted in his treatment to others.

"In the summer of 1837 the citizens of Athens and vicinity gave the
delegation then called the 'Long Nine' a public dinner, at which Mr.
Lincoln and all the others were present. He was called out by the toast,
'Abraham Lincoln, one of Nature's noblemen.' I have often thought, that,
if any man was entitled to that compliment, it was he."




CHAPTER XI

UNDER the Act of Assembly, due in great part to Mr. Lincoln's exertions,
the removal of the archives and other public property of the State from
Vandalia to Springfield began on the fourth day of July, 1839, and was
speedily completed. At the time of the passage of the Act, in the winter
of 1836-7, Mr. Lincoln determined to follow the capital, and establish
his own residence at Springfield. The resolution was natural and
necessary; for he had been studying law in all his intervals of leisure,
and wanted a wider field than the justice's court at New Salem to begin
the practice. Henceforth Mr. Lincoln might serve in the Legislature,
attend to his private business, and live snugly at home. In addition to
the State courts, the Circuit and District Courts of the United States
sat here. The eminent John McLean of Ohio was the justice of the Supreme
Court who sat in this circuit, with Judge Pope of the District Court,
from 1839 to 1849, and after that with Judge Drummond. The first
terms of these courts, and the first session of the Legislature at
Springfield, were held in December, 1839. The Senate sat in one church,
and the House in another.

Mr. Lincoln got his license as an attorney early in 1837, "and commenced
practice regularly as a lawyer in the town of Springfield in March"
of that year. His first case was that of Hawthorne vs. Wooldridge,
dismissed at the cost of the plaintiff, for whom Mr. Lincoln's name was
entered. There were then on the list of attorneys at the Springfield bar
many names of subsequent renown. Judge Stephen T. Logan was on the bench
of the Circuit Court under the Act of 1835. Stephen A. Douglas had made
his appearance as the public prosecutor at the March term of 1836; and
at the same term E. D. Baker had been admitted to practice. Among the
rest were John T. Stuart, Cyrus Walker, S. H. Treat, Jesse B. Thomas,
George Forquer, Dan Stone, Ninian W. Edwards, John J. Hardin, Schuyler
Strong, A. T. Bledsoe, and Josiah Lamborn.

By this time Mr. Lincoln enjoyed considerable local fame as a
politician, but none, of course, as a lawyer. He therefore needed
a partner, and got one in the person of John T. Stuart, an able and
distinguished Whig, who had relieved his poverty years before by the
timely loan of books with which to study law, and who had from the first
promoted his political fortunes with zeal as disinterested as it was
effective. The connection promised well for Mr. Lincoln, and no doubt
did well during the short period of its existence. The courtroom was
in Hoffman's Row; and the office of Stuart & Lincoln was in the second
story above the court-room. It was a "little room," and generally a
"dirty one." It contained "a small dirty bed,"--on which Lincoln lounged
and slept,--a buffalo-robe, a chair, and a bench. Here the junior
partner, when disengaged from the cares of politics and the Legislature,
was to be found pretty much all the time, "reading, abstracted and
gloomy." Springfield was a small village, containing between one and two
thousand inhabitants. There were no pavements: the street-crossings were
made of "chunks," stones, and sticks. Lincoln boarded with Hon. William
Butler, a gentleman who possessed in an eminent degree that mysterious
power which guides the deliberations of party conventions and
legislative bodies to a foregone conclusion. Lincoln was very poor,
worth nothing, and in debt,--circumstances which are not often alleged
in behalf of the modern legislator; but "Bill Butler" was his friend,
and took him in with little reference to board-bills and the settlement
of accounts. According to Dr. Jayne, he "fed and clothed him for years;"
and this signal service, rendered at a very critical time, Mr. Lincoln
forgot wholly when he was in Congress, and Butler wanted to be Register
of the Land Office, as well as when he was President of the United
States, and opportunities of repayment were multitudinous. It is
doubtless all true; but the inference of personal ingratitude on the
part of Mr. Lincoln will not bear examination. It will be shown at
another place that Mr. Lincoln regarded all public offices within his
gift as a sacred trust, to be administered solely for the people, and as
in no sense a fund upon which he could draw for the payment of private
accounts. He _never_ preferred his friends to his enemies, but rather
the reverse, as if fearful that he might by bare possibility be
influenced by some unworthy motive. He was singularly cautious to
avoid the imputation of fidelity to his friends at the expense of his
opponents.

In Coke's and Blackstone's time the law was supposed to be "a jealous
mistress;" but in Lincoln's time, and at Springfield, she was any
thing but exacting. Politicians courted her only to make her favor the
stepping-stone to success in other employments. Various members of that
bar have left great reputations to posterity, but none of them were
earned solely by the legitimate practice of the law. Douglas is
remembered as a statesman, Baker as a political orator, Hardin as a
soldier, and some now living, like Logan and Stuart, although eminent
in the law, will be no less known to the history of the times as
politicians than as lawyers. Among those who went to the law for a
living, and to the people for fame and power, was Mr. Lincoln. He was
still a member of the Legislature when he settled at Springfield, and
would probably have continued to run for a seat in that body as often
as his time expired, but for the unfortunate results of the
"internal-improvement system," the hopeless condition of the State
finances, and a certain gloominess of mind, which arose from private
misfortunes that befell him about the time of his retirement. We do
not say positively that these were the reasons why Mr. Lincoln made no
effort to be re-elected to the Legislature of 1840; but a careful study
of all the circumstances will lead any reasonable man to believe that
they were. He was intensely ambitious, longed ardently for place and
distinction, and never gave up a prospect which seemed to him good when
he was in a condition to pursue it with honor to himself and fairness
to others. Moreover State politics were then rapidly ceasing to be
the high-road to fame and fortune. Although the State of Illinois was
insolvent, unable to pay the interest on her public debt, and many were
talking about repudiating the principal, the great campaign of 1840 went
off upon national issues, and little or nothing was said about questions
of State policy. Mr. Lincoln felt and obeyed this tendency of the public
mind, and from 1837 onward his speeches--those that were printed and
those that were not--were devoted chiefly, if not exclusively, to
Federal affairs.

In January, 1837, he delivered a lecture before the Springfield Lyceum
on the subject of the "_Perpetuation of our Free Institutions_." As a
mere declamation, it is unsurpassed in the annals of the West. Although
delivered in mid-winter, it is instinct with the peculiar eloquence of
the most fervid Fourth of July.

"In the great journal of things," began the orator, "happening under the
sun, we, the American People, find our account running under date of
the nineteenth century of the Christian era. We find ourselves in the
peaceful possession of the fairest portion of the earth, as regards
extent of territory, fertility of soil, and salubrity of climate.
We find ourselves under the government of a system of political
institutions conducing more essentially to the ends of civil and
religious liberty than any of which the history of former times tells
us. We, when mounting the stage of existence, found ourselves the
legal inheritors of these fundamental blessings. We toiled not in the
acquisition or establishment of them: they are a legacy bequeathed us
by a _once_ hardy, brave, and patriotic, but _now_ lamented and departed
race of ancestors. Theirs was the task (and nobly they performed it) to
possess themselves, and, through themselves, us, of this goodly land,
and to uprear upon its hills and valleys a political edifice of
liberty and equal rights: 'tis ours only to transmit these--the former
unprofaned by the foot of an invader, the latter undecayed by the lapse
of time and untorn by usurpation--to the latest generation that fate
shall permit the world to know. This task, gratitude to our fathers,
justice to ourselves, duty to posterity,--all imperatively require us
faithfully to perform.

"How, then, shall we perform it? At what point shall we expect the
approach of danger? Shall we expect some transatlantic military giant to
step the ocean and crush us at a blow? Never! All the armies of Europe,
Asia, and Africa combined, with all the treasure of the earth (our own
excepted) in their military chest, with a Bonaparte for a commander,
could not, by force, take a drink from the Ohio, or make a track on the
Blue Ridge, in a trial of a thousand years!

"At what point, then, is the approach of danger to be expected? I
answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot
come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its
author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all
time, or die by suicide.

"I hope I am not over-wary; but, if I am not, there is even now
something of ill-omen amongst us. I mean the increasing disregard for
law which pervades the country, the growing disposition to substitute
the wild and furious passions in lieu of the sober judgment of courts,
and the worse than savage mobs for the executive ministers of justice.
This disposition is awfully fearful in any community, and that it now
exists in ours, though grating to our feelings to admit it, it would be
a violation of truth and an insult to our intelligence to deny. Accounts
of outrages committed by mobs form the every-day news of the times.
They have pervaded the country from New England to Louisiana; they are
neither peculiar to the eternal snows of the former, nor the burning sun
of the latter. They are not the creature of climate; neither are they
confined to the slaveholding or non-slaveholding States. Alike they
spring up among the pleasure-hunting masters of Southern slaves and
the order-loving citizens of the land of steady habits. Whatever, then,
their cause may be, it is common to the whole country."

The orator then adverts to the doings of recent mobs in various parts
of the country, and insists, that, if the spirit that produced them
continues to increase, the laws and the government itself must fall
before it: bad citizens will be encouraged, and good ones, having no
protection against the lawless, will be glad to receive an individual
master who will be able to give them the peace and order they desire.
That will be the time when the usurper will put down his heel on
the neck of the people, and batter down the "fair fabric" of free
institutions. "Many great and good men," he says, "sufficiently
qualified for any task they should undertake, may ever be found,
whose ambition would aspire to nothing beyond a seat in Congress, a
gubernatorial or a presidential chair; _but such belong not to the
family of the lion or the tribe of the eagle._1 What! Think you these
places would satisfy an Alexander, a Caesar, or a Napoleon? Never!
Towering genius disdains a beaten path. It seeks regions hitherto
unexplored. It sees no distinction in adding story to story upon the
monuments of fame erected to the memory of others. It denies that it
is glory enough to serve under any chief. It scorns to tread in the
footsteps of any predecessor, however illustrious. It thirsts and burns
for distinction; and, if possible, it will have it, whether at the
expense of emancipating slaves or enslaving freemen.... Another reason
which once _was_, but which, to the same extent, _is now no more_, has
done much in maintaining our institutions thus far. I mean the powerful
influence which the interesting scenes of the Revolution had upon the
_passions_ of the people as distinguished from their judgment." This
influence, the lecturer maintains, was kept alive by the presence of
the surviving soldiers of the Revolution, who were in some sort "living
histories," and concludes with this striking peroration:--

"But those histories are gone. They _can_ be read no more forever. They
_were_ a fortress of strength; but what invading foeman could never do,
the silent artillery of time _has done_,--the levelling of its
walls. They are gone. They _were_ a forest of giant oaks; but the
all-resistless hurricane has swept over them, and left only here and
there a lonely trunk, despoiled of its verdure, shorn of its foliage,
unshading and unshaded, to murmur in a few more gentle breezes, and to
combat with its mutilated limbs a few more rude storms, then to sink and
be no more. They _were_ the pillars of the temple of liberty; and now
that they have crumbled away, that temple must fall, unless we, the
descendants, supply their places with other pillars hewn from the same
solid quarry of sober reason. Passion has helped us, but can do so
no more. It will in future be our enemy. Reason--cold, calculating,
unimpassioned reason--must furnish all the materials for our future
support and defence. Let those materials be moulded into _general
intelligence, sound morality_, and, in particular, _a reverence for the
Constitution and the laws_; and that we improved to the last, that we
revered his name to the last, that during his long sleep we permitted no
hostile foot to pass or desecrate his resting-place, shall be that which
to learn the last trump shall awaken our Washington. Upon these let the
proud fabric of freedom rest as the rock of its basis, and as truly as
has been said of the only greater institution, 'The gates of hell shall
not prevail against it."'

     1 The italics are the orator's.

These extracts from a lecture carefully composed by Mr. Lincoln at the
mature age of twenty-eight, and after considerable experience in the
public service, are worthy of attentive perusal. To those familiar with
his sober and pure style at a later age, these sophomoric passages will
seem incredible. But they were thought "able and eloquent" by the "Young
Men's Lyceum" of Springfield: he was "solicited to furnish a copy for
publication," and they were duly printed in "The Sangamon Journal." In
the mere matter of rhetoric, they compare favorably with some of his
other productions of nearly the same date. This was what he would have
called his "growing time;" and it is intensely interesting to witness
the processes of such mental growth as his. In time, gradually, but
still rapidly, his style changes completely: the constrained and
unnatural attempts at striking and lofty metaphor disappear, and the
qualities which produced the Gettysburg address--that model of unadorned
eloquence--begin to be felt. He finds the people understand him better
when he comes down from his stilts, and talks to them from their own
level.

Political discussions at Springfield were apt to run into heated and
sometimes unseemly personal controversies. When Douglas and Stuart were
candidates for Congress in 1838, they fought like tigers in Herndon's
grocery, over a floor that was drenched with slops, and gave up the
struggle only when both were exhausted. Then, as a further entertainment
to the populace, Mr. Stuart ordered out a "barrel of whiskey and wine."

On the election-day in 1840, it was reported to Mr. Lincoln that one
Radford, a contractor on the railroad, had brought up his men, and taken
full possession of one of the polling-places. Lincoln started off to
the precinct on a slow trot. Radford knew him well, and a little stern
advice reversed proceedings without any fighting. Among other remarks,
Lincoln said, "Radford, you'll spoil and blow if you live much longer."
He wanted to hit Radford, but could get no chance to do so, and
contented himself with confiding his intentions to Speed. "I intended
just to knock him down, and leave him kicking."

The same year, Col. Baker was making a speech to a promiscuous audience
in the court-room,--"a rented room in Hoffman's Row." It will be
remembered that Lincoln's office was just above, and he was listening
to Baker through a large hole or trap-door in the ceiling. Baker warmed
with his theme, and, growing violent and personally offensive,
declared at length, "that wherever there was a land-office, there was
a Democratic newspaper to defend its corruptions." "This," says John B.
Webber, "was a personal attack on my brother, George Webber. I was in
the Court House, and in my anger cried, 'Pull him down!'" A scene of
great confusion ensued, threatening to end in a general riot, in which
Baker was likely to suffer. But just at the critical moment Lincoln's
legs were seen coming through the hole; and directly his tall figure
was standing between Baker and the audience, gesticulating for silence.
"Gentlemen," said he, "let us not disgrace the age and country in which
we live. This is a land where freedom of speech is guaranteed. Mr Baker
has a right to speak, and ought to be permitted to do so. I am here to
protect him, and no man shall take him from this stand if I can prevent
it." Webber only recollects that "some one made some soothing, kind
remarks," and that he was properly "held until the excitement ceased,"
and the affair "soon ended in quiet and peace."

In 1838, or 1840, Jesse B. Thomas made an intemperate attack upon the
"Long Nine," and especially upon Mr. Lincoln, as the longest and worst
of them. Lincoln was not present at the meeting; but being sent for, and
informed of what had passed, he ascended the platform, and made a reply
which nobody seems to remember, but which everybody describes as a
"terrible skinning" of his victim. Ellis says, that, at the close of a
furious personal denunciation, he wound up by "mimicking" Thomas, until
Thomas actually cried with vexation and anger. Edwards, Speed, Ellis,
Davis, and many others, refer to this scene, and, being asked whether
Mr. Lincoln could not be vindictive upon occasion, generally respond,
"Remember the Thomas skinning."

The most intimate friend Mr. Lincoln ever had, at this or any other
time, was probably Joshua F. Speed. In 1836 he settled himself in
Springfield, and did a thriving business as a merchant. Ellis was one
of his clerks, and so also was William H. Herndon, Mr. Lincoln's future
partner. This store was for years Lincoln's familiar haunt. There he
came to while away the tedious evenings with Speed and the congenial
company that naturally assembled around these choice spirits. He even
slept in the store room as often as he slept at home, and here made to
Speed the most confidential communications he ever made to mortal man.
If he had on earth "a bosom crony," it was Speed, and that deep and
abiding attachment subsisted unimpaired to the day of Mr. Lincoln's
death. In truth, there were good reasons why he should think of Speed
with affection and gratitude, for through life no man rendered him more
important services.

One night in December, 1839, Lincoln, Douglas, Baker, and some other
gentlemen of note, were seated at Speed's hospitable fire in the store.
They got to talking politics, got warm, hot, angry. Douglas sprang up
and said, "Gentlemen, this is no place to talk politics: we will discuss
the questions publicly with you," and much more in a high tone of banter
and defiance. A few days afterwards the Whigs had a meeting, at which
Mr. Lincoln reported a resolution challenging the Democrats to a joint
debate. The challenge was accepted; and Douglas, Calhoun, Lamborn, and
Jesse B. Thomas were deputed by the Democrats to meet Logan, Baker,
Browning, and Lincoln on the part of the Whigs. The intellectual
encounter between these noted champions is still described by those
who witnessed it as "the great debate." It took place in the Second
Presbyterian Church, in the hearing of as many people as could get into
the building, and was adjourned from night to night. When Mr. Lincoln's
turn came, the audience was very thin; but, for all that, his speech
was by many persons considered the best one of the series. To this day,
there are some who believe he had assistance in the preparation of it.
Even Mr. Herndon accused Speed of having "had a hand in it," and got
a flat denial for his answer. At all events, the speech was a popular
success, and was written out, and published in "The Sangamon Journal,"
of March 6, 1840. The exordium was a sort of complaint that must have
had a very depressing effect upon both the speaker and his hearers:--

"Fellow-Citizens,--It is peculiarly embarrassing to me to attempt a
continuance of the discussion, on this evening, which has been conducted
in this hall on several preceding ones. It is so, because on each of
these evenings there was a much fuller attendance than now, without any
reason for its being so, except the greater interest the community feel
in the speakers who addressed them then, than they do in him who is to
do so now. I am, indeed, apprehensive that the few who have attended
have done so more to spare me of mortification, than in the hope of
being interested in any thing I may be able to say. This circumstance
casts a damp upon my spirits which I am sure I shall be unable to
overcome during the evening.

"The subject heretofore and now to be discussed is the Sub-Treasury
scheme of the present administration, as a means of collecting,
safe-keeping, transferring, and disbursing the revenues of the nation,
as contrasted with a National Bank for the same purposes. Mr. Douglas
has said that we (the Whigs) have not dared to meet them (the Locos) in
argument on this question. I protest against this assertion. I say we
have again and again, during this discussion, urged facts and arguments
against the Sub-Treasury which they have neither dared to deny nor
attempted to answer. But lest some may be led to believe that we really
wish to avoid the question, I now propose, in my humble way, to urge
these arguments again; at the same time begging the audience to mark
well the positions I shall take, and the proofs I shall offer to sustain
them, and that they will not again allow Mr. Douglas or his friends to
escape the force of them by a round and groundless assertion that we
dare not meet them in argument.

"Of the Sub-Treasury, then, as contrasted with a National Bank, for the
before-enumerated purposes, I lay down the following propositions, to
wit:--

"1st. It will injuriously affect the community by its operation on the
circulating medium.

"2d. It will be a more expensive fiscal agent.

"3d. It will be a less secure depository for the public money."

Mr. Lincoln's objections to the Sub-Treasury were those commonly urged
by its enemies, and have been somewhat conclusively refuted by the
operation of that admirable institution from the hour of its adoption
to the present. "The extravagant expenditures" of Mr. Van Buren's
administration, however, was a standard topic of the Whigs in those
days, and, sliding gracefully off from the Sub-Treasury, Mr. Lincoln
dilated extensively upon this more attractive subject. This part of his
speech was entirely in reply to Mr. Douglas. But, when he came to answer
Mr. Lamborn's remarks, he "got in a hard hit" that must have brought
down the house.

"Mr. Lamborn insists that the difference between the Van Buren party and
the Whigs is, that, although the former sometimes err in practice,
they are always correct in principle, whereas the latter are wrong
in principle; and, the better to impress this proposition, he uses a
figurative expression in these words: 'The Democrats are vulnerable in
the heel, but they are sound in the heart and head.' The first branch of
the figure,--that is, that the Democrats are vulnerable in the heel,--I
admit is not merely figuratively but literally true. Who that looks but
for a moment at their Swartwouts, their Prices, their Harringtons,
and their hundreds of others, scampering away with the public money to
Texas, to Europe, and to every spot of the earth where a villain may
hope to find refuge from justice, can at all doubt that they are most
distressingly affected in their heels with a species of 'running itch.'
It seems that this malady of their heels operates on the sound-headed
and honest-hearted creatures very much like the cork-leg in the comic
song did on its owner, which, when he had once got started on it, the
more he tried to stop it, the more it would run away. At the hazard of
wearing this point threadbare, I will relate an anecdote which seems to
be too strikingly in point to be omitted. A witty Irish soldier who
was always boasting of his bravery when no danger was near, but
who invariably retreated without orders at the first charge of the
engagement, being asked by his captain why he did so, replied, 'Captain,
I have as brave a heart as Julius Caesar ever had, but somehow or other,
whenever danger approaches, my cowardly legs will run away with it.' So
with Mr. Lamborn's party. They take the public money into their hands
for the most laudable purpose that wise heads and honest hearts can
dictate; but, before they can possibly get it out again, their rascally
vulnerable heels will run away with them."

But, as in the lecture before the Lyceum, Mr. Lincoln reserved his most
impressive passage, his boldest imagery, and his most striking metaphor,
for a grand and vehement peroration.

"Mr. Lamborn refers to the late elections in the States, and, from their
results, confidently predicts every State in the Union will vote for Mr.
Van Buren at the next presidential election. Address that argument to
cowards and knaves: with the free and the brave it will affect nothing.
It may be true: if it must, let it. Many free countries have lost their
liberty, and ours may lose hers; but, if she shall, be it my proudest
plume, not that I was the last to desert, but that I never deserted her.
I know that the great volcano at Washington, aroused and directed by the
evil spirit that reigns there, is belching forth the lava of political
corruption in a current broad and deep, which is sweeping with frightful
velocity over the whole length and breadth of the land, bidding fair to
leave unscathed no green spot or living thing; while on its bosom are
riding, like demons on the wave of hell, the imps of that evil spirit,
and fiendishly taunting all those who dare to resist its destroying
course with the hopelessness of their efforts; and, knowing this, I
cannot deny that all may be swept away. Broken by it, I, too, may
be; bow to it, I never will. The probability that we may fall in the
struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe
to be just. It shall not deter me. If ever I feel the soul within me
elevate and expand to those dimensions, not wholly unworthy of its
almighty Architect, it is when I contemplate the cause of my country,
deserted by all the world beside, and I standing up boldly, alone,
hurling defiance at her victorious oppressors. Here, without
contemplating consequences, before Heaven and in face of the world, I
swear eternal fealty to the just cause, as I deem it, of the land of
my life, my liberty, and my love. And who that thinks with me will not
fearlessly adopt that oath that I take? Let none falter who thinks he is
right, and we may succeed. But if, after all, we shall fail, be it so:
we still shall have the proud consolation of saying to our consciences,
and to the departed shade of our country's freedom, that the cause
approved of our judgment and adored of our hearts, in disaster, in
chains, in torture, in death, we never faltered in defending."

Considering that the times were extremely peaceful, and that the speaker
saw no bloodshed except what flowed from the noses of belligerents
in the groceries about Springfield, the speech seems to have been
unnecessarily defiant.

In 1840 Mr. Lincoln was a candidate for presidential elector on the
Harrison ticket, and stumped a large part of the State. He and Douglas
followed Judge Treat's court all around the circuit, "and spoke in the
afternoons." The Harrison club at Springfield became thoroughly familiar
with his voice. But these one-sided affairs were not altogether suited
to his temper: through his life he preferred a joint discussion, and
the abler the man pitted against him, the better he liked it. He knew he
shone in retort, and sought every opportunity to practise it. From 1838
to 1858, he seems to have followed up Douglas as a regular business
during times of great political excitement, and only on one or two
occasions did he find the "Little Giant" averse to a conflict. Here, in
1840, they came in collision, as they did in 1839, and as they continued
to do through twenty or more years, until Lincoln became President of
the United States, and Douglas's disappointments were buried with his
body. Once during this Harrison campaign they had a fierce discussion
before a meeting assembled in the market-house. In the course of his
speech, Lincoln imputed to Van Buren the great sin of having voted
in the New York State Convention for <DW64> suffrage with a property
qualification. Douglas denied the fact; and Lincoln attempted to prove
his statement by reading a certain passage from Holland's "Life of Van
Buren," containing a letter from Van Buren to one Mr. Fithian. Whereupon
"Douglas got mad," snatched up the book, and, tossing it into the crowd,
remarked sententiously, although not conclusively, "Damn such a book!"

"He was very sensitive," says Mr. Gillespie, "where he thought he had
failed to come up to the expectations of his friends. I remember a case.
He was pitted by the Whigs, in 1840, to debate with Mr. Douglas, the
Democratic champion. Lincoln did not come up to the requirements of the
occasion. He was conscious of his failure; and I never saw any man so
much distressed. He begged to be permitted to try it again, and was
reluctantly indulged; and in the next effort he transcended our highest
expectations. I never heard, and never expect to hear, such a triumphant
vindication as he then gave of Whig measures or policy. He never after,
to my knowledge, fell below himself."

It must by this time be clear to the reader that Mr. Lincoln was never
agitated by any passion more intense than his wonderful thirst for
distinction. There is good evidence that it furnished the feverish
dreams of his boyhood; and no man that knew him well can doubt that it
governed all his conduct, from the hour when he astonished himself by
his oratorical success against Posey and Ewing, in the back settlements
of Macon County, to the day when the assassin marked him as the first
hero of the restored Union, re-elected to his great office, surrounded
by every circumstance that could minister to his pride, or exalt his
sensibilities,--a ruler whose power was only less wide than his renown.
He never rested in the race he had determined to run; he was ever ready
to be honored; he struggled incessantly for place. There is no instance
where an important office seemed to be within his reach, and he did not
try to get it. Whatsoever he did in politics, at the bar, in private
life, had more or less reference to this great object of his life. It
is not meant to be said that he was capable of any shameful act,
any personal dishonor, any surrender or concealment of political
convictions. In these respects, he was far better than most men. It was
not in his nature to run away from the fight, or to desert to the enemy;
but he was quite willing to accept his full share of the fruits of
victory.

Born in the humblest circumstances, uneducated, poor, acquainted with
flatboats and groceries, but a stranger to the drawing-room, it was
natural that he should seek in a matrimonial alliance those social
advantages which he felt were necessary to his political advancement.
This was, in fact, his own view of the matter; but it was strengthened
and enforced by the counsels of those whom he regarded as friends.

[Miss Mary Lincoln. Wife of the President 270]

In 1839 Miss Mary, daughter of Hon. Robert S. Todd of Lexington, Ky.,
came to live with her sister, Mrs. Ninian W. Edwards, at Springfield.
Like Miss Owens, Miss Todd had a stepmother, with whom she failed to
"agree," and for that reason the Edwardses offered her a home with them.
She was young,--just twenty-one,--her family was of the best, and her
connections in Illinois among the most refined and distinguished people.
Her mother having died when she was a little girl, she had been educated
under the care of a French lady, "opposite Mr. Clay's." She was gifted
with rare talents, had a keen sense of the ridiculous, a ready insight
into the weaknesses of individual character, and a most fiery and
ungovernable temper. Her tongue and her pen were equally sharp.
High-bred, proud, brilliant, witty, and with a will that bent every one
else to her purpose, she took Mr. Lincoln captive the very moment she
considered it expedient to do so.

Mr. Lincoln was a rising politician, fresh from the people, and
possessed of great power among them: Miss Todd was of aristocratic and
distinguished family, able to lead through the awful portals of "good
society" whomsoever they chose to countenance. It was thought that a
union between them could not fail of numerous benefits to both parties.
Mr. Edwards thought so; Mrs. Edwards thought so; and it was not long
before Mary Todd herself thought so. She was very ambitious, and even
before she left Kentucky announced her belief that she was "destined
to be the wife of some future President." For a little while she was
courted by Douglas as well as by Lincoln; but she is said to have
refused the "Little Giant," "on account of his bad morals." Being asked
which of them she intended to have, she answered, "The one that has the
best chance of being President." She decided in favor of Lincoln, and,
in the opinion of some of her husband's friends, aided to no small
extent in the fulfilment of the prophecy which the bestowal of her hand
implied. A friend of Miss Todd was the wife of an elderly but wealthy
gentleman; and being asked by one of the Edwards coterie why she had
married "such an old, dried-up husband, such a withered-up old buck,"
she answered that "He had lots of horses and gold." But Mary Todd spoke
up in great surprise, and said, "Is that true? I would rather marry
a good man, a man of mind, with hope and bright prospects ahead for
position, fame, and power, than to marry all the horses, gold, and bones
in the world."

Mrs. Edwards, Miss Todd's sister, tells us that Mr. Lincoln "was charmed
with Mary's wit and fascinated with her quick sagacity, her will, her
nature and culture." "I have happened in the room," she says, "where
they were sitting often and often, and Mary led the conversation.
Lincoln would listen, and gaze on her as if drawn by some superior
power,--irresistibly so: he listened, but never scarcely said a word....
Lincoln could not hold a lengthy conversation with a lady,--was not
sufficiently educated and intelligent in the female line to do so."

Mr. Lincoln and Mary were engaged, and their marriage was only a
question of time. But Mr. Lincoln's love-affairs were destined never
to run smoothly, and now one Miss Matilda Edwards made her "sweet
appearance," and brought havoc in her train. She was the sister of
Ninian W. Edwards, and came to spend a year with her brother. She was
very fair, and soon was the reigning belle. No sooner did Lincoln know
her than he felt his heart change. The other affair, according to the
Edwardses, according to Stuart, according to Herndon, according to
Lincoln and everybody else, was a "policy match;" but _this_ was love.
For a while he evidently tried hard to go on as before, but his feelings
were too strong to be concealed. Mr. Edwards endeavored to reconcile
matters by getting his sister to marry Speed; but the rebellious beauty
refused Speed incontinently (as she did Douglas too), and married Mr.
Schuyler Strong. Poor Lincoln never whispered a word of his passion to
her: his high sense of honor prevented that, and perhaps she would not
have listened to him if it had been otherwise.

At length, after long reflection, in great agony of spirit, Mr. Lincoln
concluded that duty required him to make a candid statement of his
feelings to the lady who was entitled to his hand. He wrote her a
letter, and told her gently but plainly that he did not love her. He
asked Speed to deliver it; but Speed advised him to burn it. "Speed,"
said Mr. Lincoln, "I always knew you were an obstinate man. If you won't
deliver it, I'll get some one else to do it." But Speed now had the
letter in his hand; and, emboldened by the warm friendship that existed
between them, replied, "I shall not deliver it, nor give it to you to be
delivered. Words are forgotten, misunderstood, passed by, not noticed
in a private conversation; but once put your words in writing, and they
stand as a living and eternal monument against you. If you think you
have _will_ and manhood enough to go and see her, and speak to her
what you say in that letter, you may do that." Lincoln went to see
her forthwith, and reported to Speed. He said, that, when he made his
somewhat startling communication, she rose and said, "'The deceiver
shall be deceived: woe is me!' alluding to a young man she had fooled."
Mary told him she knew the reason of his change of heart, and released
him from his engagement. Some parting endearments took place between
them, and then, as the natural result of those endearments, a
reconciliation.

We quote again from Mrs. Edwards:--

"Lincoln and Mary were engaged; every thing was ready and prepared
for the marriage, even to the supper. Mr. Lincoln failed to meet his
engagement. Cause, insanity!

"In his lunacy he declared he hated Mary and loved Miss Edwards. This is
true, yet it was not his real feelings. A crazy man hates those he loves
when at himself. Often, often, is this the case. The world had it that
Mr. Lincoln backed out, and this placed Mary in a peculiar situation;
and to set herself right, and free Mr. Lincoln's mind, she wrote a
letter to Mr. Lincoln, stating that she would release him from his
engagement.... The whole of the year was a crazy spell. Miss Edwards
was at our house, say a year. I asked Miss Edwards if Mr. Lincoln ever
mentioned the subject of his love to her. Miss Edwards said, 'On my
word, he never mentioned such a subject to me: he never even stooped to
pay me a compliment.'"

In the language of Mr. Edwards, "Lincoln went as crazy as a loon," and
was taken to Kentucky by Speed, who kept him "until he recovered." He
"did not attend the Legislature in 1841-2 for this reason."

Mr. Herndon devoutly believes that Mr. Lincoln's insanity grew out of a
most extraordinary complication of feelings,--aversion to the marriage
proposed, a counter-attachment to Miss Edwards, and a new access of
unspeakable tenderness for the memory of Ann Rutledge,--the old love
struggling with a new one, and each sending to his heart a sacrificial
pang as he thought of his solemn engagement to marry a third person. In
this opinion Mr. Speed appears to concur, as shown by his letter below.
At all events, Mr. Lincoln's derangement was nearly, if not quite,
complete. "We had to remove razors from his room," says Speed, "take
away all knives, and other dangerous things. It was terrible." And now
Speed determined to do for him what Bowlin Greene had done on a similar
occasion at New Salem. Having sold out his store on the 1st of January,
1841, he took Mr. Lincoln with him to his home in Kentucky, and kept
him there during most of the summer and fall, or until he seemed
sufficiently restored to be given his liberty again at Springfield, when
he was brought back to his old quarters. During this period, "he was at
times very melancholy," and, by his own admission, "almost contemplated
self-destruction." It was about this time that he wrote some gloomy
lines under the head of "Suicide," which were published in "The Sangamon
Journal." Mr. Herndon remembered something about them; but, when he
went to look for them in the office-file of the "Journal," he found them
neatly cut out,--"supposed to have been done," says he, "by Lincoln."
Speed's mother was much pained by the "deep depression" of her guest,
and gave him a Bible, advising him to read it, to adopt its precepts,
and pray for its promises. He acknowledged this attempted service, after
he became President, by sending her a photograph of himself, with this
inscription: "To my very good friend, Mrs. Lucy G. Speed, from whose
pious hands I received an Oxford Bible twenty years ago." But Mrs.
Speed's medicine, the best ever offered for a mind diseased, was of
no avail in this case. Among other things, he told Speed, referring
probably to his inclination to commit suicide, "that he had done nothing
to make any human being remember that he had lived, and that to connect
his name with the events transpiring in his day and generation, and so
impress himself upon them as to link his name with something that would
redound to the interest of his fellow-man, was what he desired to live
for." Of this conversation he pointedly reminded Speed at the time, or
just before the time, he issued the Emancipation Proclamation.

What took place after his return to Springfield cannot be better told
than in the words of the friends of both parties. "Mr. Edwards and
myself," says Mrs. Edwards, "after the first crash of things, told Mary
and Lincoln that they had better not ever marry; that their natures,
minds, education, raising, &c., were so different, that they could not
live happy as man and wife; had better never think of the subject again.
All at once we heard that Mr. Lincoln and Mary had secret meetings at
Mr. S. Francis's, editor of 'The Springfield Journal.' Mary said the
reason this was so, the cause why it was, was that the world, woman
and man, were uncertain and slippery, and that it was best to keep the
secret courtship from all eyes and ears. Mrs. Lincoln told Mr. Lincoln,
that, though she had released him in the letter spoken of, yet she would
hold the question an open one,--that is, that she had not changed her
mind, but felt as always.... The marriage of Mr. Lincoln and Mary was
quick and sudden,--one or two hours' notice." How poor Mr. Lincoln felt
about it, may be gathered from the reminiscences of his friend, J.
H. Matheny, who says, "that Lincoln and himself, in 1842, were very
friendly; that Lincoln came to him one evening and said, 'Jim, I shall
have to marry that girl.'" He was married that evening, but Matheny
says, "he looked as if he was going to the slaughter," and that Lincoln
"had often told him, directly and individually, that he was driven into
the marriage; that it was concocted and planned by the Edwards family;
that Miss Todd--afterwards Mrs. Lincoln--was crazy for a week or so, not
knowing what to do; and that he loved Miss Edwards, and went to see her,
and not Mrs. Lincoln."

The license to marry was issued on the 4th of November, 1842, and on
the same day the marriage was celebrated by Charles Dresser, "M.G."
With this date carefully borne in mind, the following letters are of
surpassing interest. They are relics, not only of a great man, but of a
great agony.

The first is from Mr. Speed to Mr. Herndon, and explains the
circumstances under which the correspondence took place. Although it
is in part a repetition of what the reader already knows, it is of such
peculiar value, that we give it in full:--

W. H. Herndon, Esq.

Dear Sir,--I enclose you copies of all the letters of any interest from
Mr. Lincoln to me.

Some explanation may be needed, that you may rightly understand their
import.

In the winter of 1840 and 1841 he was unhappy about his engagement to
his wife,--not being entirely satisfied that his _heart_ was going with
his hand. How much he suffered then on that account, none know so well
as myself: he disclosed his whole heart to me.

In the summer of 1841 I became engaged to my wife. He was here on a
visit when I courted her; and, strange to say, something of the same
feeling which I regarded as so foolish in him took possession of me, and
kept me very unhappy from the time of my engagement until I was married.

This will explain the deep interest he manifested in his letters on my
account.

Louisville, Nov. 30, 1866.

If you use the letters (and some of them are perfect gems) do it care
fully, so as not to wound the feelings of Mrs. Lincoln.

One thing is plainly discernible: if I had not been married and
happy,--far more happy than I ever expected to be,--he would not have
married.

I have erased a name which I do not wish published. If I have failed
to do it anywhere, strike it out when you come to it. That is the
word------.

I thank you for your last lecture. It is all new to me, but so true
to my appreciation of Lincoln's character, that, independent of my
knowledge of you, I would almost swear to it.

Lincoln wrote a letter (a long one, which he read to me) to Dr. Drake,
of Cincinnati, descriptive of his case. Its date would be in December,
1840, or early in January, 1841. I think that he must have informed
Dr. D. of his early love for Miss Rutledge, as there was a part of the
letter which he would not read.

It would be worth much to you, if you could procure the original.

Charles D. Drake, of St. Louis, may have his father's papers. The date
which I give you will aid in the search.

I remember Dr. Drake's reply, which was, that he would not undertake to
prescribe for him without a personal interview. I would advise you to
make some effort to get the letter.

Your friend, &c.,

J. F. Speed.

The first of the papers from Mr. Lincoln's pen is a letter of advice and
consolation to his friend, for whom he apprehends the terrible things
through which, by the help of that friend, he has himself just passed.

My dear Speed,--Feeling, as you know I do, the deepest solicitude for
the success of the enterprise you are engaged in, I adopt this as the
last method I can invent to aid you, in case (which God forbid) you
shall need any aid. I do not place what I am going to say on paper,
because I can say it better in that way than I could by word of mouth;
but, were I to say it orally before we part, most likely you would
forget it at the very time when it might do you some good. As I think it
reasonable that you will feel very badly sometime between this and the
final consummation of your purpose, it is intended that you shall read
this just at such a time. Why I say it is reasonable that you will
feel very badly yet, is because of three _special causes_ added to _the
general one_ which I shall mention.

The general cause is, that you are naturally of a nervous temperament,
and this I say from what I have seen of you personally, and what you
have told me concerning your mother at various times, and concerning
your brother William at the time his wife died. The first special cause
is your _exposure to bad weather_ on your journey, which my experience
clearly proves to be very severe on defective nerves. The second is
the _absence of all business and conversation_ of friends, which might
divert your mind, give it occasional rest from the intensity of thought
which will sometimes wear the sweetest idea threadbare, and turn it to
the bitterness of death.

The third is _the rapid and near approach of that crisis on which all
your thoughts and feelings concentrate._

If from all these causes you shall escape, and go through triumphantly,
without another "twinge of the soul," I shall be most happily but most
egregiously deceived. If, on the contrary, you shall, as I expect you
will at some time, be agonized and distressed, let me, who have some
reason to speak with judgment on such a subject, beseech you to ascribe
it to the causes I have mentioned, and not to some false and ruinous
suggestion of the Devil.

"But," you will say, "do not your causes apply to every one engaged in a
like undertaking?" By no means. _The particular causes_, to a greater
or less extent, perhaps, do apply in all cases; but the _general
one_,--nervous debility, which is the key and conductor of all the
particular ones, and without which they would be utterly harmless,
though it _does_ pertain to you,--_does not_ pertain to one in a
thousand. It is out of this that the painful difference between you and
the mass of the world springs.

I know what the painful point with you is at all times when you are
unhappy: it is an apprehension that you do not love her as you should.
What nonsense! How came you to court her? Was it because you thought she
deserved it, and that you had given her reason to expect it? If it was
for that, why did not the same reason make you court Ann Todd, and at
least twenty others of whom you can think, and to whom it would apply
with greater force than to _her?_ Did you court her for her wealth? Why,
you know she had none. But you say you reasoned yourself into it. What
do you mean by that? Was it not that you found yourself unable to reason
yourself out of it? Did you not think, and partly form the purpose, of
courting her the first time you ever saw her or heard of her? What had
reason to do with it at that early stage? There was nothing at that time
for reason to work upon. Whether she was moral, amiable, sensible,
or even of good character, you did not, nor could then know, except,
perhaps, you might infer the last from the company you found her in.

All you then did or could know of her was her personal _appearance and
deportment_; and these, if they impress at all, impress the heart, and
not the head.

Say candidly, were not those heavenly _black eyes_ the whole basis of
all your early _reasoning_ on the subject? After you and I had once been
at the residence, did you not go and take me all the way to Lexington
and back, for no other purpose but to get to see her again, on our
return on that evening to take a trip for that express object?

What earthly consideration would you take to find her scouting and
despising you, and giving herself up to another? But of this you have no
apprehension; and therefore you cannot bring it home to your feelings.

I shall be so anxious about you, that I shall want you to write by every
mail. Your friend,

Lincoln.

Springfield, Ill., Feb. 3, 1842.

Dear Speed,--Your letter of the 25th January came to hand to-day. You
well know that I do not feel my own sorrows much more keenly than I do
yours, when I know of them; and yet I assure you I was not much hurt by
what you wrote me of your excessively bad feeling at the time you wrote.
Not that I am less capable of sympathizing with you now than ever, not
that I am less your friend than ever, but because I hope and believe
that your present anxiety and distress about her health and her life
must and will forever banish those horrid doubts which I know you
sometimes felt as to the truth of your affection for her. If they can
once and forever be removed (and I almost feel a presentiment that the
Almighty has sent your present affliction expressly for that object),
surely, nothing can come in their stead to fill their immeasurable
measure of misery. The death-scenes of those we love are surely painful
enough; but these we are prepared for and expect to see: they happen to
all, and all know they must happen. Painful as they are, they are not
an unlooked-for sorrow. Should she, as you fear, be destined to an early
grave, it is indeed a great consolation to know that she is so well
prepared to meet it.. Her religion, which you once disliked so much, I
will venture you now prize most highly.

But I hope your melancholy bodings as to her early death are not well
founded. I even hope that ere this reaches you, she will have returned
with improved and still-improving health, and that you will have met
her, and forgotten the sorrows of the past in the enjoyment of the
present. I would say more if I could, but it seems that I have said
enough. It really appears to me that you yourself ought to rejoice, and
not sorrow, at this indubitable evidence of your undying affection for
her.

Why, Speed, if you did not love her, although you might not wish her
death, you would most certainly be resigned to it. Perhaps this point is
no longer a question with you, and my pertinacious dwelling upon it is
a rude intrusion upon your feelings. If so, you must pardon me. You know
the hell I have suffered on that point, and how tender I am upon it.
You know I do not mean wrong. I have been quite clear of hypo since you
left, even better than I was along in the fall. I have seen------but
once. She seemed very cheerful, and so I said nothing to her about what
we spoke of.

Old Uncle Billy Herndon is dead, and it is said this evening that Uncle
Ben Ferguson will not live. This, I believe, is all the news, and enough
at that, unless it were better.

Write me immediately on the receipt of this.

Your friend as ever,

Lincoln.

Springfield, Ill., Feb. 13, 1842.

Dear Speed,--Yours of the 1st inst. came to hand three or four days ago.
When this shall reach you, you will have been Fanny's husband several
days. You know my desire to befriend you is everlasting; that I will
never cease while I know how to do any thing.

But you will always hereafter be on ground that I have never occupied,
and consequently, if advice were needed, I might advise wrong. I do
fondly hope, however, that you will never again need any comfort from
abroad. But, should I be mistaken in this, should excessive pleasure
still be accompanied with a painful counterpart at times, still let me
urge you, as I have ever done, to remember, in the depth and even agony
of despondency, that very shortly you are to feel well again. I am now
fully convinced that you love her as ardently as you are capable of
loving. Your ever being happy in her presence, and your intense anxiety
about her health, if there were nothing else, would place this beyond
all dispute in my mind. I incline to think it probable that your nerves
will fail you occasionally for a while; but once you get them firmly
graded now, that trouble is over forever.

I think if I were you, in case my mind were not exactly right, I would
avoid being _idle_. I would immediately engage in some business, or go
to making preparations for it, which would be the same thing.

If you went through the ceremony calmly, or even with sufficient
composure not to excite alarm in any present, you are safe beyond
question, and in two or three months, to say the most, will be the
happiest of men.

I would desire you to give my particular respects to Fanny; but perhaps
you will not wish her to know you have received this, lest she should
desire to see it. Make her write me an answer to my last letter to her;
at any rate, 1 would set great value upon a note or letter from her.

Write me whenever you have leisure.

Yours forever,

A. Lincoln.

P. S.--I have been quite a man since you left.

Springfield, Feb. 25, 1842.

Dear Speed,--Yours of the 16th inst., announcing that Miss Fanny and you
are "no more twain, but one flesh," reached me this morning. I have no
way of telling how much happiness I wish you both, though I believe you
both can conceive it. I feel somewhat jealous of both of you now:
you will be so exclusively concerned for one another, that I shall be
forgotten entirely. My acquaintance with Miss Fanny (I call her this,
lest you should think I am speaking of your mother) was too short for me
to reasonably hope to long be remembered by her; and still I am sure I
shall not forget her soon. Try if you cannot remind her of that debt she
owes me,--and be sure you do not interfere to prevent her paying it.

I regret to learn that you have resolved to not return to Illinois.
I shall be very lonesome without you. How miserable things seem to be
arranged in this world! If we have no friends, we have no pleasure; and,
if we have them, we are sure to lose them, and be doubly pained by the
loss. I did hope she and you would make your home here; but I own I have
no right to insist. You owe obligations to her ten thousand times
more sacred than you can owe to others, and in that light let them be
respected and observed. It is natural that she should desire to remain
with her relatives and friends. As to friends, however, _she_ could not
need them anywhere: she would have them in abundance here.

Give my kind remembrance to Mr. Williamson and his family, particularly
Miss Elizabeth; also to your mother, brother, and sisters. Ask little
Eliza Davis if she will ride to town with me if I come there again.

And, finally, give Fanny a double reciprocation of all the love she sent
me. Write me often, and believe me

Yours forever,

Lincoln.

P. S.--Poor Easthouse is gone at last. He died a while before day this
morning. They say he was very loath to die.

Springfield, Feb. 25, 1842.

Dear Speed,--I received yours of the 12th, written the day you went down
to William's place, some days since, but delayed answering it till I
should receive the promised one of the 16th, which came last night. I
opened the letter with intense anxiety and trepidation; so much, that,
although it turned out better than I expected, I have hardly yet, at the
distance of ten hours, become calm.

I tell you, Speed, our forebodings (for which you and I are peculiar)
are all the worst sort of nonsense. I fancied, from the time I received
your letter of Saturday, that the one of Wednesday was never to come,
and yet it did come, and, what is more, it is perfectly clear, both from
its tone and handwriting, that you were much happier, or, if you think
the term preferable, less miserable, when you wrote it, than when you
wrote the last one before. You had so obviously improved at the
very time I so much fancied you would have grown worse. You say that
something indescribably horrible and alarming still haunts you. You will
not say that three months from now, I will venture. When your nerves
once get steady now, the whole trouble will be over forever. Nor should
you become impatient at their being even very slow in becoming steady.
Again you say, you much fear that that Elysium of which you have dreamed
so much is never to be realized. Weil, if it shall not, I dare swear it
will not be the fault of her who is now your wife. I now have no doubt,
that it is the peculiar misfortune of both you and me to dream dreams of
Elysium far exceeding all that any thing earthly can realize. Far short
of your dreams as you may be, no woman could do more to realize them
than that same black-eyed Fanny. If you could but contemplate her
through my imagination, it would appear ridiculous to you that any one
should for a moment think of being unhappy with her. My old father
used to have a saying, that, "If you make a bad bargain, hug it all the
tighter;" and it occurs to me, that, if the bargain you have just closed
can possibly be called a bad one, it is certainly the most pleasant one
for applying that maxim to which my fancy can by any effort picture.

I write another letter, enclosing this, which you can show her, if she
desires it. I do this because she would think strangely, perhaps, should
you tell her that you received no letters from me, or, telling her you
do, refuse to let her see them. I close this, entertaining the confident
hope that every successive letter I shall have from you (which I here
pray may not be few, nor far between) may show you possessing a more
steady hand and cheerful heart than the last preceding it.

As ever, your friend,

Lincoln.

Springfield, March 27, 1842.

Dear Speed,--Yours of the 10th inst. was received three or four days
since. You know I am sincere when I tell you the pleasure its contents
gave me was and is inexpressible. As to your farm matter, I have
no sympathy with you. I have no farm, nor ever expect to have, and
consequently have not studied the subject enough to be much interested
with it. I can only say that I am glad you are satisfied and pleased
with it.

But on that other subject, to me of the most intense interest whether in
joy or sorrow, I never had the power to withhold my sympathy from you.
It cannot be told how it now thrills me with joy to hear you say you
are "_far happier than you ever expected to be_." That much I know is
enough. I know you too well to suppose your expectations were not, at
least, sometimes extravagant, and, if the reality exceeds them all, I
say, Enough, dear Lord. I am not going beyond the truth when I tell you,
that the short space it took me to read your last letter gave me more
pleasure than the total sum of all I have enjoyed since that fatal 1st
of January, 1841. Since then it seems to me I should have been entirely
happy, but for the never-absent idea that there is _one_ still unhappy
whom I have contributed to make so. That still kills my soul. I cannot
but reproach myself for even wishing to be happy while she is otherwise.
She accompanied a large party on the railroad cars to Jacksonville
last Monday, and on her return spoke, so that I heard of it, of having
enjoyed the trip exceedingly. God be praised for that.

You know with what sleepless vigilance I have watched you ever since the
commencement of your affair; and, although I am almost confident it is
useless, I cannot forbear once more to say, that I think it is even yet
possible for your spirits to flag down and leave you miserable. If they
should, don't fail to remember that they cannot long remain so. One
thing I can tell you which I know you will be glad to hear, and that is
that I have seen------and scrutinized her feelings as well as I could,
and am fully convinced she is far happier now than she has been for the
last fifteen months past.

You will see by the last "Sangamon Journal" that I have made a
temperance speech on the 22d of February, which I claim that Fanny
and you shall read as an act of charity to me; for I cannot learn that
anybody else has read it, or is likely to. Fortunately, it is not very
long, and I shall deem it a sufficient compliance with my request if one
of you listens while the other reads it.

As to your Lockridge matter, it is only necessary to say that there
has been no court since you left, and that the next commences to-morrow
morning, during which I suppose we cannot fail to get a judgment.

I wish you would learn of Everett what he would take, over and above a
discharge, for all trouble we have been at, to take his business out
of our hands and give it to somebody else. It is impossible to collect
money on that or any other claim here now, and, although you know I am
not a very petulant man, I declare I am almost out of patience with Mr.
Everett's endless importunity. It seems like he not only writes all
the letters he can himself, but gets everybody else in Louisville and
vicinity to be constantly writing to us about his claim. I have always
said that Mr. Everett is a very clever fellow, and I am very sorry
he cannot be obliged; but it does seem to me he ought to know we are
interested to collect his claim, and therefore would do it if we could.

I am neither joking nor in a pet when I say we would thank him to
transfer his business to some other, without any compensation for what
we have done, provided he will see the court cost paid, for which we are
security.

The sweet violet you enclosed came safely to hand, but it was so dry,
and mashed so flat, that it crumbled to dust at the first attempt
to handle it. The juice that mashed out of it stained a place in the
letter, which I mean to preserve and cherish for the sake of her who
procured it to be sent. My renewed good wishes to her in particular, and
generally to all such of your relations who know me.

As ever,

Lincoln.

Springfield, Ill., July 4, 1842.

Dear Speed,--Yours of the 16th June was received only a day or two
since. It was not mailed at Louisville till the 25th. You speak of the
great time that has elapsed since I wrote you. Let me explain that. Your
letter reached here a day or two after I had started on the circuit. I
was gone five or six weeks, so that I got the letters only a few weeks
before Butler started to your country. I thought it scarcely worth while
to write you the news which he could and would tell you more in detail.
On his return, he told me you would write me soon, and so I waited for
your letter. As to my having been displeased with your advice, surely
you know better than that. I know you do, and therefore will not labor
to convince you. True, that subject is painful to me; but it is not your
silence, or the silence of all the world, that can make me forget it. I
acknowledge the correctness of your advice too; but, before I resolve
to do the one thing or the other, I must gain my confidence in my own
ability to keep my resolves when they are made. In that ability you know
I once prided myself, as the only or chief gem of my character: that
gem I 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.
I believe now, that, had you understood my case at the time as well as I
understood yours afterwards, by the aid you would have given me I should
have sailed through clear; but that does not now afford me sufficient
confidence to begin that or the like of that again.

You make a kind acknowledgment of your obligations to me for your
present happiness. I am much pleased with that acknowledgment. But a
thousand times more am I pleased, to know that you enjoy a degree of
happiness worthy of an acknowledgment. The truth is, I am not sure that
there was any went with me in the part I took in your difficulty: I was
drawn to it as by fate. If I would, I could not have done less than
I did. I always was superstitious: I believe God made me one of the
instruments of bringing your Fanny and you together, which union I have
no doubt he had fore-ordained. Whatever he designs, he will do for me
yet. "Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord" is my text just
now. If, as you say, you have told Fanny all, I should have no objection
to her seeing this letter, but for its reference to our friend here:
let her seeing it depend upon whether she has ever known any thing of my
affairs; and, if she has not, do not let her.

I do not think I can come to Kentucky this season. I am so poor, and
make so little headway in the world, that I drop back in a month of
idleness as much as I gain in a year's sowing. I should like to visit
you again. I should like to see that "sis" of yours that was absent when
I was there, though I suppose she would run away again, if she were to
hear I was coming.

My respects and esteem to all your friends there, and, by your
permission, my love to your Fanny. Ever yours, Lincoln.

Springfield, Oct. 5, 1842.

Dear Speed,--You have heard of my duel with Shields, and I have now
to inform you that the duelling business still rages in this city. Day
before yesterday Shields challenged Butler, who accepted, and proposed
fighting next morning at sunrising in Bob Allen's meadow, one hundred
yards' distance, with rifles. To this Whitesides, Shields's second, said
"no," because of the law. Thus ended duel No. 2. Yesterday Whiteside
chose to consider himself insulted by Dr. Merryman, so sent him a kind
of _quasi_-challenge, inviting him to meet him at the Planter's House in
St. Louis, on the next Friday, to settle their difficulty. Merryman made
me his friend, and sent W. a note, inquiring to know if he meant his
note as a challenge, and, if so, that he would, according to the law
in such case made and provided, prescribe the terms of the meeting. W.
returned for answer, that, if M. would meet him at the Planter's House
as desired, he would challenge him. M. replied in a note, that he denied
W.'s right to dictate time and place, but that he (M.) would waive the
question of time, and meet him at Louisiana, Mo. Upon my presenting this
note to W., and stating verbally its contents, he declined receiving it,
saying he had business in St. Louis, and it was as near as Louisiana.
Merryman then directed me to notify Whiteside that he should publish the
correspondence between them, with such comments as he thought fit. This
I did. Thus it stood at bedtime last night. This morning Whiteside, by
his friend Shields, is praying for a new trial, on the ground that he
was mistaken in Merryman's proposition to meet him at Louisiana, Mo.,
thinking it was the State of Louisiana. This Merryman hoots at, and
is preparing his publication; while the town is in a ferment, and a
street-fight somewhat anticipated.

But I began this letter, not for what I have been writing, but to
say something on that subject which you know to be of such infinite
solicitude to me. The immense sufferings you endured from the first days
of September till the middle of February you never tried to conceal from
me, and I well understood. You have now been the husband of a lovely
woman nearly eight months. That you are happier now than the day you
married her, I well know; for without you could not be living. But I
have your word for it, too, and the returning elasticity of spirits
which is manifested in your letters. But I want to ask a close question,
"Are you now in _feeling_, as well as _judgment_, glad you are married
as you are?" From anybody but me this would be an impudent question, not
to be tolerated; but I know you will pardon it in me. Please answer it
quickly, as I am impatient to know.

I have sent my love to your Fanny so often, I fear she is getting tired
of it. However, I venture to tender it again,

Yours forever,

Lincoln.

In the last of these letters, Mr. Lincoln refers to his "duel with
Shields." That was another of the disagreeable consequences which flowed
from his fatal entanglement with Mary. Not content with managing a
timid, although half-frantic and refractory, lover, her restless spirit
led her into new fields of adventure. Her pen was too keen to be idle in
the political controversies of the time. As a satirical writer, she
had no rival of either sex at Springfield, and few, we venture to say,
anywhere else. But that is a dangerous talent: the temptations to use it
unfairly are numerous and strong; it inflicts so much pain, and almost
necessarily so much injustice, upon those against whom it is directed,
that its possessor rarely, if ever, escapes from a controversy without
suffering from the desperation it provokes. Mary Todd was not disposed
to let her genius rust for want of use; and, finding no other victim
handy, she turned her attention to James Shields, "Auditor." She had a
friend, one Miss Jayne, afterwards Mrs. Trumbull, who helped to keep
her literary secrets, and assisted as much as she could in worrying the
choleric Irishman. Mr. Francis, the editor, knew very well that Shields
was "a fighting-man;" but the "pieces" sent him by the wicked ladies
were so uncommonly rich in point and humor, that he yielded to a
natural inclination, and printed them, one and all. Below we give a few
specimens:--

LETTER FROM THE LOST TOWNSHIPS.

Lost Townships, Aug. 27, 1842.

Dear Mr. Printer,--I see you printed that long letter I sent you a spell
ago: I'm quite encouraged by it, and can't keep from writing again. I
think the printing of my letters will be a good thing all round,--it
will give me the benefit of being known by the world, and give the world
the advantage of knowing what's going on in the Lost Townships, and
give your paper respectability besides. So here comes another. Yesterday
afternoon I hurried through cleaning up the dinner-dishes, and stepped
over to Neighbor S----, to see if his wife Peggy was as well as mought be
expected, and hear what they called the baby. Well, when I got there,
and just turned round the corner of his log-cabin, there he was setting
on the doorstep reading a newspaper.

"How are you, Jeff?" says I. He sorter started when he heard me, for he
hadn't seen me before.

"Why," says he, "I'm mad as the devil, Aunt'Becca!"

"What about?" says I: "ain't its hair the right color? None of that
nonsense, Jeff: there ain't an honester woman in the Lost Townships
than"--

"Than who?" says he: "what the mischief are you about?"

I began to see I was running the wrong trail, and so says I, "Oh!
nothing: I guess I was mistaken a little, that's all. But what is it
you're mad about?" "Why," says he, "I've been tugging ever since harvest
getting out wheat and hauling it to the river, to raise State-Bank paper
enough to pay my tax this year, and a little school-debt I owe; and
now, just as I've got it, here I open this infernal 'Extra Register,'
expecting to find it full of 'Glorious Democratic Victories' and
'High-Comb'd Cocks,' when, lo and behold! I find a set of fellows
calling themselves officers of State have forbidden the tax-collectors
and school-commissioners to receive State paper at all; and so here it
is, dead on my hands. I don't now believe all the plunder I've got will
fetch ready cash enough to pay my taxes and that school-debt."

I was a good deal thunderstruck myself; for that was the first I had
heard of the proclamation, and my old man was pretty much in the same
fix with Jeff. We both stood a moment staring at one another, without
knowing what to say. At last says I, "Mr. S------, let me look at that
paper." He handed it to me, when I read the proclamation over.

"There, now," says he, "did you ever see such a piece of impudence
and imposition as that?" I saw Jeff was in a good tune for saying some
ill-natured things, and so I tho't I would just argue a little on the
contrary side, and make him rant a spell if I could.

"Why," says I, looking as dignified and thoughtful as I could, "it seems
pretty tough, to be sure, to have to raise silver where there's none to
be raised; but then, you see, 'there will be danger of loss' if it ain't
done."

"Loss, damnation 1" says he. "I defy Daniel Webster, I defy King
Solomon, I defy the world,--I defy--I defy--yes, I defy even you,
Aunt'Becca, to show how the people can lose any thing by paying their
taxes in State paper."

"Well," says I, "you see what the officers of State say about it, and
they are a desarnin' set of men. But," says I, "I guess you're mistaken
about what the proclamation says. It don't say the people will lose any
thing by the paper money being taken for taxes. It only says 'there will
be danger of loss;' and though it is tolerable plain that the people
can't lose by paying their taxes in something they can get easier than
silver, instead of having to pay silver; and though it is just as plain
that the State can't lose by taking State-Bank paper, however low it
may be, while she owes the bank more than the whole revenue, and can pay
that paper over on her debt, dollar for dollar,--still there is danger
of loss to the 'officers of State;' and you know, Jeff, we can't get
along without officers of State."

"Damn officers of State!" says he: "that's what you Whigs are always
hurrahing for."

"Now, don't swear so, Jeff," says I: "you know I belong to the meetin',
and swearin' hurts my feelins'."

"Beg pardon, Aunt'Becca," says he; "but I do say it's enough to make Dr.
Goddard swear, to have tax to pay in silver, for nothing only that Ford
may get his two thousand a year, and Shields his twenty-four hundred a
year, and Carpenter his sixteen hundred a year, and all without 'danger
of loss' by taking it in State paper. Yes, yes: it's plain enough now
what these officers of State mean by 'danger of loss.' Wash, I s'pose,
actually lost fifteen hundred dollars out of the three thousand that two
of these 'officers of State' let him steal from the treasury, by
being compelled to take it in State paper. Wonder if we don't have a
proclamation before long commanding us to make up this loss to Wash in
silver."

And so he went on till his breath run out, and he had to stop. I
couldn't think of any thing to say just then; and so I begun to look
over the paper again. "Ay! here's another proclamation, or something
like it."

"Another!" says Jeff; "and whose egg is it, pray?"

I looked to the bottom of it, and read aloud, "Your obedient servant,
Jas. Shields, Auditor."

"Aha!" says Jeff, "one of them same three fellows again. Well, read it,
and let's hear what of it."

I read on till I came to where it says, "The object of this measure is
to suspend the collection of the revenue for the current year."

"Now stop, now stop!" says he: "that's a lie a'ready, and I don't want
to hear of it."

"Oh! maybe not," says I.

"I say it--is--a--lie. Suspend the collection, indeed! Will the
collectors, that have taken their oaths to make the collection, dare
to suspend it? Is there any thing in the law requiring them to perjure
themselves at the bidding of James Shields? Will the greedy gullet of
the penitentiary be satisfied with swallowing him instead of all them,
if they should venture to obey him? And would he not discover some
'danger of loss,' and be off, about the time it came to taking their
places?

"And suppose the people attempt to suspend, by refusing to pay, what
then? The collectors would just jerk up their horses and cows, and the
like, and sell them to the highest bidder for silver in hand, without
valuation or redemption. Why, Shields didn't believe that story himself:
it was never meant for the truth. If it was true, why was it not writ
till five days after the proclamation? Why didn't Carlin and Carpenter
sign it as well as Shields? Answer me that, Aunt'Becca. I say it's a
lie, and not a well-told one at that. It grins out like a copper dollar.
Shields is a fool as well as a liar. With him truth is out of the
question; and, as for getting a good bright passable lie out of him, you
might as well try to strike fire from a cake of tallow. I stick to it,
it's all an infernal Whig lie!"

"A Whig lie! Highty tighty!"

"Yes, a Whig lie; and it's just like every thing the cursed British
Whigs do. First they'll do some divilment, and then they'll tell a lie
to hide it. And they don't care how plain a lie it is: they think they
can cram any sort of a one down the throats of the ignorant Locofocos,
as they call the Democrats."

"Why, Jeff, you're crazy: you don't mean to say Shields is a Whig!"

"_Yes, I do."_

"Why, look here! the proclamation is in your own Democratic paper, as
you call it."

"I know it; and what of that? They only printed it to let us Democrats
see the deviltry the Whigs are at."

"Well, but Shields is the auditor of this Loco--I mean this Democratic
State."

"So he is, and Tyler appointed him to office."

"Tyler appointed him?"

"Yes (if you must chaw it over), Tyler appointed him; or, if it wasn't
him, it was old Granny Harrison, and that's all one. I tell you,
Aunt'Becca, there's no mistake about his being a Whig. Why, his very
looks shows it,--every thing about him shows it: if I was deaf and
blind, I could tell him by the smell. I seed him when I was down in
Springfield last winter. They had a sort of a gatherin' there one night
among the grandees, they called a fair. All the gals about town was
there; and all the handsome widows and married women, finickin' about,
trying to look like gals, tied as tight in the middle, and puffed out
at both ends, like bundles of fodder that hadn't been stacked yet, but
wanted stackin' pretty bad. And then they had tables all round the
house kivered over with [ ] caps, and pincushions, and ten thousand such
little knick-knacks, tryin' to sell'em to the fellows that were bowin'
and scrapin' and kungeerin' about'em. They wouldn't let no Democrats in,
for fear they'd disgust the ladies, or scare the little gals, or dirty
the floor. I looked in at the window, and there was this same fellow
Shields floatin' about on the air, without heft or earthly substance,
just like a lock of cat-fur where cats had been fightin'.

"He was paying his money to this one, and that one, and t'other one, and
sufferin' great loss because it wasn't silver instead of State paper;
and the sweet distress he seemed to be in,--his very features, in the
ecstatic agony of his soul, spoke audibly and distinctly, 'Dear girls,
it is distressing, but I cannot marry you all. Too well I know how
much you suffer; but do, do remember, it is not my fault that I am so
handsome and so interesting.'

"As this last was expressed by a most exquisite contortion of his face,
he seized hold of one of their hands, and squeezed, and held on to it
about a quarter of an hour. 'O my good fellow!' says I to myself, 'if
that was one of our Democratic gals in the Lost Townships, the way
you'd get a brass pin let into you, would be about up to the head.' He
a Democrat! Fiddlesticks! I tell you, Aunt'Becca, he's a Whig, and no
mistake: nobody but a Whig could make such a conceity dunce of himself."

"Well," says I, "maybe he is; but, if he is, I'm mistaken the worst
sort. Maybe so, maybe so; but, if I am, I'll suffer by it; I'll be a
Democrat if it turns out that Shields is a Whig; considerin' you shall
be a Whig if he turns out a Democrat."

"A bargain, by jingoes!" says he; "but how will we find out?"

"Why," says I, "we'll just write, and ax the printer."

"Agreed again!" says he; "and, by thunder! if it does turn out that
Shields is a Democrat, I never will"--

"Jefferson,--Jefferson"--

"What do you want, Peggy?"

"Do get through your everlasting clatter sometime, and bring me a gourd
of water: the child's been crying for a drink this live-long hour."

"Let it die, then: it may as well die for water as to be taxed to death
to fatten officers of State."

Jeff run off to get the water, though, just like he hadn't been sayin'
any thing spiteful; for he's a raal good-hearted fellow, after all, once
you get at the foundation of him.

I walked into the house, and "Why, Peggy," says I, "I declare, we like
to forgot you altogether."

"Oh, yes!" says she, "when a body can't help themselves, everybody
soon forgets'em; but, thank God! by day after to-morrow I shall be well
enough to milk the cows, and pen the calves, and wring the contrary
ones' tails for'em, and no thanks to nobody."

"Good-evening, Peggy," says I; and so I sloped, for I seed she was mad
at me for making Jeff neglect her so long.

And now, Mr. Printer, will you be sure to let us know in your next paper
whether this Shields is a Whig or a Democrat? I don't care about it for
myself, for I know well enough how it is already; but I want to convince
Jeff. It may do some good to let him, and others like him, know who
and what those officers of State are. It may help to send the present
hypocritical set to where they belong, and to fill the places they now
disgrace with men who will do more work for less pay, and take a fewer
airs while they are doing it. It ain't sensible to think that the same
men who get us into trouble will change their course; and yet it's
pretty plain, if some change for the better is not made, it's not long
that either Peggy or I, or any of us, will have a cow left to milk, or a
calf's tail to wring.

Yours, truly,

Rebecca------.

Lost Townships, Sept. 8,1842. Dear Mr. Printer,--I was a-standin' at the
spring yesterday a-washin' out butter, when I seed Jim Snooks a-ridin'
up towards the house for very life like, when, jist as I was a wonderin'
what on airth was the matter with him, he stops suddenly, and ses he,
"Aunt'Becca, here's somethin' for you;" and with that he hands out your
letter. Well, you see I steps out towards him, not thinkin' that I had
both hands full of butter; and seein' I couldn't take the letter, you
know, without greasin' it, I ses, "Jim, jist you open it, and read it
for me." Well, Jim opens it, and reads it; and would you believe it,
Mr. Editor? I was so completely dumfounded, and turned into stone, that
there I stood in the sun, a-workin' the butter, and it a-runnin' on the
ground, while he read the letter, that I never thunk what I was about
till the hull on't run melted on the ground, and was lost. Now, sir,
it's not for the butter, nor the price of the butter, but, the Lord have
massy on us, I wouldn't have sich another fright for a whole firkin of
it. Why, when I found out that it was the man what Jeff seed down to
the fair that had demanded the author of my letters, threatnin' to
take personal satisfaction of the writer, I was so skart that I tho't I
should quill-wheel right where I was.

You say that Mr. S. is offended at being compared to cat's fur, and
is as mad as a March hare (that ain't far), because I told about the
squeezin'. Now, I want you to tell Mr. S, that, rather than fight, I'll
make any apology; and, if he wants personal satisfaction, let him only
come here, and he may squeeze my hand as hard as I squeeze the butter,
and, if that ain't personal satisfaction, I can only say that he is the
fust man that was not satisfied with squeezin' my hand. If this should
not answer, there is one thing more that I would do rather than get a
lickin'. I have all along expected to die a widow; but, as Mr. S.
is rather good-looking than otherwise, I must say I don't care if
we compromise the matter by--really, Mr. Printer, I can't help
blushin'--but I--it must come out--I--but widowed modesty--well, if I
must, I must--wouldn't he--maybe sorter, let the old grudge drap if I
was to consent to be--be--h-i-s w-i-f-e? I know he's a fightin' man, and
would rather fight than eat; but isn't marryin' better than fightin',
though it does sometimes run into it? And I don't think, upon the whole,
that I'd be sich a bad match neither: I'm not over sixty, and am just
four feet three in my bare feet, and not much more round the girth; and
for color, I wouldn't turn my back to nary gal in the Lost Townships.
But, after all, maybe I'm countin' my chickins before they' re hatched,
and dreamin' of matrimonial bliss when the only alternative reserved for
me may be a lickin'. Jeff tells me the way these fire-eaters do is to
give the challenged party choice of weapons, &c., which bein' the case,
I'll tell you in confidence that I never fights with any thing but
broomsticks, or hot water, or a shovelful of coals, or some such thing;
the former of which being somewhat like a shillalah, may not be very
objectionable to him. I will give him choice, however, in one thing, and
that is, whether, when we fight, I shall wear breeches or he petticoats;
for I presume that change is sufficient to place us on an equality.

Yours, &c.

Rebecca------.

P. S.--Jist say to your friend, if he concludes to marry rather than
fight, I shall only inforce one condition: that is, if he should ever
happen to gallant any young gals home of nights from our house, he must
not squeeze their hands.

It is by no means a subject of wonder that these publications threw
Mr. James Shields into a state of wrath. A thin-skinned, sensitive,
high-minded, and high-tempered man, tender of his honor, and an Irishman
besides, it would have been strange indeed, if he had not felt
like snuffing blood. But his rage only afforded new delights to his
tormentors; and when it reached its height, "Aunt'Becca" transformed
herself to "Cathleen," and broke out in rhymes like the following, which
Miss Jayne's brother "Bill" kindly consented to "drop" for the amiable
ladies.

     [For The Journal.]

     Ye Jew's-harps awake! The A------s won:
     Rebecca the widow has gained Erin's son;
     The pride of the North from Emerald Isle
     Has been wooed and won by a woman's smile.
     The combat's relinquished, old loves all forgot:
     To the widow he's bound. Oh, bright be his lot!
     In the smiles of the conquest so lately achieved,
     Joyful be his bride, "widowed modesty" relieved.
     The footsteps of time tread lightly on flowers,
     May the cares of this world ne'er darken his hours!
     But the pleasures of life are fickle and coy
     As the smiles of a maiden sent off to destroy.
     Happy groom! in sadness, far distant from thee,
     The Fair girls dream only of past times of glee
     Enjoyed in thy presence; whilst the soft blarnied store
     Will be fondly remembered as relics of yore,
     And hands that in rapture you oft would have prest
     In prayer will be clasped that your lot may be blest.

     Cathleen.

It was too bad. Mr. Shields could stand it no longer. He sent Gen.
Whiteside to Mr. Francis, to demand the name of the person who wrote the
letters from the "Lost Townships;" and Mr. Francis told him it was _A.
Lincoln_. This information led to a challenge, a sudden scampering off
of parties and friends to Missouri, a meeting, an explanation, and a
peaceful return.

Abraham Lincoln in the field of honor, sword in hand, manoeuvred by a
second learned in the _duello_, would be an attractive spectacle under
any circumstances. But with a celebrated man for an antagonist, and a
lady's humor the occasion, the scene is one of transcendent interest;
and the documents which describe it are well entitled to a place in his
history. The letter of Mr. Shields's second, being first in date, is
first in order.

Springfield, Oct. 3, 1842. To the Editor op "The Sangamon Journal."

Sir,--To prevent misrepresentation of the recent affair between Messrs.
Shields and Lincoln, I think it proper to give a brief narrative of the
facts of the case, as they came within my knowledge; for the truth
of which I hold myself responsible, and request you to give the same
publication. An offensive article in relation to Mr. Shields appeared in
"The Sangamon Journal" of the 2d September last; and, on demanding the
author, Mr. Lincoln was given up by the editor. Mr. Shields, previous to
this demand, made arrangements to go to Quincy on public business; and
before his return Mr. Lincoln had left for Tremont, to attend the court,
with the intention, as we learned, of remaining on the circuit several
weeks. Mr. Shields, on his return, requested me to accompany him to
Tremont; and, on arriving there, we found that Dr. Merryman and Mr.
Butler had passed us in the night, and got there before us. We arrived
in Tremont on the 17th ult.; and Mr. Shields addressed a note to Mr.
Lincoln immediately, informing him that he was given up as the author of
some articles that appeared in "The Sangamon Journal" (one more over the
signature having made its appearance at this time), and requesting
him to _retract_ the offensive allusions contained in said articles in
relation to his private character. Mr. Shields handed this note to me to
deliver to Mr. Lincoln, and directed me, at the same time, not to
enter into any verbal communication, or be the bearer of any verbal
explanation, as such were always liable to misapprehension. This note
was delivered by me to Mr. Lincoln, stating, at the same time, that I
would call at his convenience for an answer. Mr. Lincoln, in the evening
of the same day, handed me a letter addressed to Mr. Shields. In this
he gave or offered no explanation, but stated therein that he could not
submit to answer further, on the ground that Shields's note contained
an assumption of facts and also a menace. Mr. Shields then addressed
him another note, in which he disavowed all intention to menace, and
requested to know whether he (Mr. Lincoln) was the author of either of
the articles which appeared in "The Journal," headed "Lost Townships,"
and signed "Rebecca;" and, if so, he repeated his request of a
retraction of the offensive matter in relation to his private character;
if not, his denial would be held sufficient. This letter was returned to
Mr. Shields unanswered, with a verbal statement "that there could be no
further negotiation between them until the first note was withdrawn."
Mr. Shields thereupon sent a note designating me as his friend, to which
Mr. Lincoln replied by designating Dr. Merryman. These three last notes
passed on Monday morning, the 19th. Dr. Merryman handed me Mr. Lincoln's
last note when by ourselves. I remarked to Dr. Merryman that the matter
was now submitted to us, and that I would propose that he and myself
should pledge our words of honor to each other to try to agree upon
terms of amicable arrangement, and compel our principals to accept of
them. To this he readily assented, and we shook hands upon the pledge.
It was then mutually agreed that we should adjourn to Springfield, and
there procrastinate the matter, for the purpose of effecting the secret
arrangement between him and myself. All this I kept concealed from Mr.
Shields. Our horse had got a little lame in going to Tremont, and
Dr. Merryman invited me to take a seat in his buggy. I accepted the
invitation the more readily, as I thought, that leaving Mr. Shields in
Tremont until his horse would be in better condition to travel would
facilitate the private agreement between Dr. Merryman and myself. I
travelled to Springfield part of the way with him, and part with Mr.
Lincoln; but nothing passed between us on the journey in relation to the
matter in hand. We arrived in Springfield on Monday night. About noon on
Tuesday, to my astonishment, a proposition was made to meet in Missouri,
within three miles of Alton, on the next Thursday! The weapons, cavalry
broadswords of the largest size; the parties to stand on each side of
a barrier, and to be confined to a limited space. As I had not
been consulted at all on the subject, and considering the private
understanding between Dr. Merryman and myself, and it being known that
Mr. Shields was left at Tremont, such a proposition took me by surprise.
However, being determined not to violate the laws of the State, I
declined agreeing upon the terms until we should meet in Missouri.
Immediately after, I called upon Dr. Merryman, and withdrew the pledge
of honor between him and myself in relation to a secret arrangement. I
started after this to meet Mr. Shields, and met him about twenty miles
from Springfield. It was late on Tuesday night when we both reached the
city, and learned that Dr. Merryman had left for Missouri, Mr. Lincoln
having left before the proposition was made, as Dr. Merryman had himself
informed me. The time and place made it necessary to start at once.
We left Springfield at eleven o'clock on Tuesday night, travelled all
night, and arrived in Hillsborough on Wednesday morning, where we
took in Gen. Ewing. From there we went to Alton, where we arrived on
Thursday; and, as the proposition required three friends on each side, I
was joined by Gen. Ewing and Dr. Hope, as the friends of Mr. Shields.

We then crossed to Missouri, where a proposition was made by Gen.
Hardin and Dr. English (who had arrived there in the mean time as mutual
friends) to refer the matter to, I think, four friends for a settlement.
This I believed Mr. Shields would refuse, and declined seeing him; but
Dr. Hope, who conferred with him upon the subject, returned, and stated
that Mr. Shields declined settling the matter through any other than the
friends he had selected to stand by him on that occasion. The friends of
both the parties finally agreed to withdraw the papers (temporarily) to
give the friends of Mr. Lincoln an opportunity to explain. Whereupon the
friends of Mr. Lincoln, to wit, Messrs. Merryman, Bledsoe, and Butler,
made a full and satisfactory explanation in relation to the article
which appeared in "The Sangamon Journal" of the 2d, the only one written
by him. This was all done without the knowledge or consent of Mr.
Shields; and he refused to accede to it until Dr. Hope, Gen. Ewing, and
myself declared the apology sufficient, and that we could not sustain
him in going further. I think it necessary to state further, that no
explanation or apology had been previously offered on the part of Mr.
Lincoln to Mr. Shields, and that none was ever communicated by me to
him, nor was any ever offered to me, unless a paper read to me by Dr.
Merryman after he had handed me the broadsword proposition on Tuesday.
I heard so little of the reading of the paper, that I do not know fully
what it purported to be; and I was the less inclined to inquire, as Mr.
Lincoln was then gone to Missouri, and Mr. Shields not yet arrived from
Tremont. In fact, I could not entertain any offer of the kind, unless
upon my own responsibility; and that I was not disposed to do after what
had already transpired.

I make this statement, as I am about to be absent for some time, and
I think it due to all concerned to give a true version of the matter
before I leave.

Your obedient servant,

John D. Whiteside.

To which Mr. Merryman replied:--

Springfield, Oct. 8, 1842.

Editors of "The Journal."

Gents,--By your paper of Friday, I discover that Gen. Whiteside has
published his version of the late affair between Messrs. Shields and
Lincoln. I now bespeak a hearing of my version of the same affair, which
shall be true and full as to all material facts.

On Friday evening, the 16th of September, I learned that Mr. Shields
and Gen. Whiteside had started in pursuit of Mr. Lincoln, who was at
Tremont, attending court. I knew that Mr. Lincoln was wholly unpractised
both as to the diplomacy and weapons commonly employed in similar
affairs; and I felt it my duty, as a friend, to be with him, and, so far
as in my power, to prevent any advantage being taken of him as to either
his honor or his life. Accordingly, Mr. Butler and myself started,
passed Shields and Whiteside in the night, and arrived at Tremont ahead
of them on Saturday morning. I told Mr. Lincoln what was brewing, and
asked him what course he proposed to himself. He stated that he was
wholly opposed to duelling, and would do any thing to avoid it that
might not degrade him in the estimation of himself and friends; but, if
such degradation or a fight were the only alternative, he would fight.

In the afternoon Shields and Whiteside arrived, and very soon the former
sent to Mr. Lincoln by the latter the following note or letter:--

Tremont, Sept. 17,1842.

A. Lincoln, Esq.--I regret that my absence on public business compelled
me to postpone a matter of private consideration a little longer than I
could have desired. It will only be necessary, however, to account for
it by informing you that I have been to Quincy on business that would
not admit of delay. I will now state briefly the reasons of my troubling
you with this communication, the disagreeable nature of which I regret,
as I had hoped to avoid any difficulty with any one in Springfield while
residing there, by endeavoring to conduct myself in such a way amongst
both my political friends and opponents, as to escape the necessity of
any. Whilst thus abstaining from giving provocation, I have become
the object of slander, vituperation, and personal abuse, which, were I
capable of submitting to, I would prove myself worthy of the whole of
it.

In two or three of the last number's of "The Sangamon Journal," articles
of the most personal nature, and calculated to degrade me, have made
their appearance. On inquiring, I was informed by the editor of that
paper, through the medium of my friend, Gen. Whiteside, that you are
the author of those articles. This information satisfies me that I have
become, by some means or other, the object of your secret hostility. I
will not take the trouble of inquiring into the reason of all this;
but I will take the liberty of requiring a full, positive, and
absolute retraction of all offensive allusions used by you in these
communications, in relation to my private character and standing as a
man, as an apology for the insults conveyed in them.

This may prevent consequences which no one will regret more than myself.

Your ob't serv't,

[Copy.] Jas. Shields.

About sunset Gen. Whiteside called again, and received from Mr. Lincoln
the following answer to Mr. Shields's note:--

Tremont, Sept. 17, 1812

Jas. Shields, Esq.--Your note of to-day was handed me by Gen. Whiteside.
In that note, you say you have been informed, through the medium of the
editor of "The Journal," that I am the author of certain articles
in that paper which you deem personally abusive of you; and, without
stopping to inquire whether I really am the author, or to point out what
is offensive in them, you demand an unqualified retraction of all that
is offensive, and then proceed to hint at consequences.

Now, sir, there is in this so much assumption of facts, and so much of
menace as to consequences, that I cannot submit to answer that note any
further than I have, and to add, that the consequence to which I suppose
you allude would be matter of as great regret to me as it possibly could
to you. Respectfully,

A. Lincoln.

In about an hour Gen. Whiteside called again with another note from Mr.
Shields; but after conferring with Mr. Butler for a long time, say two
or three hours, returned without presenting the note to Mr. Lincoln.
This was in consequence of an assurance from Mr. Butler that Mr. Lincoln
could not receive any communication from Mr. Shields, unless it were a
withdrawal of his first note, or a challenge. Mr. Butler further stated
to Gen. Whiteside, that, on the withdrawal of the first note, and a
proper and gentlemanly request for an explanation, he had no doubt one
would be given. Gen. Whiteside admitted that that was the course Mr.
Shields ought to pursue, but deplored that his furious and intractable
temper prevented his having any influence with him to that end. Gen. W.
then requested us to wait with him until Monday morning, that he might
endeavor to bring Mr. Shields to reason.

On Monday morning he called and presented Mr. Lincoln the same note
as, Mr. Butler says, he had brought on Saturday evening. It was as
follows:--

Tremont, Sept. 17, 1842.

A. Lincoln, Esq.--In your reply to my note of this date, you intimate
that I assume facts and menace consequences, and that you cannot submit
to answer it further. As now, sir, you desire it, I will be a little
more particular. The editor of "The Sangamon Journal" gave me to
understand that you are the author of an article which appeared,
I think, in that paper of the 2d September inst., headed "The Lost
Townships," and signed Rebecca or 'Becca. I would therefore take the
liberty of asking whether you are the author of said article, or any
other over the same signature which has appeared in any of the late
numbers of that paper. If so, I repeat my request of an absolute
retraction of all offensive allusion contained therein in relation to my
private character and standing. If you are not the author of any of the
articles, your denial will be sufficient. I will say further, it is not
my intention to menace, but to do myself justice.

Your ob't serv't,

[Copy.] Jas. Shields.

This Mr. Lincoln perused, and returned to Gen. Whiteside, telling
him verbally, that he did not think it consistent with his honor to
negotiate for peace with Mr. Shields, unless Mr. Shields would withdraw
his former offensive letter.

In a very short time Gen. Whiteside called with a note from Mr. Shields,
designating Gen. Whiteside as his friend, to which Mr. Lincoln instantly
replied, designating me as his. On meeting Gen. Whiteside, he proposed
that we should pledge our honor to each other that we would endeavor
to settle the matter amicably; to which I agreed, and stated to him the
only conditions on which it could be so settled; viz., the withdrawal
of Mr. Shields's first note; which he appeared to think reasonable, and
regretted that the note had been written,--saying, however, that he had
endeavored to prevail on Mr. Shields to write a milder one, but had not
succeeded. He added, too, that I must promise not to mention it, as he
would not dare to let Mr. Shields know that he was negotiating peace;
for, said he, "He would challenge me next, and as soon cut my throat
as not." Not willing that he should suppose my principal less dangerous
than his own, I promised not to mention our pacific intentions to Mr.
Lincoln or any other person; and we started for Springfield forthwith.

We all, except Mr. Shields, arrived in Springfield late at night on
Monday. We discovered that the affair had, somehow, got great publicity
in Springfield, and that an arrest was probable. To prevent this, it was
agreed by Mr. Lincoln and myself that he should leave early on Tuesday
morning. Accordingly, he prepared the following instructions for my
guide, on a suggestion from Mr. Butler that he had reason to believe
that an attempt would be made by the opposite party to have the matter
accommodated:--

In case Whiteside shall signify a wish to adjust this affair without
further difficulty, let him know, that, if the present papers be
withdrawn, and a note from Mr. Shields asking to know if I am the author
of the articles of which he complains, and asking that I shall make him
gentlemanly satisfaction if I am the author, and this without menace or
dictation as to what that satisfaction shall be, a pledge is made that
the following answer shall be given:--

"I did write the 'Lost Township' letter which appeared in the 'Journal'
of the 2d inst., but had no participation in any form in any other
article alluding to you. I wrote that wholly for political effect. I had
no intention of injuring your personal or private character, or standing
as a man or a gentleman; and I did not then think, and do not now think,
that that article could produce, or has produced, that effect against
you; and, had I anticipated such an effect, would have forborne to write
it. And I will add, that your conduct towards me, so far as I knew, had
always been gentlemanly, and that I had no personal pique against you,
and no cause for any."

If this should be done, I leave it with you to manage what shall and
what shall not be published.

If nothing like this is done, the preliminaries of the fight are to
be:--

1st, Weapons.--Cavalry broadswords of the largest size, precisely
equal in all respects, and such as now used by the cavalry company at
Jacksonville.

2d, Position.--A plank ten feet long, and from nine to twelve inches
broad, to be firmly fixed on edge on the ground as the line between us,
which neither is to pass his foot over upon forfeit of his life. Next, a
line drawn on the ground on either side of said plank and parallel with
it, each at the distance of the whole length of the sword and three
feet additional from the plank; and the passing of his own such line
by either party during the fight shall be deemed a surrender of the
contest.

3d, Time.--On Thursday evening at 5 o'clock, if you can get it so; but
in no case to be at a greater distance of time than Friday evening at 5
o'clock.

4th, Place.--Within three miles of Alton, on the opposite side of the
river, the particular spot to be agreed on by you.

Any preliminary details coming within the above rules, you are at
liberty to make at your discretion; but you are in no case to swerve
from these rules, or to pass beyond their limits.

In the course of the forenoon I met Gen. Whiteside, and he again
intimated a wish to adjust the matter amicably. I then read to him Mr.
Lincoln's instructions to an adjustment, and the terms of the hostile
meeting, if there must be one, both at the same time.

He replied that it was useless to talk of an adjustment, if it could
only be effected by the _withdrawal_ of Mr. Shields's paper, for such
withdrawal Mr. Shields would never consent to; adding, that he would as
soon think of asking Mr. Shields to "butt his brains out against a
brick wall as to withdraw that paper." He proceeded: "I see but one
course,--that is a desperate remedy:'tis to tell them, if they will not
make the matter up, they must fight us." I replied, that, if he chose to
fight Mr. Shields to compel him to do right, he might do so; but as for
Mr. Lincoln, he was on the defensive, and, I believed, in the right, and
I should do nothing to compel him to do wrong. Such withdrawal having
been made indispensable by Mr. Lincoln, I cut this matter short as to an
adjustment, an I proposed to Gan. Whiteside to accept the terms of the
fight, which he refused to do until Mr. Shields's arrival in town,
but agreed, verbally, that Mr. Lincoln's friends should procure the
broadswords, and take them to the ground. In the afternoon he came to
me, saying that some persons were swearing out affidavits to have us
arrested, and that he intended to meet Mr. Shields immediately, and
proceed to the place designated; lamenting, however, that I would not
delay the time, that he might procure the interference of Gov. Ford and
Gen. Ewing to mollify Mr. Shields. I told him that an accommodation,
except upon the terms I mentioned, was out of the question; that to
delay the meeting was to facilitate our arrest; and, as I was determined
not to be arrested, I should leave town in fifteen minutes. I then
pressed his acceptance of the preliminaries, which he disclaimed upon
the ground that it would interfere with his oath of office as Fund
Commissioner. I then, with two other friends, went to Jacksonville,
where we joined Mr. Lincoln about 11 o'clock on Tuesday night. Wednesday
morning we procured the broadswords, and proceeded to Alton, where we
arrived about 11, A.M., on Thursday. The other party were in town before
us. We crossed the river, and they soon followed. Shortly after, Gen.
Hardin and Dr. English presented to Gen. Whiteside and myself the
following note:--

Alton, Sept. 22, 1842.

Messrs. Whiteside and Merryman.--As the mutual personal friends of
Messrs. Shields and Lincoln, but without authority from either, we
earnestly desire to see a reconciliation of the misunderstanding
which exists between them. Such difficulties should always be arranged
amicably, if it is possible to do so with honor to both parties.

Believing ourselves, that such an arrangement can possibly be effected,
we respectfully, but earnestly, submit the following proposition for
your consideration:--

Let the whole difficulty be submitted to four or more gentlemen, to
be selected by yourselves, who shall consider the affair, and report
thereupon for your consideration.

John J. Hardin.

E. W. English.

To this proposition Gen. Whiteside agreed: I declined doing so without
consulting Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln remarked, that, as they had accepted
the proposition, he would do so, but directed that his friends should
make no terms except those first proposed. Whether the adjustment was
finally made upon these very terms, and no other, let the following
documents attest:--

Missouri, Sept. 22, 1842.

Gentlemen,--All papers in relation to the matter in controversy between
Mr. Shields and Mr. Lincoln having been withdrawn by the friends of the
parties concerned, the friends of Mr. Shields ask the friends of Mr.
Lincoln to explain all offensive matter in the articles which appeared
in "The Sangamon Journal" of the 2d, 9th, and 16th of September, under
the signature of "Rebecca," and headed "Lost Townships."

It is due to Gen. Hardin and Mr. English to state that their
interference was of the most courteous and gentlemanly character.

John D. Whiteside.

Wm. Lee D. Ewino.

T. M. Hope.

Missouri, Sept. 22, 1842.

Gentlemen,--All papers in relation to the matter in controversy between
Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Shields having been withdrawn by the friends of
the parties concerned, we, the undersigned, friends of Mr. Lincoln,
in accordance with your request that explanation of Mr. Lincoln's
publication in relation to Mr. Shields in "The Sangamon Journal" of the
2d, 9th, and 16th of September be made, take pleasure in saying, that,
although Mr. Lincoln was the writer of the article signed "Rebecca"
in the "Journal" of the 2d, and that only, yet he had no intention of
injuring the personal or private character or standing of Mr. Shields
as a gentleman or a man, and that Mr. Lincoln did not think, nor does he
now think, that said article could produce such an effect; and, had Mr.
Lincoln anticipated such an effect, he would have forborne to write
it. We will further state, that said article was written solely for
political effect, and not to gratify any personal pique against Mr.
Shields, for he had none, and knew of no cause for any It is due to Gen.
Hanlin and Mr. English to say that their interference was of the most
courteous and gentlemanly character.

E. H. Merryman.

A. T. Bledsoe.

Wm. Butler.

Let it be observed now, that Mr. Shields's friends, after agreeing to
the arbitrament of four disinterested gentlemen, declined the contract,
saying that Mr. Shields wished his own friends to act for him. They then
proposed that we should explain without any withdrawal of papers. This
was promptly and firmly refused, and Gen. Whiteside himself pronounced
the papers withdrawn. They then produced a note requesting us to
"_disavow_" all offensive intentions in the publications, &c., &c. This
we declined answering, and only responded to the above request for an
explanation.

These are the material facts in relation to the matter, and I think
present the case in a very different light from the garbled and
curtailed statement of Gen. Whiteside. Why he made that statement I know
not, unless he wished to detract from the honor of Mr. Lincoln. This was
ungenerous, more particularly as he on the ground requested us not to
make in our explanation any quotations from the "Rebecca papers;" also
not to make _public the terms of reconciliation_, and to unite with them
in defending the honorable character of the adjustment.

Gen. W., in his publication, says, "The friends of both parties agreed
to withdraw the papers (temporarily) to give the friends of Mr. Lincoln
an opportunity to explain." This I deny. I say the papers were withdrawn
to enable Mr. Shields's friends to _ask_ an explanation; and I appeal to
the documents for proof of my position.

By looking over these documents, it will be seen that Mr. Shields
had not before asked for an _explanation_, but had all the time been
dictatorily insisting on a _retraction_.

Gen. Whiteside, in his communication, brings to light much of Mr.
Shields's manifestations of bravery behind the scenes. I can do nothing
of the kind for Mr. Lincoln. He took his stand when I first met him at
Tremont, and maintained it _calmly_ to the last, without difficulty or
difference between himself and his friends.

I cannot close this article, lengthy as it is, without testifying to the
honorable and gentlemanly conduct of Gen. Ewing and Dr. Hope, nor indeed
can I say that I saw any thing objectionable in the course of Gen.
Whiteside up to the time of his communication. This is so replete with
prevarication and misrepresentation, that I cannot accord to the General
that candor which I once supposed him to possess. He complains that I
did not procrastinate time according to agreement. He forgets that by
his own act he cut me off from that chance in inducing me, by promise,
not to communicate our secret contract to Mr. Lincoln. Moreover, I could
see no consistency in wishing for an extension of time at that stage of
the affair, when in the outset they were in so precipitate a hurry, that
they could not wait three days for Mr. Lincoln to return from Tremont,
but must hasten there, apparently with the intention of bringing the
matter to a speedy issue. He complains, too, that, after inviting him
to take a seat in my buggy, I never broached the subject to him on
our route here. But was I, the defendant in the case, with a challenge
hanging over me, to make advances, and beg a reconciliation? Absurd!
Moreover, the valorous general forgets that he beguiled the tedium
of the journey by recounting to me his exploits in many a well-fought
battle,--dangers by "flood and field" in which I don't believe he ever
participated,--doubtless with a view to produce a salutary effect on
my nerves, and impress me with a proper notion of his fire-eating
propensities.

One more main point of his argument, and I have done. The General seems
to be troubled with a convenient shortness of memory on some occasions.
He does not remember that any explanations were offered at any time,
unless it were a paper read when the "broadsword proposition" was
tendered, when his mind was so confused by the anticipated clatter of
broadswords, or _something else_, that he did "not know fully what
it purported to be." The truth is, that by unwisely refraining from
mentioning it to his principal, he placed himself in a dilemma which he
is now endeavoring to shuffle out of. By his inefficiency, and want of
knowledge of those laws which govern gentlemen in matters of this kind,
he has done great injustice to his principal, a gentleman who I believe
is ready at all times to vindicate his honor manfully, but who has been
unfortunate in the selection of his friend; and this fault he is now
trying to wipe out by doing an act of still greater injustice to Mr.
Lincoln.

E. H. Merryman.

And so Mr. Lincoln acknowledged himself to have been the author of one
of the "Lost Township Letters." Whether he was or not, was known only
perhaps to Miss Todd and himself. At the time of their date, he was
having secret meetings with her at Mr. Francis's house, and endeavoring
to nerve himself to the duty of marrying her, with what success the
letters to Speed are abundant evidence. It is probable that Mary
composed them fresh from these stolen conferences; that some of Mr.
Lincoln's original conceptions and peculiarities of style unwittingly
crept into them, and that here and there he altered and amended the
manuscript before it went to the printer. Such a connection with a
lady's productions made it obligatory upon him to defend them. But
why avow one, and disavow the rest? It is more than likely that he was
determined to take just enough responsibility to fight upon, provided
Shields should prove incorrigible, and not enough to prevent a peaceful
issue, if the injured gentleman should be inclined to accept an apology.

After his marriage, Mr. Lincoln took up his residence at the "Globe
Tavern," where he had a room and boarding for man and wife for the
moderate sum of four dollars per week. But, notwithstanding cheap
living, he was still as poor as ever, and gave "poverty" as one of his
reasons for not paying a friendly visit which seemed to be expected of
him.

At the bar and in political affairs he continued to work with as much
energy as before, although his political prospects seem just now to have
suffered an unexpected eclipse. In 1843, Lincoln, Hardin, and Baker were
candidates for the Whig congressional nomination; but between Hardin
and Baker there was "bitter hostility," and between Baker and Lincoln
"suspicion and dislike." The contest was long and fierce; but, before it
was over, Lincoln reluctantly withdrew in favor of Baker. He had had a
hard time of it, and had been compelled to meet accusations of a very
strange character. Among other things, he was charged with being
an aristocrat; with having deserted his old friends, the people, by
marrying a proud woman on account of her blood and family. This hurt him
keenly, and he took great pains to disprove it; but this was not all.
He was called an infidel by some, a Presbyterian here, an Episcopalian
there; so that by turns he incurred the hostility of all the most
powerful religious societies in the district.

On the 24th of March, he wrote to Mr. Speed as follows:--

Springfield, March 24, 1843.

Dear Speed,--... We had a meeting of the Whigs of the county here on
last Monday to appoint delegates to a district convention; and Baker
beat me, and got the delegation instructed to go for him. The meeting,
in spite of my attempt to decline it, appointed me one of the delegates;
so that, in getting Baker the nomination, I shall be fixed a good deal
like a fellow who is made a groomsman to a man that has cut him out,
and is marrying his own dear "gal." About the prospects of your having a
namesake at our town, can't say exactly yet.

A. Lincoln.

He was now a Baker delegate, pledged to get him the nomination if he
could; and yet he was far from giving up the contest in his own behalf.
Only two days after the letter to Speed, he wrote to Mr. Morris:--

Springfield, Ill., March 26, 1843.

Friend Morris,--Your letter of the 23d was received on yesterday
morning, and for which (instead of an excuse, which you thought proper
to ask) I tender you my sincere thanks. It is truly gratifying to me
to learn, that, while the people of Sangamon have cast me off, my old
friends of Menard, who have known me longest and best, stick to me.
It would astonish, if not amuse, the older citizens (a stranger,
friendless, uneducated, penniless boy, working on a flat-boat at ten
dollars per month) to learn that I have 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 controversy. But enough of this.

You say, that, in choosing a candidate for Congress, you have an
equal right with Sangamon; and in this you are undoubtedly earnest. In
agreeing to withdraw if the Whigs of Sangamon should go against me, I
did not mean that they alone were worth consulting, but that if she,
with her heavy delegation, should be against me, it would be impossible
for me to succeed; and therefore I had as well decline. And in relation
to Menard having rights, permit me fully to recognize them, and to
express the opinion, that, if she and Mason act circumspectly, they will
in the convention be able so far to enforce their rights as to decide
absolutely which _one_ of the candidates shall be successful. Let me
show the reason of this. Hardin, or some other Morgan candidate, will
get Putnam, Marshall, Woodford, Tazewell, and Logan,--make sixteen.
Then you and Mason, having three, can give the victory to either side.

You say you shall instruct your delegates for me, unless I object. I
certainly shall not object. That would be too pleasant a compliment for
me to tread in the dust. And besides, if any thing should happen (which,
however, is not probable) by which Baker should be thrown out of the
fight, I would be at liberty to accept the nomination if I could get
it. I do, however, feel myself bound not to hinder him in any way from
getting the nomination. I should despise myself were I to attempt it.
I think, then, it would be proper for your meeting to appoint three
delegates, and to instruct them to go for some one as a first choice,
some one else as a second, and perhaps some one as a third; and, if in
those instructions I were named as the first choice, it would gratify me
very much.

If you wish to hold the balance of power, it is important for you to
attend to and secure the vote of Mason also. You should be sure to have
men appointed delegates that you know you can safely confide in. If
yourself and James Short were appointed for your county, all would be
safe; but whether Jim's woman affair a year ago might not be in the way
of his appointment is a question. I don't know whether you know it, but
I know him to be as honorable a man as there is in the world. You have
my permission, and even request, to show this letter to Short; but to no
one else, unless it be a very particular friend, who you know will not
speak of it.

Yours as ever,

A. Lincoln.

P. S.--Will you write me again?

[Illustration: Joshua F. Speed 306]

To Martin M. Morris, Petersburg, 111.

And finally to Speed on the same subject:--

Springfield, May 18, 1843.

Dear Speed,--Yours of the 9th inst. is duly received, which I do not
meet as a "bore," but as a most welcome visitor. I will answer the
business part of it first.

In relation to our Congress matter here, you were right in supposing I
would support the nominee. Neither Baker nor I, however, is the man, but
Hardin, so far as I can judge from present appearances. We shall have no
split or trouble about the matter,--all will be harmony. In relation to
the "coming events" about which Butler wrote you, I had not heard one
word before I got your letter; but I have so much confidence in the
judgment of a Butler on such a subject, that I incline to think there
may be some reality in it. What day does Butler appoint? By the way, how
do "events" of the same sort come on in your family? Are you
possessing houses and lands, and oxen and asses, and men-servants and
maid-servants, and begetting sons and daughters? We are not keeping
house, but boarding at the Globe Tavern, which is very well kept now
by a widow lady of the name of Beck. Our room (the same Dr. Wallace
occupied there) and boarding only costs us four dollars a week. Ann Todd
was married something more than a year since to a fellow by the name of
Campbell, and who, Mary says, is pretty much of a "dunce," though he has
a little money and property. They live in Boonville, Mo., and have not
been heard from lately enough for me to say any thing about her health.
I reckon it will scarcely be in our power to visit Kentucky this year.
Besides poverty and the necessity of attending to business, those
"coming events," I suspect, would be somewhat in the way. I most
heartily wish you and your Fanny would not fail to come. Just let us
know the time, and we will have a room provided for you at our house,
and all be merry together for a while. Be sure to give my respects to
your mother and family: assure her, that, if I ever come near her, I
will not fail to call and see her. Mary joins in sending love to your
Fanny and you.

Yours as ever,

A. Lincoln.

After the "race," still smarting from the mortification of defeat,
and the disappointment of a cherished hope, he took his old friend Jim
Matheny away off to a solitary place in the woods, "and then and there,"
"with great emphasis," protested that he had not grown proud, and was
not an aristocrat. "Jim," said he, in conclusion, "I am now, and always
shall be, the same Abe Lincoln that I always was."




CHAPTER XII

IN 1844 Mr. Lincoln was again a candidate for elector on the Whig
ticket. Mr. Clay, as he has said himself, was his "_beau-ideal_ of a
statesman," and he labored earnestly and as effectually as any one else
for his election. For the most part, he still had his old antagonists
to meet in the Springfield region, chief among whom this year was John
Calhoun. With him and others he had joint debates, running through
several nights, which excited much popular feeling. One of his old
friends and neighbors, who attended all these discussions, speaks in
very enthusiastic terms of Mr. Calhoun, and, after enumerating his many
noble gifts of head and heart, concludes that "Calhoun came nearer of
whipping Lincoln in debate than Douglas did."

Mr. Lincoln made many speeches in Illinois, and finally, towards the
close of the campaign, he went over into Indiana, and there continued
"on the stump" until the end. Among other places he spoke at Rockport on
the Ohio,--where he had first embarked for New Orleans with Gentry,--at
Gentryville, and at a place in the country about two miles from the
cabin where his father had lived. While he was in the midst of his
speech at Gentryville, his old friend, Nat Grigsby, entered the room.
Lincoln recognized him on the instant, and, stopping short in his
remarks, cried out, "There's Nat!" Without the slightest regard for
the proprieties of the occasion, he suspended his address totally, and,
striding from the platform, began scrambling through the audience and
over the benches, toward the modest Nat, who stood near the door.
When he reached him, Lincoln shook his hand "cordially;" and, after
felicitating himself sufficiently upon the happy meeting, he returned to
the platform, and finished his speech. When that was over, Lincoln could
not make up his mind to part with Nat, but insisted that they must sleep
together. Accordingly, they wended their way to Col. Jones's, where that
fine old Jackson Democrat received his distinguished "clerk" with all
the honors he could show him. Nat says, that in the night a cat "began
mewing, scratching, and making a fuss generally." Lincoln got up, took
the cat in his hands, and stroking its back "gently and kindly," made
it sparkle for Nat's amusement. He then "gently" put it out of the door,
and, returning to bed, "commenced telling stories and talking over old
times."

It is hardly necessary to say, that the result of the canvass was a
severe disappointment to Mr. Lincoln. No defeat but his own could have
given him more pain; and thereafter he seems to have attended quietly to
his own private business until the Congressional canvass of 1846.

It was thought for many years by some persons well informed, that
between Lincoln, Logan, Baker, and Hardin,--four very conspicuous Whig
leaders,--there was a secret personal understanding that they four
should "rotate" in Congress until each had had a term. Baker succeeded
Hardin in 1844; Lincoln was elected in 1846, and Logan was nominated,
but defeated, in 1848. Lincoln publicly declined to contest the
nomination with Baker in 1844; Hardin did the same for Lincoln in 1846
(although both seem to have acted reluctantly), and Lincoln refused to
run against Logan in 1848. Col. Matheny and others insist, with great
show of reason, that the agreement actually existed; and, if such
was the case, it was practically carried out, although Lincoln was a
candidate against Baker, and Hardin against Lincoln, as long as either
of them thought there was the smallest prospect of success. They
might have done this, however, merely to keep other and less tractable
candidates out of the field. That Lincoln would cheerfully have made
such a bargain to insure himself a seat in Congress, there can be no
doubt; but the supposition that he did do it can scarcely be reconciled
with the feeling displayed by him in the conflict with Baker, or the
persistency of Hardin, to a very late hour, in the contest of 1846.

At all events, Mr. Lincoln and Gen. Hardin were the two, and the only
two, candidates for the Whig nomination in 1846. The contest was much
like the one with Baker, and Lincoln was assailed in much the same
fashion. He was called a deist and an infidel, both before and after his
nomination, and encountered in a less degree the same opposition from
the members of certain religious bodies that had met him before. But
with Hardin he maintained personal relations the most friendly. The
latter proposed to alter the mode of making the nomination; and, in
the letter conveying this desire to Mr. Lincoln, he also offered to
stipulate that each candidate should remain within the limits of his own
county. To this Mr. Lincoln replied, "As to your proposed stipulation
that all the candidates shall remain in their own counties, and restrain
their friends to the same, it seems to me, that, on reflection, you will
see the fact of your having been in Congress has, in various ways, so
spread your name in the district as to give you a decided advantage in
such a stipulation. I appreciate your desire to keep down excitement,
and I promise you to 'keep cool' under the circumstances."

On the 26th of February, 1846, "The Journal" contained Gen. Hardin's
card declining to be "longer considered a candidate," and in its
editorial comments occurred the following: "We have had, and now have,
no doubt that he (Hardin) has been, and now is, a great favorite with
the Whigs of the district. He states, in substance, that there was never
any understanding on his part that his name was not to be presented
in the canvasses of 1844 and 1846. This, we believe, is strictly true.
Still, the doings of the Pekin Convention did seem to point that way;
and the general's voluntary declination as to the canvass of 1844 was
by many construed into an acquiescence on his part. These things had led
many of his most devoted friends to not expect him to be a candidate
at this time. Add to this the relation that Mr. Lincoln bears, and has
borne, to the party, and it is not strange that many of those who are as
strongly devoted to Gen. Hardin as they are to Mr. Lincoln should prefer
the latter at this time. We do not entertain a doubt, that, if we could
reverse the positions of the two men, that a very large portion of those
who now have supported Mr. Lincoln most warmly would have supported Gen.
Hardin quite as warmly." This article was admirably calculated to soothe
Gen. Hardin, and to win over his friends. It was wise and timely. The
editor was Mr. Lincoln's intimate friend. It is marked by Mr. Lincoln's
style, and has at least one expression which was peculiar to him.

In its issue of May 7, "The Journal" announced the nomination as having
been made at Petersburg, on the Friday previous, and said further, "This
nomination was, of course, anticipated, there being no other candidate
in the field. Mr. Lincoln, we all know, is a good Whig, a good man, an
able speaker, and richly deserves, as he enjoys, the confidence of the
Whigs of this district and of the State."

Peter Cartwright, the celebrated pioneer Methodist preacher, noted for
his piety and combativeness, was Mr. Lincoln's competitor before the
people. We know already the nature of the principal charges against Mr.
Lincoln's personal character; and these, with the usual criticism upon
Whig policy, formed the staple topics of the campaign on the Democratic
side. But Peter himself did not escape with that impunity which might
have been expected in the case of a minister of the gospel. Rough
tongues circulated exaggerated stories of his wicked pugnacity and his
worldly-mindedness, whilst the pretended servant of the Prince of peace.
Many Democrats looked with intense disgust upon his present candidacy,
and believed, that, by mingling in politics, he was degrading his office
and polluting the Church. One of these Democrats told Mr. Lincoln what
he thought, and said, that, although it was a hard thing to vote
against his party, he would do it if it should be necessary to defeat
Cartwright. Mr. Lincoln told him, that on the day of the election he
would give him a candid opinion as to whether the vote was needed or
not Accordingly, on that day, he called upon the gentleman, and said, "I
have got the preacher,... and don't want your vote."

Clay's majority in this district in 1844 had been but nine hundred and
fourteen; whereas it now gave Mr. Lincoln a majority of fifteen hundred
and eleven, in a year which had no Presidential excitements to bring
out electors. In 1848 Gen. Taylor's majority was smaller by ten, and the
same year the Whig candidate for Congress was defeated by a hundred and
six.

In the following letter to Mr. Speed, he intimates that the first
sensations of pleasure attending his new distinction were not of long
duration; at least, that there were moments in which, if he did not
forget his greatness, it afforded him little joy.

Springfield, Oct. 22, 1846.

Dear Speed,--

You no doubt assign the suspension of our correspondence to the true
philosophic cause; though it must be confessed by both of us, that this
is rather a cold reason for allowing a friendship such as ours to die
out by degrees. I propose now, that, upon receipt of this, you shall
be considered in my debt, and under obligations to pay soon, and that
neither shall remain long in arrears hereafter. Are you agreed?

Being elected to Congress, though I am very grateful to our friends for
having done it, has not pleased me as much as I expected.

We have another boy, born the 10th of March. He is very much such a
child as Bob was at his age, rather of a longer order. Bob is "short
and low," and expect always will be. He talks very plainly,--almost as
plainly as anybody. He is quite smart enough. I sometimes fear he is one
of the little rare-ripe sort, that are smarter at about five than
ever after. He has a great deal of that sort of mischief that is the
offspring of much animal spirits. Since I began this letter, a messenger
came to tell me Bob was lost; but by the time I reached the house his
mother had found him, and had him whipped; and by now, very likely,
he is run away again. Mary has read your letter, and wishes to be
remembered to Mrs. S. and you, in which I most sincerely join her. As
ever yours.

A. Lincoln.

At the meeting of the Thirtieth Congress Mr. Lincoln took his seat, and
went about the business of his office with a strong determination to
do something memorable. He was the only Whig member from Illinois, and
would be carefully watched. His colleagues were several of them old
acquaintances of the Vandalia times. They were John McClernand, O. B.
Ficklin, William A. Richardson, Thomas J. Turner, Robert Smith, and
John Wentworth (Long John). And at this session that alert, tireless,
ambitious little man, Stephen A. Douglas, took his seat in the Senate.

The roll of this House shone with an array of great and brilliant names.
Robert C. Winthrop was the Speaker. On the Whig side were John Quincy
Adams, Horace Mann, Hunt of New York, Collamer of Vermont, Ingersoll of
Pennsylvania, Botts and Goggin of Virginia, Morehead of Kentucky,
Caleb B. Smith of Indiana, Stephens and Toombs of Georgia, Gentry of
Tennessee, and Vinton and Schenck of Ohio. On the Democratic side were
Wilmot of Pennsylvania, McLane of Maryland, McDowell of Virginia, Rhett
of South Carolina, Cobb of Georgia, Boyd of Kentucky, Brown and Thompson
of Mississippi, and Andrew Johnson and George W. Jones of Tennessee.
In the Senate were Webster, Calhoun, Benton, Berrien, Clayton, Bell,
Hunter, and William R. King.

The House organized on the 6th; and the day previous to that. Mr.
Lincoln wrote to his friend and partner, William H. Herndon:--

Washington, Dec. 5, 1847.

Dear William,--You may remember that about a year ago a man by the name
of Wilson (James Wilson, I think) paid us twenty dollars as an advance
fee to attend to a case in the Supreme Court for him, against a Mr.
Campbell, the record of which case was in the hands of Mr. Dixon of
St. Louis, who never furnished it to us. When I was at Bloomington last
fall, I met a friend of Wilson, who mentioned the subject to me, and
induced me to write to Wilson, telling him that I would leave the ten
dollars with you which had been left with me to pay for making abstracts
in the case, so that the case may go on this winter; but I came away,
and forgot to do it. What I want now is to send you the money to be used
accordingly, if any one comes on to start the case, or to be retained by
you if no one does.

There is nothing of consequence new here. Congress is to organize
to-morrow. Last night we held a Whig caucus for the House, and nominated
Winthrop of Massachusetts for Speaker, Sargent of Pennsylvania for
Sergeant-at-arms, Homer of New Jersey Doorkeeper, and McCormick of
District of Columbia Postmaster. The Whig majority in the House is
so small, that, together with some little dissatisfaction, leaves it
doubtful whether we will elect them all.

This paper is too thick to fold, which is the reason I send only a
halfsheet.

Yours as ever,

A. Lincoln.

Again on the 13th, to the same gentleman:--

Washington, Dec. 13, 1847.

Dear William,--Your letter advising me of the receipt of our fee in the
bank-case is just received, and I don't expect to hear another as good
a piece of news from Springfield while I am away. I am under no
obligations to the bank; and I therefore wish you to buy bank
certificates, and pay my debt there, so as to pay it with the least
money possible. I would as soon you should buy them of Mr. Ridgely, or
any other person at the bank, as of any one else, provided you can get
them as cheaply. I suppose, after the bank-debt shall be paid, there
will be some money left, out of which I would like to have you pay
Lavely and Stout twenty dollars, and Priest and somebody (oil-makers)
ten dollars, for materials got for house-painting. If there shall still
be any left, keep it till you see or hear from me.

I shall begin sending documents so soon as I can get them. I wrote you
yesterday about a "Congressional Globe." As you are all so anxious for
me to distinguish myself, I have concluded to do so before long.

Yours truly,

A. Lincoln.

Mr. Lincoln was a member of the Committee on Post-offices and
Post-roads, and in that capacity had occasion to study the claim of a
mail-contractor who had appealed to Congress against a decision of the
Department. Mr. Lincoln made a speech on the case, in which, being
his first, he evidently felt some pride, and reported progress to his
friends at home:--

Washington, Jan. 8, 1848.

Dear William,--Your letter of Dec. 27 was received a day or two ago. I
am much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken, and promise
to take, in my little business there. As to speech-making, by way of
getting the hang 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.

It is very pleasant to me to learn from you that there are some who
desire that I should be re-elected. I most heartily thank them for the
kind partiality; and I can say, as Mr. Clay said of the annexation of
Texas, that "_personally_ I would not object" to a re-election, although
I thought at the time, and still think, it would be quite as well for
me to return to the law at the end of a single term. 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 to 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.

I get some letters intimating a probability of so much difficulty
amongst our friends as to lose us the district; but I remember such
letters were written to Baker when my own case was under consideration,
and I trust there is no more ground for such apprehension now than there
was then.

Remember I am always glad to receive a letter from you.

Most truly your friend,

A. Lincoln.

Thoroughly hostile to Polk, and hotly opposed to the war, Mr. Lincoln
took an active, although not a leading part in the discussions relating
to the commencement and conduct of the latter. He was politician enough,
however, to go with the majority of his party in voting supplies to the
troops, and thanks to the generals, whilst censuring the President
by solemnly declaring that the "war was unnecessarily and
unconstitutionally begun by the President of the United States." But
his position, and the position of the Whigs, will be made sufficiently
apparent by the productions of his own pen.

On the 22d of December, 1847, Mr. Lincoln introduced a preamble and
resolutions, which attained great celebrity in Illinois under the title
of "Spot Resolutions," and in all probability lost the party a great
many votes in the Springfield district. They were as follows:--

Whereas, The President of the United States, in his Message of May 11,
1846, has declared that "the Mexican Government not only refused
to receive him [the envoy of the United States], or listen to his
propositions, but, after a long-continued series of menaces, has at last
invaded _our territory_, and shed the blood of our fellow-citizens on
_our own soil_;"

And again, in his Message of Dec. 8, 1846, that "we had ample cause of
war against Mexico long before the breaking out of hostilities; but even
then we forbore to take redress into our own hands until Mexico herself
became the aggressor, by invading _our soil_ in hostile array, and
shedding the blood of our citizens;"

And yet again, in his Message of Dec. 7, 1847, that "the Mexican
Government refused even to hear the terms of adjustment which he [our
minister of peace] was authorized to propose, and finally, under wholly
unjustifiable pretexts, involved the two countries in war, by invading
the territory of the State of Texas, striking the first blow, and
shedding the blood of our citizens on _our own soil_;" and,

Whereas, This House is desirous to obtain a full knowledge of all the
facts which go to establish whether the particular spot on which the
blood of our citizens was so shed was or was not at that time "_our own
soil_;" therefore,

Resolved by the House of Representatives, That the President of the
United States be respectfully requested to inform this House,--

1st. Whether the spot on which the blood of our citizens was shed, as
in his Messages declared, was or was not within the territory of Spain,
at least after the treaty of 1819, until the Mexican revolution.

2d. Whether that spot is or is not within the territory which was
wrested from Spain by the revolutionary government of Mexico.

3d. Whether that spot is or is not within a settlement of people, which
settlement has existed ever since long before the Texas revolution,
and until its inhabitants fled before the approach of the United States
army.

4th. Whether that settlement is or is not isolated from any and all
other settlements by the Gulf and the Rio Grande on the south and west,
and by wide, uninhabited regions on the north and east.

5th. Whether the people of that settlement, or a majority of them, or
any of them, have ever submitted themselves to the government or laws
of Texas or of the United States, by consent or by compulsion, either by
accepting office, or voting at elections, or paying tax, or serving on
juries, or having process served upon them, or in any other way.

6th. Whether the people of that settlement did or did not flee from the
approach of the United States army, leaving unprotected their homes and
their growing crops, _before_ the blood was shed, as in the Messages
stated; and whether the first blood, so shed, was or was not shed within
the enclosure of one of the people who had thus fled from it.

7th. Whether our _citizens_, whose blood was shed, as in his Messages
declared, were or were not at that time armed officers and soldiers,
sent into that settlement by the military order of the President,
through the Secretary of War.

8th. Whether the military force of the United States was or was not so
sent into that settlement after Gen. Taylor had more than once intimated
to the War Department, that, in his opinion, no such movement was
necessary to the defence or protection of Texas.

Mr. Lincoln improved the first favorable opportunity (Jan. 12, 1818), to
address the House in the spirit of the "Spot Resolutions."

In Committee of the Whole House, Jan. 12, 1848.

Mr. Lincoln addressed the Committee as follows:--

Mr. Chairman,--Some, if not at all, of the gentlemen on the other side
of the House, who have addressed the Committee within the last two days,
have spoken rather complainingly, if I have rightly understood them,
of the vote given a week or ten days ago, declaring that the war
with Mexico was unnecessarily and unconstitutionally commenced by the
President. I admit that such a vote should not be given in mere party
wantonness, and that the one given is justly censurable, if it have no
other or better foundation. I am one of those who joined in that vote,
and did so under my best impression of the _truth_ of the case. How I
got this impression, and how it may possibly be removed, I will now
try to show. When the war began, it was my opinion that all those who,
because of knowing too _little_, or because of knowing too _much_,
could not conscientiously approve the conduct of the President (in the
beginning of it), should, nevertheless, as good citizens and patriots,
remain silent on that point, at least till the war should be ended. Some
leading Democrats, including ex-President Van Buren, have taken this
same view, as I understand them; and I adhered to it, and acted upon it,
until since I took my seat here; and I think I should still adhere to
it, were it not that the President and his friends will not allow it
to be so. Besides the continual effort of the President to argue every
silent vote given for supplies into an indorsement of the justice and
wisdom of his conduct; besides that singularly candid paragraph in his
late Message, in which he tells us that Congress, with great unanimity
(only two in the Senate and fourteen in the House dissenting), had
declared that "by the act of the Republic of Mexico a state of war
exists between that government and the United States;" when the same
journals that informed him of this also informed him, that, when
that declaration stood disconnected from the question of supplies,
sixty-seven in the House, and not fourteen merely, voted against it;
besides this open attempt to prove by telling the _truth_ what he could
not prove by telling the _whole truth_, demanding of all who will not
submit to be misrepresented, in justice to themselves, to speak out;
besides all this, one of my colleagues [Mr. Richardson], at a very early
day in the session, brought in a set of resolutions expressly indorsing
the original justice of the war on the part of the President. Upon
these resolutions, when they shall be put on their passage, I shall be
_compelled_ to vote; so that I cannot be silent if I would. Seeing this,
I went about preparing myself to give the vote understandingly when it
should come. I carefully examined the President's Messages, to ascertain
what he himself had said and proved upon the point. The result of this
examination was to make the impression, that, taking for true all
the President states as facts, he falls far short of proving his
justification; and that the President would have gone further with his
proof, if it had not been for the small matter that the _truth_ would
not permit him. Under the impression thus made, I gave the vote
before mentioned. I propose now to give concisely the process of the
examination I made, and how I reached the conclusion I did.

The President, in his first Message of May, 1846, declares that the soil
was _ours_ on which hostilities were commenced by Mexico; and he repeats
that declaration, almost in the same language, in each successive annual
Message,--thus showing that he esteems that point a highly essential
one. In the importance of that point I entirely agree with the
President. To my judgment, it is the _very point_ upon which he should
be justified or condemned. In his Message of December, 1846, it seems
to have occurred to him, as is certainly true, that title, ownership
to soil, or any thing else, is not a simple fact, but is a conclusion
following one or more simple facts; and that it was incumbent upon him
to present the facts from which he concluded the soil was ours on which
the first blood of the war was shed.

Accordingly, a little below the middle of page twelve, in the Message
last referred to, he enters upon that task; forming an issue and
introducing testimony, extending the whole to a little below the middle
of page fourteen. Now, I propose to try to show that the whole of this,
issue and evidence, is, from beginning to end, the sheerest deception.
The issue, as he presents it, is in these words: "But there are those
who, conceding all this to be true, assume the ground that the true
western boundary of Texas is the Nueces, instead of the Rio Grande; and
that, therefore, in marching our army to the east bank of the latter
river, we passed the Texan line, and invaded the Territory of Mexico."
Now, this issue is made up of two affirmatives, and no negative. The
main deception of it is, that it assumes as true, that one river or the
other is necessarily the boundary, and cheats the superficial thinker
entirely out of the idea that possibly the boundary is somewhere between
the two, and not actually at either. A further deception is, that it
will let in evidence which a true issue would exclude. A true issue made
by the President would be about as follows: "I say the soil _was ours_
on which the first blood was shed; there are those who say it was not."

I now proceed to examine the President's evidence, as applicable to
such an issue. When that evidence is analyzed, it is all included in the
following propositions:--

1. That the Rio Grande was the western boundary of Louisiana, as we
purchased it of France in 1803.

2. That the Republic of Texas always claimed the Rio Grande as her
western boundary.

3. That, by various acts, she had claimed it on paper.

4. That Santa Anna, in his treaty with Texas, recognized the Rio Grande
as her boundary.

5. That Texas _before_, and the United States _after_ annexation, had
_exercised_ jurisdiction _beyond_ the Nueces, _between_ the two rivers.

6. That our Congress _understood_ the boundary of Texas to extend beyond
the Nueces.

Now for each of these in its turn:--

His first item is, that the Rio Grande was the western boundary of
Louisiana, as we purchased it of France in 1803; and, seeming to expect
this to be disputed, he argues over the amount of nearly a page to prove
it true; at the end of which, he lets us know, that, by the treaty of
1819, we sold to Spain the whole country, from the Rio Grande eastward
to the Sabine. Now, admitting for the present, that the Rio Grande was
the boundary of Louisiana, what, under Heaven, had that to do with the
present boundary between us and Mexico? How, Mr. Chairman, the line that
once divided your land from mine can still be the boundary between us
after I have sold my land to you, is, to me, beyond all comprehension.
And how any man, with an honest purpose only of proving the truth, could
ever have thought of introducing such a fact to prove such an issue, is
equally incomprehensible. The outrage upon common right, of seizing as
our own what we have once sold, merely because it was ours before we
sold it, is only equalled by the outrage on common sense of any attempt
to justify it.

The President's next piece of evidence is, that "The Republic of Texas
always _claimed_ this river (Rio Grande) as her western boundary." That
is not true, in fact. Texas _has_ claimed it, but she has not _always_
claimed it. There is, at least, one distinguished exception. Her State
Constitution--the public's most solemn and well-considered act, that
which may, without impropriety, be called her last will and testament,
revoking all others--makes no such claim. But suppose she had always
claimed it. Has not Mexico always claimed the contrary? So that there is
but claim against claim, leaving nothing proved until we get back of the
claims, and find which has the better _foundation._

Though not in the order in which the President presents his evidence,
I now consider that class of his statements which are, in substance,
nothing more than that Texas has, by various acts of her Convention and
Congress, claimed the Rio Grande as her boundary--_on paper_. I mean
here what he says about the fixing of the Rio Grande as her boundary
in her old constitution (not her State Constitution), about forming
congressional districts, counties, &c. Now, all this is but naked
_claim_; and what I have already said about claims is strictly
applicable to this. If I should claim your land by word of mouth, that
certainly would not make it mine; and if I were to claim it by a deed
which I had made myself, and with which you had nothing to do, the claim
would be quite the same in substance, or rather in utter nothingness.

I next consider the President's statement that Santa Anna, in his
_treaty_ with Texas, recognized the Rio Grande as the western boundary
of Texas. Besides the position so often taken that Santa Anna, while a
prisoner of war, a captive, _could not_ bind Mexico by a treaty, which
I deem conclusive,--besides this, I wish to say something in relation
to this treaty, so called by the President, with Santa Anna. If any man
would like to be amused by a sight at that _little_ thing, which
the President calls by that _big_ name, he can have it by turning to
"Niles's Register," vol. 1. p. 336. And if any one should suppose that
"Niles's Register" is a curious repository of so mighty a document as
a solemn treaty between nations, I can only say that I learned, to a
tolerable degree of certainty, by inquiry at the State Department, that
the President himself never saw it anywhere else. By the way, I believe
I should not err if I were to declare, that, during the first ten years
of the existence of that document, it was never by anybody _called_
a treaty; that it was never so called till the President, in his
extremity, attempted, by so calling it, to wring something from it in
justification of himself in connection with the Mexican war. It has none
of the distinguishing features of a treaty. It does not call itself a
treaty. Santa Anna does not therein assume to bind Mexico: he assumes
only to act as president, commander-in-chief of the Mexican army and
navy; stipulates that the then present hostilities should cease, and
that he would not himself take up arms, nor influence the Mexican
people to take up arms, against Texas during the existence of the war of
independence. He did not recognize the independence of Texas; he did not
assume to put an end to the war, but clearly indicated his expectation
of its continuance; he did not say one word about boundary, and most
probably never thought of it. It is stipulated therein that the Mexican
forces should evacuate the Territory of Texas, _passing to the other
side of the Rio Grande;_ and in another article it is stipulated, that,
to prevent collisions between the armies, the Texan army should not
approach nearer than within five leagues,--of what is not said; but
clearly, from the object stated, it is of the Rio Grande. Now, if this
is a treaty recognizing the Rio Grande as the boundary of Texas, it
contains the singular feature of stipulating that Texas shall not go
within five leagues of _her own_ boundary.

Next comes the evidence of Texas before annexation, and the United
States afterwards, exercising jurisdiction beyond the Nueces, and
between the two rivers. This actual exercise of jurisdiction is the very
class or quality of evidence we want. It is excellent so far as it goes;
but does it go far enough? He tells us it went beyond the Nueces; but he
does not tell us it went to the Rio Grande. He tells us jurisdiction
was exercised between the two rivers; but he does not tell us it was
exercised over all the territory between them. Some simple-minded people
think it possible to cross one river and go beyond it, without going
all the way to the next; that jurisdiction may be exercised between two
rivers without covering all the country between them. I know a man,
not very unlike myself, who exercises jurisdiction over a piece of land
between the Wabash and the Mississippi; and yet so far is this from
being all there is between those rivers, that it is just a hundred
and fifty-two feet long by fifty wide, and no part of it much within
a hundred miles of either. He has a neighbor between him and the
Mississippi,--that is, just across the street, in that direction,--whom,
I am sure, he could neither persuade nor force to give up his
habitation; but which, nevertheless, he could certainly annex, if it
were to be done by merely standing on his own side of the street and
claiming it, or even sitting down and writing a deed for it.

But next, the President tells us, the Congress of the United States
understood the State of Texas they admitted into the Union to extend
beyond the Nueces. Well, I suppose they did,--I certainly so understand
it,--but how far beyond? That Congress did not understand it to extend
clear to the Rio Grande, is quite certain by the fact of their joint
resolutions for admission, expressly leaving all questions of boundary
to future adjustment. And it may be added, that Texas herself is proved
to have had the same understanding of it that our Congress had, by
the fact of the exact conformity of her new Constitution to those
resolutions.

I am now through the whole of the President's evidence; and it is a
singular fact, that, if any one should declare the President sent the
army into the midst of a settlement of Mexican people, who had never
submitted, by consent or by force, to the authority of Texas or of the
United States, and that there, and thereby, the first blood of the war
was shed, there is not one word in all the President has said which
would either admit or deny the declaration. In this strange omission
chiefly consists the deception of the President's evidence,--an omission
which, it does seem to me, could scarcely have occurred but by design.
My way of living leads me to be about the courts of justice; and there I
have sometimes seen a good lawyer, struggling for his client's neck in a
desperate case, employing every artifice to work round, befog, and cover
up with many words, some position pressed upon him by the prosecution,
which he dared not admit, and yet could not deny. Party bias may help to
make it appear so; but, with all the allowance I can make for such bias,
it still does appear to me that just such, and from just such necessity,
are the President's struggles in this case.

Some time after my colleague (Mr. Richardson) introduced the
resolutions I have mentioned, I introduced a preamble, resolution, and
interrogatories, intended to draw the President out, if possible, on
this hitherto untrodden ground. To show their relevancy, I propose to
state my understanding of the true rule for ascertaining the boundary
between Texas and Mexico. It is, that, _wherever_ Texas was _exercising_
jurisdiction was hers; and wherever Mexico was exercising jurisdiction
was hers; and that whatever separated the actual exercise of
jurisdiction of the one from that of the other was the true boundary
between them. If, as is probably true, Texas was exercising jurisdiction
along the western bank of the Nueces, and Mexico was exercising it along
the eastern bank of the Rio Grande, then neither river was the boundary,
but the uninhabited country between the two was. The extent of our
territory in that region depended, not on any treaty-fixed boundary (for
no treaty had attempted it), but on revolution. Any people anywhere,
being inclined and having the power, have the right to rise up and shake
off the existing government, and form a new one that suits them better.
This is a most valuable, a most sacred right,--a right which, we hope
and believe, is to liberate the world. Nor is this right confined to
cases in which the whole people of an existing government may choose to
exercise it. Any portion of such people that can may revolutionize, and
make their own of so much of the territory as they inhabit. More than
this, a _majority_ of any portion of such people may revolutionize,
putting down a _minority_, intermingled with or near about them, who
may oppose their movements. Such minority was precisely the case of the
Tories of our own Revolution. It is a quality of revolutions not to go
by old lines or old laws, but to break up both, and make new ones. As to
the country now in question, we bought it of France in 1803, and sold
it to Spain in 1819, according to the President's statement. After this,
all Mexico, including Texas, revolutionized against Spain; and, still
later, Texas revolutionized against Mexico. In my view, just so far
as she carried her revolution, by obtaining the _actual,_ willing or
unwilling, submission of the people, _so far_ the country was hers, and
no farther.

Now, sir, for the purpose of obtaining the very best evidence as to
whether Texas had actually carried her revolution to the place where the
hostilities of the present war commenced, let the President answer the
interrogatories I proposed, as before mentioned, or some other similar
ones. Let him answer fully, fairly, and candidly. Let him answer
with _facts_, and not with arguments. Let him remember he sits where
Washington sat; and, so remembering, let him answer as Washington would
answer. As a nation should not, and the Almighty will not, be evaded,
so let him attempt no evasion, no equivocation. And if, so answering,
he can show that the soil was ours where the first blood of the war was
shed; that it was not within an inhabited country, or, if within such,
that the inhabitants had submitted themselves to the civil authority of
Texas, or of the United States, and that the same is true of the site
of Fort Brown, then I am with him for his justification. In that case,
I shall be most happy to reverse the vote I gave the other day. I have a
selfish motive for desiring that the President may do this: I expect
to give some votes, in connection with the war, which, without his so
doing, will be of doubtful propriety, in my own judgment, but which will
be free from the doubt if he does so. But if he cannot or will not do
this,--if, on any pretence, or no pretence, he shall refuse or omit
it,--then I shall be fully convinced of what I more than suspect
already,--that he is deeply conscious of being in the wrong; that he
feels the blood of this war, like the blood of Abel, is crying to Heaven
against him; that he ordered Gen. Taylor into the midst of a peaceful
Mexican settlement, purposely to bring on a war; that, originally
having some strong motive--what I will not stop now to give my opinion
concerning--to involve the two countries in a war, and trusting to
escape scrutiny by fixing the public gaze upon the exceeding brightness
of military glory,--that attractive rainbow that rises in showers of
blood, that serpent's eye that charms to destroy,--he plunged into it,
and has swept on and on, till, disappointed in his calculation of the
ease with which Mexico might be subdued, he now finds himself he knows
not where. How like the half-insane mumbling of a fever-dream is the
whole war part of the late Message! At one time telling us that Mexico
has nothing whatever that we can get but territory; at another, showing
us how we can support the war by levying contributions on Mexico. At
one time urging the national honor, the security of the future, the
prevention of foreign interference, and even the good of Mexico herself,
as among the objects of the war; at another, telling us that, "to reject
indemnity by refusing to accept a cession of territory, would be to
abandon all our just demands, and to wage the war, bearing all its
expenses, without a purpose or definite object." So, then, the
national honor, security of the future, and every thing but territorial
indemnity, may be considered the no purposes and indefinite objects of
the war! But having it now settled that territorial indemnity is the
only object, we are urged to seize, by legislation here, all that he
was content to take a few months ago, and the whole province of Lower
California to boot, and to still carry on the war,--to take all we are
fighting for, and still fight on. Again, the President is resolved,
under all circumstances, to have full territorial indemnity for the
expenses of the war; but he forgets to tell us how we are to get the
excess after those expenses shall have surpassed the value of the
whole of the Mexican territory. So, again, he insists that the separate
national existence of Mexico shall be maintained; but he does not tell
us how this can be done after we shall have taken all her territory.
Lest the questions I here suggest be considered speculative merely, let
me be indulged a moment in trying to show they are not.

The war has gone on some twenty months; for the expenses of which,
together with an inconsiderable old score, the President now claims
about one-half of the Mexican territory, and that by far the better
half, so far as concerns our ability to make any thing out of it. It is
comparatively uninhabited; so that we could establish land-offices in
it, and raise some money in that way. But the other half is already
inhabited, as I understand it, tolerably densely for the nature of
the country; and all its lands, or all that are valuable, already
appropriated as private property. How, then, are we to make any thing
out of these lands with this encumbrance on them, or how remove the
encumbrance? I suppose no one will say we should kill the people,
or drive them out, or make slaves of them, or even confiscate their
property? How, then, can we make much out of this part of the territory?
If the prosecution of the war has, in expenses, already equalled the
better half of the country, how long its future prosecution will be in
equalling the less valuable half is not a speculative but a practical
question, pressing closely upon us; and yet it is a question which the
President seems never to have thought of.

As to the mode of terminating the war and securing peace, the President
is equally wandering and indefinite. First, it is to be done by a
more vigorous prosecution of the war in the vital parts of the enemy's
country; and, after apparently talking himself tired on this point, the
President drops down into a half-despairing tone, and tells us, that
"with a people distracted and divided by contending factions, and a
government subject to constant changes, by successive revolutions, _the
continued success of our arms may fail to obtain a satisfactory peace."_
Then he suggests the propriety of wheedling the Mexican people to desert
the counsels of their own leaders, and, trusting in our protection,
to set up a government from which we can secure a satisfactory peace,
telling us that, "_this may become the only mode of obtaining such a
peace_." But soon he falls into doubt of this, too, and then drops back
on to the already half-abandoned ground of "more vigorous prosecution."
All this shows that the President is in no wise satisfied with his own
positions. First, he takes up one, and, in attempting to argue us into
it, he argues himself out of it; then seizes another, and goes through
the same process; and then, confused at being able to think of nothing
new, he snatches up the old one again, which he has some time before
cast off. His mind, tasked beyond its power, is running hither and
thither, like some tortured creature on a burning surface, finding no
position on which it can settle down and be at ease.

Again, it is a singular omission in this Message, that it nowhere
intimates _when_ the President expects the war to terminate. At its
beginning, Gen. Scott was, by this same President, driven into disfavor,
if not disgrace, for intimating that peace could not be conquered in
less than three or four months. But now at the end of about twenty
months, during which time our arms have given us the most splendid
successes,--every department, and every part, land and water, officers
and privates, regulars and volunteers, doing all that men could do, and
hundreds of things which it had ever before been thought that men could
not do,--after all this, this same President gives us a long Message
without showing us that, _as to the end,_ he has himself even an
imaginary conception. As I have before said, he knows not where he is.
He is a bewildered, confounded, and miserably perplexed man. God grant
he may be able to show that there is not something about his conscience
more painful than all his mental perplexity.

This speech he hastened to send home as soon as it was printed; for,
while throughout he trod on unquestionable Whig ground, he had excellent
reasons to fear the result. The following is the first letter to Mr.
Herndon after the delivery of the speech, and notifying him of the
fact:--

Washington, Jan. 19, 1848.

Dear William,--Enclosed you find a letter of Louis W. Candler. What
is wanted is, that you shall ascertain whether the claim upon the note
described has received any dividend in the Probate Court of Christian
County, where the estate of Mr. Overton Williams has been administered
on. If nothing is paid on it, withdraw the note and send it to me, so
that Candler can see the indorser of it. At all events, write me all
about it, till I can somehow get it off hands. I have already been
bored more than enough about it; not the least of which annoyance is his
cursed, unreadable, and ungodly handwriting.

I have made a speech, a copy of which I will send you by next mail.

Yours as ever,

A. Lincoln.

About the last of January, or the first of February, he began to hear
the first murmurs of alarm and dissatisfaction from his district. He was
now on the defensive, and compelled to write long and tedious letters
to pacify some of the Whigs. Of this character are two extremely
interesting epistles to Mr. Herndon:--

Washington, Feb. 1, 1848.

Dear William,--Your letter of the 19th ult. was received last night, and
for which I am much obliged. The only thing in it that I wish to talk to
you about at once is, that, because of my vote for Ashmun's amendment,
you fear that you and I disagree about the war. I regret this, not
because of any fear we shall remain disagreed after you have read this
letter, but because if you misunderstand, I fear other good friends
may also. That vote affirms, that the war was unnecessarily and
unconstitutionally commenced by the President; and I will stake my life,
that, if you had been in my place, you would have voted just as I did.
Would you have voted what you felt and knew to be a lie? I know you
would not. Would you have gone out of the House,--skulked the vote? I
expect not. If you had skulked one vote, you would have had to skulk
many more before the end of the session. Richardson's resolutions,
introduced before I made any move, or gave any vote upon the subject,
make the direct question of the justice of the war; so that no man
can be silent if he would. You are compelled to speak; and your only
alternative is to tell the _truth or tell a lie_. I cannot doubt which
you would do.

This vote has nothing to do in determining my votes on the questions of
supplies. I have always intended, and still intend, to vote supplies;
perhaps not in the precise form recommended by the President, but in a
better form for all purposes, except Locofoco party purposes. It is
in this particular you seem mistaken. The Locos are untiring in their
efforts to make the impression that all who vote supplies, or take part
in the war, do, of necessity, approve the President's conduct in the
beginning of it; but the Whigs have, from the beginning, made and kept
the distinction between the two. In the very first act nearly all the
Whigs voted against the preamble declaring that war existed by the act
of Mexico; and yet nearly all of them voted for the supplies. As to the
Whig men who have participated in the war, so far as they have spoken to
my hearing, they do not hesitate to denounce as unjust the President's
conduct in the beginning of the war. They do not suppose that such
denunciation is directed by undying hatred to them, as "The Register"
would have it believed. There are two such Whigs on this floor (Col.
Haskell and Major James). The former fought as a colonel by the side of
Col. Baker, at Cerro Gordo, and stands side by side with me in the
vote that you seem dissatisfied with. The latter, the history of whose
capture with Cassius Clay you well know, had not arrived here when that
vote was given; but, as I understand, he stands ready to give just such
a vote whenever an occasion shall present. Baker, too, who is now here,
says the truth is undoubtedly that way; and, whenever he shall speak
out, he will say so. Col. Donaphin, too, the favorite Whig of Missouri,
and who overrun all Northern Mexico, on his return home, in a public
speech at St. Louis, condemned the administration in relation to the
war, if I remember. G. T. M. Davis, who has been through almost the
whole war, declares in favor of Mr. Clay; from which I infer that he
adopts the sentiments of Mr. Clay, generally at least. On the other
hand, I have heard of but one Whig who has been to the war attempting
to justify the President's conduct. That one was Capt. Bishop; editor of
"The Charleston Courier," and a very clever fellow. I do not mean this
letter for the public, but for you. Before it reaches you, you will have
seen and read my pamphlet speech, and, perhaps, scared anew by it. After
you get over your scare, read it over again, sentence by sentence, and
tell me honestly what you think of it. I condensed all I could for fear
of being cut off by the hour rule; and, when I got through, I had spoken
but forty-five minutes. Yours forever,

A. Lincoln.

Washington, Feb. 15, 1848.

Dear William,--Your letter of the 29th January was received last night.
Being exclusively a constitutional argument, I wish to submit some
reflections upon it in the same spirit of kindness that I know actuates
you. Let me first state what I understand to be your position. It is,
that, if it shall become necessary _to repel invasion_, the President
may, without violation of the Constitution, cross the line, and _invade_
the territory of another country; and that whether such _necessity_
exists in any given case, the President is the _sole_ judge.

Before going farther, consider well whether this is, or is not, your
position. If it is, it is a position that neither the President himself,
nor any friend of his, so far as I know, has ever taken. Their only
positions are, first, that the soil was ours where the hostilities
commenced; and second, that, whether it was rightfully ours or not,
Congress had annexed it, and the President, for that reason, was bound
to defend it, both of which are as clearly proved to be false in fact
as you can prove that your house is mine. That soil was not ours; and
Congress did not annex, or attempt to annex it. But to return to your
position. Allow the President to invade a neighboring nation whenever he
shall deem it necessary to repel an invasion, and you allow him to do so
_whenever he may choose to say_ he deems it necessary for such purpose,
and you allow him to make war at pleasure. Study to see if you can fix
_any limit_ to his power in this respect, after having given him so much
as you propose. If to-day he should choose to say he thinks it necessary
to invade Canada, to prevent the British from invading us, how could
you stop him? You may say to him, "I see no probability of the British
invading us;" but he will say to you, "Be silent: I see it, if you
don't."

The provision of the Constitution giving the war-making power to
Congress was dictated, as I understand it, by the following reasons:
kings had always been involving and impoverishing their people in wars,
pretending generally, if not always, that the good of the people was the
object. This our convention understood to be the most oppressive of all
kingly oppressions; and they resolved to so frame the Constitution that
_no one man_ should hold the power of bringing this oppression upon us.
But your view destroys the whole matter, and places our President where
kings have always stood.

Write soon again.

Yours truly,

A. Lincoln.

But the Whig National Convention to nominate a candidate for the
Presidency was to meet at Philadelphia on the 1st of June, and Mr.
Lincoln was to be a member. He was not a Clay man: he wanted a candidate
that could be elected; and he was for "Old Rough," as the only available
material at hand. But let him explain himself:--

Washington, April 30, 1848.

Dear Williams,--I have not seen in the papers any evidence of a movement
to send a delegate from your circuit to the June Convention. I wish to
say that I think it all important that a delegate should be sent. Mr.
Clay's chance for an election is just no chance at all. He might get New
York; and that would have elected in 1844, but it will not now, because
he must now, at the least, lose Tennessee, which he had then, and in
addition the fifteen new votes of Florida, Texas, Iowa, and Wisconsin.
I know our good friend Browning is a great admirer of Mr. Clay, and
I therefore fear he is favoring his nomination. If he is, ask him to
discard feeling, and try if he can possibly, as a matter of judgment,
count the votes necessary to elect him.

In my judgment we can elect nobody but Gen. Taylor; and we cannot elect
him without a nomination. Therefore don't fail to send a delegate.

Your friend as ever,

A. Lincoln.

To Archibald Williams, Esq.

Washington, June 12, 1848.

Dear Williams,--On my return from Philadelphia, where I had been
attending the nomination of "Old Rough," I found your letter in a mass
of others which had accumulated in my absence. By many, and often, it
had been said they would not abide the nomination of Taylor; but, since
the deed has been done, they are fast falling in, and in my opinion we
shall have a most overwhelming, glorious triumph. One unmistakable
sign is, that all the odds and ends are with us,--Barnburners, Native
Americans, Tyler men, disappointed, office-seeking Locofocos, and the
Lord knows what. This is important, if in nothing else, in showing
which way the wind blows. Some of the sanguine men here set down all the
States as certain for Taylor but Illinois, and it is doubtful. Cannot
something be done even in Illinois? Taylor's nomination takes the Locos
on the blind side. It turns the war thunder against them. The war is now
to them the gallows of Haman, which they built for us, and on which they
are doomed to be hanged themselves.

Excuse this short letter. I have so many to write that I cannot devote
much time to any one.

Yours as ever,

A. Lincoln.

But his young partner in the law gave him a great deal of annoyance. Mr.
Herndon seems to have been troubled by patriotic scruples. He could
not understand how the war had been begun unconstitutionally and
unnecessarily by President Polk, nor how the Whigs could vote supplies
to carry on the war without indorsing the war itself. Besides all this,
he sent news of startling defections; and the weary Representative took
up his pen again and again to explain, defend, and advise:--

Washington, June 22,1848.

Dear William,--Last night I was attending a sort of caucus of the Whig
members, held in relation to the coming Presidential election. The whole
field of the nation was scanned; and all is high hope and confidence.
Illinois is expected to better her condition in this race. Under these
circumstances, judge how heart-rending it was to come to my room and
find and read your discouraging letter of the 15th. We have made no
gains, but have lost "H. R. Robinson, Turner, Campbell, and four or five
more." Tell Arney to reconsider, if he would be saved. Baker and I used
to do something, but I think you attach more importance to our absence
than is just. There is another cause: in 1840, for instance, we had two
Senators and five Representatives in Sangamon; now, we have part of one
Senator and two Representatives. With quite one-third more people than
we had then, we have only half the sort of offices which are sought by
men of the speaking sort of talent. This, I think, is the chief cause.
Now, as to the young men. You must not wait to be brought forward by the
older men. For instance, do you suppose that I should ever have got into
notice if I had waited to be hunted up and pushed forward by older men.
You young men get together and form a Rough and Ready Club, and have
regular meetings and speeches. Take in everybody that you can get.
Harrison, Grimsley, Z. A. Enos, Lee Kimball, and C. W. Matheny will do
to begin the thing; but, as you go along, gather up all the shrewd,
wild boys about town, whether just of age or a little under age,--Chris.
Logan, Reddick Ridgely, Lewis Zwizler, and hundreds such. Let every one
play the part he can play best,--some speak, some sing, and all hollow
(holler ED). Your meetings will be of evenings; the older men, and the
women, will go to hear you; so that it will not only contribute to
the election of "Old Zack," but will be an interesting pastime, and
improving to the intellectual faculties of all engaged. Don't fail to do
this.

You ask me to send you all the speeches made about "Old Zack," the war,
&c., &c. Now, this makes me a little impatient. I have regularly sent
you "The Congressional Globe" and "Appendix," and you cannot have
examined them, or you would have discovered that they contain every
speech made by every man in both Houses of Congress, on every subject,
during the session. Can I send any more? Can I send speeches that nobody
has made? Thinking it would be most natural that the newspapers would
feel interested to give at least some of the speeches to their readers,
I, at the beginning of the session, made arrangements to have one copy
of "The Globe" and "Appendix" regularly sent to each Whig paper of the
district. And yet, with the exception of my own little speech, which was
published in two only of the then five, now four, Whig papers, I do not
remember having seen a single speech, or even extract from one, in any
single one of those papers. With equal and full means on both sides, I
will venture that "The State Register" has thrown before its readers
more of Locofoco speeches in a month than all the Whig papers of the
district have done of Whig speeches during the session.

If you wish a full understanding of the war, I repeat what I believe I
said to you in a letter once before, that the whole, or nearly so, is
to be found in the speech of Dixon of Connecticut. This I sent you in
pamphlet, as well, as in "The Globe." Examine and study every sentence
of that speech thoroughly, and you will understand the whole subject.

You ask how Congress came to declare that war had existed by the act of
Mexico. Is it possible you don't understand that yet? You have at
least twenty speeches in your possession that fully explain it. I
will, however, try it once more. The news reached Washington of the
commencement of hostilities on the Rio Grande, and of the great peril of
Gen. Taylor's army. Everybody, Whigs and Democrats, was for sending them
aid, in men and money. It was necessary to pass a bill for this. The
Locos had a majority in both Houses, and they brought in a bill with a
preamble, saying, _Whereas_, War exists by the act of Mexico, therefore
we send Gen. Taylor money. The Whigs moved to strike out the preamble,
so that they could vote to send the men and money, without saying any
thing about how the war commenced; but, being in the minority, they were
voted down, and the preamble was retained. Then, on the passage of the
bill, the question came upon them, "Shall we vote for preamble and bill
both together, or against both together?" They did not want to vote
against sending help to Gen. Taylor, and therefore they voted for both
together. Is there any difficulty in understanding this? Even my little
speech shows how this was; and, if you will go to the library, you
may get "The Journal" of 1845-46, in which you can find the whole for
yourself.

We have nothing published yet with special reference to the Taylor race;
but we soon will have, and then I will send them to everybody. I made
an internal-improvement speech day before yesterday, which I shall
send home as soon as I can get it written out and printed,--and which I
suppose nobody will read.

Your friend as ever,

A. Lincoln.

Washington, July 10, 1848.

Dear William,--Your letter covering the newspaper slips was received
last night. The subject of that letter is exceedingly painful to me;
and I cannot but think there is some mistake in your impression of the
motives of the old men. I suppose I am now one of the old men; and I
declare, on my veracity, which I think is good with you, that nothing
could afford me more satisfaction than to learn that you and others of
my young friends at home were doing battle in the contest, and endearing
themselves to the people, and taking a stand far above any I have ever
been able to reach in their admiration. I cannot conceive that other old
men feel differently. Of course, I cannot demonstrate what I say; but
I was young once, and I am sure I was never ungenerously thrust back. I
hardly know what to say. The way for a young man to rise is to improve
himself every way he can, never suspecting that anybody wishes to hinder
him. Allow me to assure you that suspicion and jealousy never did help
any man in any situation. There may sometimes be ungenerous attempts to
keep a young man down; and they will succeed, too, if he allows his
mind to be diverted from its true channel, to brood over the attempted
injury. Cast about, and see if this feeling has not injured every person
you have ever known to fall into it.

Now, in what I have said, I am sure you will suspect nothing but
sincere friendship. I would save you from a fatal error. You have been a
laborious, studious young man. You are far better informed on almost all
subjects than I have ever been. You cannot fail in any laudable object,
unless you allow your mind to be improperly directed. I have some the
advantage of you in the world's experience, merely by being older; and
it is this that induces me to advise.

You still seem to be a little mistaken about "The Congressional Globe"
and "Appendix." They contain _all_ of the speeches that are published
in any way. My speech and Dayton's speech, which you say you got in
pamphlet form, are both, word for word, in the "Appendix." I repeat
again, all are there.

Your friend, as ever,

A. Lincoln.

The "internal-improvement" speech to which Mr. Lincoln alludes in one of
these letters was delivered on the 20th of June, and contained nothing
remarkable or especially characteristic. It was in the main merely the
usual Whig argument in favor of the constitutionality of Mr. Clay's
"American System."

But, after the nominations at Baltimore and Philadelphia, everybody
in either House of Congress who could compose any thing at all "on his
legs," or in the closet, felt it incumbent upon him to contribute at
least one electioneering speech to the political literature of the day.
At last, on the 27th of July, Mr. Lincoln found an opportunity to make
his. Few like it have ever been heard in either of those venerable
chambers. It is a common remark of those who know nothing of the
subject, that Mr. Lincoln was devoid of imagination; but the reader of
this speech will entertain a different opinion. It opens to us a mind
fertile in images sufficiently rare and striking, but of somewhat
questionable taste. It must have been heard in amazement by those
gentlemen of the House who had never known a Hanks, or seen a New Salem.

SPEECH ON THE PRESIDENCY AND GENERAL POLITICS.

DELIVERED IN THE HOUSE, JULY 27, 1848.

Mr. Speaker,--Our Democratic friends seem to be in great distress
because they think our candidate for the Presidency don't suit us. Most
of them cannot find out that Gen. Taylor has any principles at all;
some, however, have discovered that he has one, but that that one is
entirely wrong. This one principle is his position on the veto power.
The gentleman from Tennessee (Mr. Stanton), who has just taken his
seat, indeed, has said there is very little, if any, difference on this
question between Gen. Taylor and all the Presidents; and he seems to
think it sufficient detraction from Gen. Taylor's position on it, that
it has nothing new in it. But all others whom I have heard speak
assail it furiously. A new member from Kentucky (Mr. Clarke) of very
considerable ability, was in particular concern about it. He thought it
altogether novel and unprecedented for a President, or a Presidential
candidate, to think of approving bills whose constitutionality may not
be entirely clear to his own mind. He thinks the ark of our safety
is gone, unless Presidents shall always veto such bills as, in their
judgment, may be of doubtful constitutionality. However clear Congress
may be of their authority to pass any particular act, the gentleman from
Kentucky thinks the President must veto it if he has doubts about it.
Now, I have neither time nor inclination to argue with the gentleman
on the veto power as an original question; but I wish to show that Gen.
Taylor, and not he, agrees with the earliest statesmen on this question.
When the bill chartering the first Bank of the United States passed
Congress, its constitutionality was questioned; Mr. Madison, then in
the House of Representatives, as well as others, had opposed it on
that ground. Gen. Washington, as President, was called on to approve or
reject it. He sought and obtained, on the constitutional question, the
separate written opinions of Jefferson, Hamilton, and Edmund Randolph;
they then being respectively Secretary of State, Secretary of the
Treasury, and Attorney-General. Hamilton's opinion was for the power;
while Randolph's and Jefferson's were both against it. Mr. Jefferson,
in his letter dated Feb. 15, 1791, after giving his opinion decidedly
against the constitutionality of that bill, closed with the paragraph
which I now read:--

"It must be admitted, however, that, unless the President's mind, on
a view of every thing which is urged for and against this bill, is
tolerably clear that it is unauthorized by the Constitution; if the pro
and the con hang so even as to balance his judgment, a just respect
for the wisdom of the Legislature would naturally decide the balance in
favor of their opinion; it is chiefly for cases where they are clearly
misled by error, ambition, or interest, that the Constitution has placed
a check in the negative of the President."

Gen. Taylor's opinion, as expressed in his Allison letter, is as I now
read:--

"The power given by the veto is a high conservative power, but, in my
opinion, should never be exercised, except in cases of clear violation
of the Constitution, or manifest haste and want of consideration by
Congress."

It is here seen, that, in Mr. Jefferson's opinion, if, on the
constitutionality of any given bill, the President doubts, he is not to
veto it, as the gentleman from Kentucky would have him to do, but is
to defer to Congress, and approve it. And if we compare the opinions of
Jefferson and Taylor, as expressed in these paragraphs, we shall find
them more exactly alike than we can often find any two expressions
having any literal difference. None but interested fault-finders can
discover any substantial variation.

But gentlemen on the other side are unanimously agreed that Gen. Taylor
has no other principle. They are in utter darkness as to his opinions on
any of the questions of policy which occupy the public attention. But
is there any doubt as to what he will do on the prominent question, if
elected? Not the least. It is not possible to know what he will or would
do in every imaginable case, because many questions have passed away,
and others doubtless will arise, which none of us have yet thought
of; but on the prominent questions of currency, tariff, internal
improvements, and Wilmot Proviso, Gen. Taylor's course is at least as
well defined as is Gen. Cass's. Why, in their eagerness to get at Gen.
Taylor, several Democratic members here have desired to know whether, in
case of his election, a bankrupt-law is to be established. Can they tell
us Gen. Cass's opinion on this question? (Some member answered, He is
against it.") Ay, how do you know he is? There is nothing about it in
the platform, nor elsewhere, that I have seen. If the gentleman knows
any thing which I do not, he can show it. But to return: Gen. Taylor, in
his Allison letter, says,--

"Upon the subject of the tariff, the currency, the improvement of our
great highways, rivers, lakes, and harbors, the will of the people,
as expressed through their Representatives in Congress, ought to be
respected and carried out by the Executive."

Now, this is the whole matter: in substance, it is this: The people say
to Gen. Taylor, "If you are elected, shall we have a national bank?"
He answers, "Your will, gentlemen, not mine"--"What about the
tariff?"--"Say yourselves."--"Shall our rivers and harbors be
improved?"--"Just as you please."--"If you desire a bank, an alteration
of the tariff, internal improvements, any or all, I will not hinder you:
if you do not desire them, I will not attempt to force them on you. Send
up your members of Congress from the various districts, with opinions
according to your own, and if they are for these measures, or any of
them, I shall have nothing to oppose: if they are not for them, I shall
not, by any appliances whatever, attempt to dragoon them into their
adoption." Now, can there be any difficulty in understanding this? To
you, Democrats, it may not seem like principle; but surely you cannot
fail to perceive the position plain enough. The distinction between it
and the position of your candidate is broad and obvious, and I admit
you have a clear right to show it is wrong, if you can; but you have
no right to pretend you cannot see it at all. We see it, and to us it
appears like principle, and the best sort of principle at that,--the
principle of allowing the people to do as they please with their own
business. My friend from Indiana (Mr. C. B. Smith) has aptly asked, "Are
you willing to trust the people?" Some of you answered substantially,
"We are willing to trust the people; but the President is as much the
representative of the people as Congress." In a certain sense, and to a
certain extent, he is the representative of the people. He is elected by
them as well as Congress is. But can he, in the nature of things, know
the wants of the people as well as three hundred other men coming from
all the various localities of the nation? If so, where is the propriety
of having a Congress? That the Constitution gives the President a
negative on legislation, all know; but that this negative should be so
combined with platforms and other appliances as to enable him, and, in
fact, almost compel him, to take the whole of legislation into his own
hands, is what we object to, is what Gen. Taylor objects to, and is what
constitutes the broad distinction between you and us. To thus transfer
legislation is clearly to take it from those who understand with
minuteness the interests of the people, and give it to one who does not
and cannot so well understand it. I understand your idea,--that if a
Presidential candidate avow his opinion upon a given question, or rather
upon all questions, and the people, with full knowledge of this, elect
him, they thereby distinctly approve all those opinions. This, though
plausible, is a most pernicious deception. By means of it, measures are
adopted or rejected contrary to the wishes of the whole of one party,
and often nearly half of the other. The process is this: Three, four, or
half a dozen questions are prominent at a given time; the party selects
its candidate, and he takes his position on each of these questions.
On all but one his positions have already been indorsed at former
elections, and his party fully committed to them; but that one is new,
and a large portion of them are against it. But what are they to do? The
whole are strung together, and they must take all or reject all. They
cannot take what they like, and leave the rest. What they are already
committed to being the majority, they shut their eyes and gulp the
whole. Next election, still another is introduced in the same way. If
we run our eyes along the line of the past, we shall see that almost, if
not quite, all the articles of the present Democratic creed have been at
first forced upon the party in this very way. And just now, and just so,
opposition to internal improvements is to be established if Gen. Cass
shall be elected. Almost half the Democrats here are for improvements,
but they will vote for Cass; and, if he succeeds, their votes will have
aided in closing the doors against improvements. Now, this is a process
which we think is wrong. We prefer a candidate, who, like Gen. Taylor,
will allow the people to have their own way, regardless of his private
opinion; and I should think the internal-improvement Democrats, at
least, ought to prefer such a candidate. He would force nothing on them
which they don't want; and he would allow them to have improvements
which their own candidate, if elected, will not.

Mr. Speaker, I have said Gen. Taylor's position is as well defined as is
that of Gen. Cass. In saying this, I admit I do not certainly know what
he would do on the Wilmot Proviso. I am a Northern man, or, rather, a
Western Free State man, with a constituency I believe to be, and with
personal feelings I know to be, against the extension of slavery.
As such, and with what information I have, I hope and _believe_ Gen.
Taylor, if elected, would not veto the proviso; but I do not _know_ it.
Yet, if I knew he would, I still would vote for him. I should do so,
because, in my judgment, his election alone can defeat Gen. Cass; and
because, _should_ slavery thereby go into the territory we now have,
just so much will certainly happen by the election of Cass, and, in
addition, a course of policy leading to new wars, new acquisitions of
territory, and still farther extensions of slavery. One of the two is to
be President; which is preferable?

But there is as much doubt of Cass on improvements as there is of Taylor
on the proviso. I have no doubt myself of Gen. Cass on this question,
but I know the Democrats differ among themselves as to his position. My
internal-improvement colleague (Mr. Wentworth) stated on this floor the
other day, that he was satisfied Cass was for improvements, because he
had voted for all the bills that he (Mr. W.) had. So far, so good.
But Mr. Polk vetoed some of these very bills; the Baltimore Convention
passed a set of resolutions, among other things, approving these vetoes;
and Cass declares, in his letter accepting the nomination, that he has
carefully read these resolutions, and that he adheres to them as firmly
as he approves them cordially. In other words, Gen. Cass voted for the
bills, and thinks the President did right to veto them; and his friends
here are amiable enough to consider him as being on one side or the
other, just as one or the other may correspond with their own respective
inclinations. My colleague admits that the platform declares against the
constitutionality of a general system of improvement, and that Gen. Cass
indorses the platform; but he still thinks Gen. Cass is in favor of some
sort of improvements. Well, what are they? As he is against _general_
objects, those he is for must be particular and local. Now, this
is taking the subject precisely by the wrong end.

_Particularity_--expending the money of the _whole_ people for an
object which will benefit only a _portion_ of them--is the greatest real
objection to improvements, and has been so held by Gen. Jackson, Mr.
Polk, and all others, I believe, till now. But now, behold, the objects
most general, nearest free from this objection, are to be rejected,
while those most liable to it are to be embraced. To return: I cannot
help believing that Gen. Cass, when he wrote his letter of acceptance,
well understood he was to be claimed by the advocates of both sides
of this question, and that he then closed the door against all further
expressions of opinion, purposely to retain the benefits of that double
position. His subsequent equivocation at Cleveland, to my mind, proves
such to have been the case.

One word more, and I shall have done with this branch of the subject.
You Democrats and your candidate, in the main, are in favor of laying
down in advance a platform,--a set of party positions, as a unit; and
then of enforcing the people, by every sort of appliance, to ratify
them, however unpalatable some of them may be. We and our candidate are
in favor of making Presidential elections and the legislation of the
country distinct matters; so that the people can elect whom they please,
and afterward legislate just as they please, without any hinderance,
save only so much as may guard against infractions of the Constitution,
undue haste, and want of consideration. The difference between us is
clear as noonday. That we are right, we cannot doubt. We hold the true
republican position. In leaving the people's business in their hands, we
cannot be wrong. We are willing, and even anxious, to go to the people
on this issue.

But I suppose I cannot reasonably hope to convince you that we have any
principles. The most I can expect is, to assure you that we think we
have, and are quite contented with them. The other day, one of the
gentlemen from Georgia (Mr. Iverson), an eloquent man, and a man of
learning, so far as I can judge, not being learned myself, came down
upon us astonishingly. He spoke in what "The Baltimore American" calls
the "scathing and withering style." At the end of his second severe
flash I was struck blind, and found myself feeling with my fingers for
an assurance of my continued physical existence. A little of the bone
was left, and I gradually revived. He eulogized Mr. Clay in high
and beautiful terms, and then declared that we had deserted all our
principles, and had turned Henry Clay out, like an old horse, to root.
This is terribly severe. It cannot be answered by argument; at least, I
cannot so answer it. I merely wish to ask the gentleman if the Whigs
are the only party he can think of, who sometimes turn old horses out
to root? Is not a certain Martin Van Buren an old horse which your own
party have turned out to root? and is he not rooting a little to your
discomfort about now? But, in not nominating Mr. Clay, we deserted our
principles, you say. Ah! in what? Tell us, ye men of principles, what
principle we violated? We say you did violate principle in discarding
Van Buren, and we can tell you how. You violated the primary,
the cardinal, the one great living principle of all Democratic
representative government,--the principle that the representative is
bound to carry out the known will of his constituents. A large majority
of the Baltimore Convention of 1844 were, by their constituents,
instructed to procure Van Buren's nomination if they could.
In violation, in utter, glaring contempt of this, you rejected
him,--rejected him, as the gentleman from New York (Mr. Birdsall), the
other day expressly admitted, for _availability_,--that same "general
availability" which you charge upon us, and daily chew over here, as
something exceedingly odious and unprincipled. But the gentleman from
Georgia (Mr. Iverson) gave us a second speech yesterday, all well
considered and put down in writing, in which Van Buren was scathed
and withered a "few" for his present position and movements. I cannot
remember the gentleman's precise language, but I do remember he put Van
Buren down, down, till he got him where he was finally to "stink" and
"rot."

Mr. Speaker, it is no business or inclination of mine to defend Martin
Van Buren. In the war of extermination now waging between him and his
old admirers, I say, Devil take the hindmost--and the foremost. But
there is no mistaking the origin of the breach; and, if the curse of
"stinking" and "rotting" is to fall on the first and greatest violators
of principle in the matter, I disinterestedly suggest, that the
gentleman from Georgia and his present co-workers are bound to take it
upon themselves.

While I have Gen. Cass in hand, I wish to say a word about his political
principles. As a specimen, I take the record of his progress on the
Wilmot Proviso. In "The Washington Union" of March 2, 1847, there is a
report of the speech of Gen. Cass, made the day before in the Senate,
on the Wilmot Proviso, during the delivery of which, Mr. Miller of New
Jersey is reported to have interrupted him as follows, to wit:--

"Mr. Miller expressed his great surprise at the change in the sentiments
of the Senator from Michigan, who had been regarded as the great
champion of freedom in the North-west, of which he was a distinguished
ornament. Last year the Senator from Michigan was understood to be
decidedly in favor of the Wilmot Proviso; and, as no reason had been
stated for the change, he (Mr. Miller) could not refrain from the
expression of his extreme surprise."

To this, Gen. Cass is reported to have replied as follows, to wit:--

"Mr. Cass said, that the course of the Senator from New Jersey was
most extraordinary. Last year he (Mr. Cass) should have voted for the
proposition had it come up. But circumstances had altogether changed.
The honorable Senator then read several passages from the remarks as
given above which he had committed to writing, in order to refute such a
charge as that of the Senator from New Jersey."

In the "remarks above committed to writing," is one numbered 4, as
follows, to wit:--

"4th. Legislation would now be wholly imperative, because no territory
hereafter to be acquired can be governed without an act of Congress
providing for its government. And such an act, on its passage, would
open the whole subject, and leave the Congress called on to pass it free
to exercise its own discretion, entirely uncontrolled by any declaration
found in the statute-book."

In "Niles's Register," vol. lxxiii., p. 293, there is a letter of Gen.
Cas? to A. O. P. Nicholson of Nashville, Tenn., dated Dec. 24, 1847,
from which the following are correct extracts:--

"The Wilmot Proviso has been before the country some time. It has been
repeatedly discussed in Congress, and by the public press. I am strongly
impressed with the opinion that a great change has been going on in the
public mind upon this subject,--in my own as well as others; and that
doubts are resolving themselves into convictions, that the principle it
involves should be kept out of the national Legislature, and left to the
people of the Confederacy in their respective local governments.

"Briefly, then, I am opposed to the exercise of any jurisdiction by
Congress over this matter; and I am in favor of leaving the people of
any territory which may be hereafter acquired, the right to regulate it
themselves, under the general principles of the Constitution. Because,

"1. I do not see in the Constitution any grant of the requisite power
to Congress; and I am not disposed to extend a doubtful precedent
beyond its necessity,--the establishment of territorial governments when
needed,--leaving to the inhabitants all the rights compatible with the
relations they bear to the Confederation."

These extracts show, that, in 1846, Gen. Cass was for the Proviso _at
once_; that, in March, 1847, he was still for it, _but not just then_;
and that in December, 1847, he was _against_ it altogether. This is a
true index to the whole man. When the question was raised in 1846, he
was in a blustering hurry to take ground for it. He sought to be in
advance, and to avoid the uninteresting position of a mere follower; but
soon he began to see glimpses of the great Democratic ox-gad waving in
his face, and to hear indistinctly a voice saying, "Back!" "Back, sir!"
"Back a little!" He shakes his head, and bats his eyes, and blunders
back to his position of March, 1847; but still the gad waves, and the
voice grows more distinct, and sharper still,--"Back, sir!" "Back, I
say!" "Further back!" and back he goes to the position of December,
1847; at which the gad is still, and the voice soothingly says, "So!"
"Stand still at that."

Have no fears, gentlemen, of your candidate: he exactly suits you, and
we congratulate you upon it. However much you may be distressed about
our candidate, you have all cause to be contented and happy with your
own. If elected, he may not maintain all, or even any, of his positions
previously taken; but he will be sure to do whatever the party exigency,
for the time being, may require; and that is precisely what you want. He
and Van Buren are the same "manner of men;" and, like Van Buren, he will
never desert you till you first desert him.

[After referring at some length to extra "charges" of Gen. Cass upon the
Treasury, Mr. Lincoln continued:---]

But I have introduced Gen. Cass's accounts here chiefly to show the
wonderful physical capacities of the man. They show that he not only did
the labor of several men at the same _time_, but that he often did it,
at several _places_ many hundred miles apart, _at the same time_. And
at eating, too, his capacities are shown to be quite as wonderful. From
October, 1821, to May, 1822, he ate ten rations a day in Michigan, ten
rations a day here in Washington, and nearly five dollars' worth a day
besides, partly on the road between the two places. And then there is an
important discovery in his example,--the art of being paid for what one
eats, instead of having to pay for it. Hereafter, if any nice young man
shall owe a bill which he cannot pay in any other way, he can just board
it out. Mr. Speaker, we have all heard of the animal standing in doubt
between two stacks of hay, and starving to death: the like of that would
never happen to Gen. Cass. Place the stacks a thousand miles apart, he
would stand stock-still, midway between them, and eat them both at once;
and the green grass along the line would be apt to suffer some, too, at
the same time. By all means make him President, gentlemen. He will feed
you bounteously--if--if--there is any left after he shall have helped
himself.

But as Gen. Taylor is, par excellence, the hero of the Mexican War, and
as you Democrats say we Whigs have always opposed the war, you think it
must be very awkward and embarrassing for us to go for Gen. Taylor.
The declaration that we have always opposed the war is true or false
accordingly as one may understand the term "opposing the war." If to
say "the war was unnecessarily and unconstitutionally commenced by the
President," by opposing the war, then the Whigs have very generally
opposed it. Whenever they have spoken at all, they have said this; and
they have said it on what has appeared good reason to them: the marching
an army into the midst of a peaceful Mexican settlement, frightening
the inhabitants away, leaving their growing crops and other property
to destruction, to you may appear a perfectly amiable, peaceful,
unprovoking procedure; but it does not appear so to us. So to call such
an act, to us appears no other than a naked, impudent absurdity, and we
speak of it accordingly. But if when the war had begun, and had become
the cause of the country, the giving of our money and our blood, in
common with yours, was support of the war, then it is not true that we
have always opposed the war. With few individual exceptions, you have
constantly had our votes here for all the necessary supplies. And, more
than this, you have had the services, the blood, and the lives of our
political brethren in every trial, and on every field. The beardless
boy and the mature man, the humble and the distinguished,--you have had
them. Through suffering and death, by disease and in battle, they have
endured and fought and fallen with you. Clay and Webster each gave a
son, never to be returned. From the State of my own residence, besides
other worthy but less known Whig names, we sent Marshall, Morrison,
Baker, and Hardin: they all fought, and one fell, and in the fall of
that one we lost our best Whig man. Nor were the Whigs few in number,
or laggard in the day of danger. In that fearful, bloody, breathless
struggle at Buena Vista, where each man's hard task was to beat back
five foes or die himself, of the five high officers who perished, four
were Whigs.

In speaking of this, I mean no odious comparison between the
lion-hearted Whigs and Democrats who fought there. On other occasions,
and among the lower officers and privates on that occasion, I doubt not
the proportion was different. I wish to do justice to all. I think of
all those brave men as Americans, in whose proud fame, as an American,
I, too, have a share. Many of them, Whigs and Democrats, are my
constituents and personal friends; and I thank them,--more than thank
them,--one and all, for the high, imperishable honor they have conferred
on our common State.

But the distinction between the _cause of the President in beginning
the war,_ and the _cause of the country after it was begun_, is a
distinction which you cannot perceive. To you, the President and the
country seem to be all one. You are interested to see no distinction
between them; and I venture to suggest that possibly your interest
blinds you a little. We see the distinction, as we think, clearly
enough; and our friends, who have fought in the war, have no difficulty
in seeing it also. What those who have fallen would say, were they alive
and here, of course we can never know; but with those who have returned
there is no difficulty. Col. Haskell and Major Gaines, members here,
both fought in the war; and one of them underwent extraordinary perils
and hardships; still they, like all other Whigs here, vote on the record
that the war was unnecessarily and unconstitutionally commenced by the
President. And even Gen. Taylor himself, the noblest Roman of them all,
has declared that, as a citizen, and particularly as a soldier, it is
sufficient for him to know that his country is at war with a foreign
nation, to do all in his power to bring it to a speedy and honorable
termination, by the most vigorous and energetic operations, without
inquiring about its justice, or any thing else connected with it.

Mr. Speaker, let our Democratic friends be comforted with the assurance
that we are content with our position, content with our company, and
content with our candidate; and that although they, in their generous
sympathy, think we ought to be miserable, we really are not, and that
they may dismiss the great anxiety they have on our account.1

     1 The following passage has generally been omitted from this
     speech, as published in the "Lives of Lincoln." The reason
     for the omission is quite obvious.

"But the gentleman from Georgia further says, we have deserted all our
principles, and taken shelter under Gen. Taylor's military coat-tail;
and he seems to think this is exceedingly degrading. Well, as his faith
is, so be it unto him. But can he remember no other military coat-tail,
under which a certain other party have been sheltering for near a
quarter of a century? Has he no acquaintance with the ample military
coat-tail of Gen. Jackson? Does he not know that his own party have run
the last five Presidential races under that coat-tail? and that they are
now running the sixth under the same cover? Yes, sir, that coat-tail was
used, not only for Gen, Jackson himself, but has been clung to with
the grip of death by every Democratic candidate since. You have never
ventured, and dare not now venture, from under it. Your campaign papers
have constantly been 'Old Hickories,' with rude likenesses of the old
general upon them; hickory poles and hickory brooms your never-ending
emblems. Mr. Polk himself was 'Young Hickory.' 'Little Hickory,' or
something so; and even now your campaign paper here is proclaiming that
Cass and Butler are of the 'Hickory stripe.' No, sir, you dare not give
it up. Like a horde of hungry ticks, you have stuck to the tail of the
Hermitage lion to the end of his life; and you are still sticking to it,
and drawing a loathsome sustenance from it, after he is dead. A fellow
once advertised that he had made a discovery by which he could make a
new man out of an old one, and have enough of the stuff left to make a
little yellow dog. Just such a discovery has Gen. Jackson's popularity
been to you. You not only twice made President of him out of it, but
you have enough of the stuff left to make Presidents of several
comparatively small men since; and it is your chief reliance now to make
still another.

"Mr. Speaker, old horses and military coat-tails, or tails of any sort,
are not figures of speech such as I would be the first to introduce into
discussions here; but, as the gentleman from Georgia has thought fit
to introduce them, he and you are welcome to all you have made, or can
make, by them. If you have any more old horses, trot them out; any more
tails, just cock them, and come at us.

"I repeat, I would not introduce this mode of discussion here; but
I wish gentlemen on the other side to understand, that the use of
degrading figures is a game at which they may find themselves unable to
take all the winnings. ["We give it up."] Ay, you give it up, and well
you may; but for a very different reason from that which you would have
us understand. The point--the power to hurt--of all figures, consists
in the _truthfulness_ of their application; and, understanding this, you
may well give it up. They are weapons which hit you, but miss us.

"But, in my hurry, I was very near closing on this subject of military
tails before I was done with it. There is one entire article of the sort
I have not discussed yet; I mean the military tail you Democrats are now
engaged in dovetailing on to the great Michigander. Yes, sir, all his
biographers (and they are legion) have him in hand, tying him to a
military tail, like so many mischievous boys tying a dog to a bladder of
beans. True, the material is very limited, but they are at it might and
main. He invaded Canada without resistance, and he _out_vaded it without
pursuit. As he did both under orders, I suppose there was, to him,
neither credit nor discredit; but they are made to constitute a large
part of the tail. He was not at Hull's surrender, but he was close by;
he was volunteer aid to Gen. Harrison on the day of the battle of the
Thames; and, as you said in 1840 Harrison was picking whortleberries
two miles off while the battle was fought, I suppose it is a just
conclusion, with you, to say Cass was aiding Harrison to pick
whortleberries. This is about all, except the mooted question of the
broken sword. Some authors say he broke it; some say he threw it away;
and some others, who ought to know, say nothing about it. Perhaps it
would be a fair historical compromise to say, if he did not break it, he
did not do any thing else with it.

"By the way, Mr. Speaker, did you know I am a military hero? Yes sir:
in the days of the Black-Hawk War, I fought, bled, and came away.
Speaking of Gen. Cass's career reminds me of my own. I was not at
Stillman's defeat, but I was about as near it as Cass was to Hull's
surrender; and, like him, I saw the place very soon afterwards. It is
quite certain I did not break my sword, for I had none to break; but I
bent my musket pretty badly on one occasion. If Cass broke his sword,
the idea is, he broke it in desperation: I bent the musket by accident.
If Gen. Cass went in advance of me picking whortleberries,

I guess I surpassed him in charges upon 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, "Mr. Speaker,
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 Gen. Cass, by
attempting to write me into a military hero."

Congress adjourned on the 14th of August; but Mr. Lincoln went up to
New England, and made various campaign speeches before he returned home.
They were not preserved, and were probably of little importance.

Soon after his return to Washington, to take his seat at the second
session of the Thirtieth Congress, he received a letter from his father,
which astonished and perhaps amused him. His reply intimates grave
doubts concerning the veracity of his correspondent.

Washington, Dec. 24, 1848. My dear Father,--Your letter of the 7th
was received night before last. I very cheerfully send you the twenty
dollars, which sum you say is necessary to save your land from sale. It
is singular that you should have forgotten a judgment against you; and
it is more singular that the plaintiff should have let you forget it
so long; particularly as I suppose you always had property enough to
satisfy a judgment of that amount. Before you pay it, it would be well
to be sure you have not paid, or at least that you cannot prove you have
paid it.

Give my love to mother and all the connections.

Affectionately your son,

A. Lincoln.

The second session was a quiet one. Mr. Lincoln did nothing to attract
public attention in any marked degree. He attended diligently and
unobtrusively to the ordinary duties of his office, and voted generally
with the Whig majority. One Mr. Gott, however, of New York, offered a
resolution looking to the abolition of the slave-trade in the District
of Columbia, and Mr. Lincoln was one of only three or four Northern
Whigs who voted to lay the resolution on the table. At another time,
however, Mr. Lincoln proposed a substitute for the Gott resolution,
providing for gradual and compensated emancipation, with the consent
of the people of the District, to be ascertained at a general election.
This measure he evidently abandoned, and it died a natural death among
the rubbish of "unfinished business." His record on the Wilmot Proviso
has been thoroughly exposed, both by himself and Mr. Douglas, and in the
Presidential campaign by his friends and foes. He said himself, that he
had voted for it "about forty-two times." It is not likely that he had
counted the votes when he made this statement, but spoke according to
the best of his "knowledge and belief."

The following letters are printed, not because they illustrate the
author's character more than a thousand others would, but because they
exhibit one of the many perplexities of Congressional life.

Springfield, April 25, 1849.

Dear Thompson,--A tirade is still kept up against me here for
recommending T. R. King. This morning it is openly avowed that my
supposed influence at Washington shall be broken down generally, and
King's prospects defeated in particular. Now, what I have done in this
matter, I have done at the request of you and some other friends in
Tazewell; and I therefore ask you to either admit it is wrong, or come
forward and sustain me. If the truth will permit, I propose that you
sustain me in the following manner: copy the enclosed scrap in your own
handwriting, and get everybody (not three or four, but three or four
hundred) to sign it, and then send it to me. Also, have six, eight, or
ten of our best known Whig friends there to write me individual letters,
stating the truth in this matter as they understand it. Don't neglect
or delay in the matter. I understand information of an indictment having
been found against him about three years ago for gaming, or keeping a
gaming-house, has been sent to the Department. I shall try to take care
of it at the Department till your action can be had and forwarded on.

Yours as ever,

A. Lincoln.

Washington, June 5, 1849.

Dear William,--Your two letters were received last night. I have a great
many letters to write, and so cannot write very long ones. There must be
some mistake about Walter Davis saying I promised him the Post-office. I
did not so promise him. I did tell him, that, if the distribution of the
offices should fall into my hands, he should have something; and, if
I shall be convinced he has said any more than this, I shall be
disappointed.

I said this much to him, because, as I understand, he is of good
character, is one of the young men, is of the mechanics, and always
faithful, and never troublesome, a Whig and is poor, with the support
of a widow-mother thrown almost exclusively on him by the death of his
brother. If these are wrong reasons, then I have been wrong; but I
have certainly not been selfish in it, because, in my greatest need of
friends, he was against me and for Baker.

Yours as ever,

A. Lincoln.

P. S.--Let the above be confidential.




CHAPTER XIII

LIKE most other public men in America, Mr. Lincoln made his bread by
the practice of his profession, and the better part of his fame by
the achievements of the politician. He was a lawyer of some note,
and, compared with the crowds who annually take upon themselves the
responsible office of advocate and attorney, he might very justly have
been called a good one; for he regarded his office as a trust, and
selected and tried his cases, not with a view to personal gain, but to
the administration of justice between suitors. And here, midway in
his political career, it is well enough to pause, and take a leisurely
survey of him in his other character of country lawyer, from the time
he entered the bar at Springfield until he was translated from it to the
Presidential chair. It is unnecessary to remind the reader (for by this
time it must be obvious enough) that the aim of the writer is merely to
present facts and contemporaneous opinions, with as little comment as
possible.

In the courts and at the bar-meetings immediately succeeding his death,
his professional brethren poured out in volumes their testimony to his
worth and abilities as a lawyer. But, in estimating the value of this
testimony, it is fair to consider the state of the public mind at the
time it was given,--the recent triumph of the Federal arms under his
direction; the late overwhelming indorsement of his administration; the
unparalleled devotion of the people to his person as exhibited at the
polls; the fresh and bitter memories of the hideous tragedy that took
him off; the furious and deadly passions it inspired in the one party,
and the awe, indignation, and terror it inspired in the other. It was
no time for nice and critical examinations, either of his mental or his
moral character; and it might have been attended with personal danger to
attempt them. For days and nights together it was considered treason to
be seen in public with a smile on the face. Men who spoke evil of the
fallen chief, or even ventured a doubt concerning the ineffable purity
and saintliness of his life, were pursued by mobs, were beaten to death
with paving-stones, or strung up by the neck to lampposts. If there was
any rivalry, it was as to who should be foremost and fiercest among his
avengers, who should canonize him in the most solemn words, who should
compare him to the most sacred character in all history, sacred and
profane. He was prophet, priest, and king; he was Washington; he was
Moses; and there were not wanting even those who likened him to the God
and Redeemer of all the earth. These latter thought they discovered in
his lowly origin, his kindly nature, his benevolent precepts, and
the homely anecdotes in which he taught the people, strong points of
resemblance between him and the divine Son of Mary. Even at this day,
men are not wanting in prominent positions in life, who knew Mr. Lincoln
well, and who do not hesitate to make such a comparison.

[Illustration: Judge David Davis 349]

For many years, Judge David Davis was the near friend and the intimate
associate of Mr. Lincoln. He presided in the court where Lincoln was
oftenest heard: year in and year out they travelled together from
town to town, from county to county, riding frequently in the same
conveyance, and lodging in the same room. Although a judge on the bench,
Mr. Davis watched the political course of his friend with affectionate
solicitude, and more than once interposed most effectually to advance
his fortunes. When Mr. Lincoln ascended to the Presidency, it was well
understood that no man enjoyed more confidential relations with him than
Judge Davis. At the first opportunity, he commissioned Judge Davis an
Associate Justice of that august tribunal, the Supreme Court of the
United States; and, upon his death, Judge Davis administered upon his
estate at the request of his family. Add to this the fact, that, among
American jurists, Judge Davis's fame is, if not peerless, at least not
excelled by that of any man whose reputation rests upon his labors as
they appear in the books of Reports, and we may very fairly consider
him a competent judge of the professional character of Mr. Lincoln. At
Indianapolis, Judge Davis spoke of him as follows:--

"I enjoyed for over twenty years the personal friendship of Mr. Lincoln.
We were admitted to the bar about the same time, and travelled for many
years what is known in Illinois as the Eighth Judicial Circuit. In 1848,
when I first went on the bench, the circuit embraced fourteen counties,
and Mr. Lincoln went with the court to every county. Railroads were
not then in use, and our mode of travel was either on horseback or in
buggies.

"This simple life he loved, preferring it to the practice of the law
in a city, where, although the remuneration would be greater, the
opportunity would be less for mixing with the great body of the people,
who loved him, and whom he loved. Mr. Lincoln was transferred from the
bar of that circuit to the office of President of the United States,
having been without official position since he left Congress in 1849. 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 always able to chain 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. The ability which some eminent lawyers possess, of explaining away
the bad points of a cause by ingenious sophistry, was denied him. In
order to bring into full activity his great powers, it was necessary
that he should be convinced of the right and justice of the matter which
he advocated. When so convinced, whether the cause was great or small,
he was usually successful. He read law-books but little, except when
the cause in hand made it necessary; yet he was usually self-reliant,
depending on his own resources, and rarely consulting his brother
lawyers, either on the management of his case or on the legal questions
involved.

"Mr. Lincoln was the fairest and most accommodating of practitioners,
granting all favors which he could do consistently with his duty to
his client, and rarely availing himself of an unwary oversight of his
adversary.

"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. He was the most
simple and unostentatious of men in his habits, having few wants, and
those easily supplied.

"To his honor be it said, that he never took from a client, even when
the cause was gained, more than he thought the service was worth and the
client could reasonably afford to pay. 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 as 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.

"Mr. Lincoln was loved by his brethren of the bar; and no body of men
will grieve more at his death, or pay more sincere tributes to his
memory. His presence on the circuit was watched for with interest, and
never failed to produce joy and hilarity. When casually absent, the
spirits of both bar and people were depressed. He was not fond of
controversy, and would compromise a lawsuit whenever practicable."

More or other evidence than this may, perhaps, be superfluous. Such an
eulogium, from such a source, is more than sufficient to determine
the place Mr. Lincoln is entitled to occupy in the history, or, more
properly speaking, the traditions, of the Western bar. If Sir Matthew
Hale had spoken thus of any lawyer of his day, he would have insured
to the subject of his praise a place in the estimation of men only less
conspicuous and honorable than that of the great judge himself. At the
risk, however, of unnecessary accumulation, we venture to record an
extract from Judge Drummond's address at Chicago:--

"With a probity of character known to all, with an intuitive insight
into the human heart, with a clearness of statement which was in itself
an argument, with uncommon power and felicity of illustration,--often,
it is true, of a plain and homely kind,--and with that sincerity and
earnestness of manner which carried conviction, he was, perhaps, one
of the most successful jury lawyers we ever had in the State. He always
tried a case fairly and honestly. He never intentionally misrepresented
the evidence of a witness, nor the argument of an opponent. He met both
squarely, and, if he could not explain the one or answer the other,
substantially admitted it. He never misstated the law, according to
his own intelligent view of it. Such was the transparent candor and
integrity of his nature, that he could not well, or strongly, argue a
side or a cause that he thought wrong. Of course, he felt it his duty to
say what could be said, and to leave the decision to others; but there
could be seen in such cases the inward struggles of his own mind. In
trying a case, he might occasionally dwell too long upon, or give too
much importance to, an inconsiderable point; but this was the exception,
and generally he went straight to the citadel of the cause or question,
and struck home there, knowing, if that were won, the outworks would
necessarily fall. He could hardly be called very learned in his
profession, and yet he rarely tried a cause without fully understanding
the law applicable to it; and I have no hesitation in saying he was one
of the ablest lawyers I have ever known. If he was forcible before
a jury, he was equally so with the court. He detected, with unerring
sagacity, the weak points of an opponent's argument, and pressed his own
views with overwhelming strength. His efforts were quite unequal; and it
might happen that he would not, on some occasions, strike one as at all
remarkable. But let him be thoroughly roused,--let him feel that he was
right, and that some principle was involved in his cause,--and he would
come out with an earnestness of conviction, a power of argument, and a
wealth of illustration, that I have never seen surpassed."

Mr. Lincoln's partnership with John T. Stuart began on the 27th of
April, 1837, and continued until the 14th of April, 1841, when it was
dissolved, in consequence of Stuart's election to Congress. In that same
year (1841), Mr. Lincoln united in practice with Stephen T. Logan, late
presiding judge of the district, and they remained together until 1845.

Soon afterwards he formed a copartnership with William H. Herndon, his
friend, familiar, and, we may almost say, biographer,--a connection
which terminated only when the senior partner took an affectionate leave
of the old circuit, the old office, home, friends, and all familiar
things, to return no more until he came a blackened corpse. "He once
told me of you," says Mr. Whitney in one of his letters to Mr. Herndon,
"that he had taken you in as partner, supposing that you had a system,
and would keep things in order, but that he found that you had no more
system than he had, but that you were a fine lawyer; so that he was
doubly disappointed." 1

     1 The following letter exhibits the character of his early
     practice, and gives us a glimpse into his social and
     political life;--

     Springfield, Dec. 23,1839.

     Dear--,--Dr. Henry will write you all the political news. I
     write this about some little matters of business. You
     recollect you told me you had drawn the Chicago Masack
     money, and sent it to the claimants. A d----d hawk-billed
     Yankee is here besetting me at every turn I take, saying
     that Robert Kenzie never received the eighty dollars to
     which he was entitled.

     Can you tell any thing about the matter? Again, old Mr.
     Wright, who lives up South Fork somewhere, is teasing me
     continually about some deeds, which he says he left with
     you, but which I can find nothing of. Can you tell where
     they are? The Legislature is in session, and has suffered
     the bank to forfeit its charter without benefit of clergy.
     There seems but little disposition to resuscitate it.

     Whenever a letter comes from you to Mrs.------, I carry it
     to her, and then I see Betty:

     she is a tolerable nice fellow now. Maybe I will write again
     when I get more time.

     Your friend as ever,

     A. Lincoln.

     P. S.--The Democratic giant is here, but he is not now worth
     talking about.

     A. L.

As already stated by Judge Davis, Mr. Lincoln was not "a great reader of
law-books;" but what he knew he knew well, and within those limits
was self-reliant and even intrepid. He was what is sometimes called "a
case-lawyer,"--a man who reasoned almost entirely to the court and jury
from analagous causes previously decided and reported in the books, and
not from the elementary principles of the law, or the great
underlying reasons for its existence. In consultation he was cautious,
conscientious, and painstaking, and was seldom prepared to advise,
except after careful and tedious examination of the authorities. He did
not consider himself bound to take every case that was brought to him,
nor to press all the points in favor of a client who in the main was
right and entitled to recover. He is known to have been many times on
the verge of quarrelling with old and valued friends, because he could
not see the justice of their claims, and, therefore, could not be
induced to act as their counsel. Henry McHenry, one of his New-Salem
associates, brought him a case involving the title to a piece of land.
McHenry had placed a family in a cabin which Mr. Lincoln believed to be
situated on the other side of the adversary's line. He told McHenry that
he must move the family out. "McHenry said he should not do it. 'Well,'
said Mr. Lincoln, 'if you do not, I shall not attend to the suit.'
McHenry said he did not care a d--n whether he did or not; that he
(Lincoln) was not all the lawyer there was in town. Lincoln studied
a while, and asked about the location of the cabin,... and then said,
'McHenry, you are right: I will attend to the suit,' and did attend to
it, and gained it; and that was all the harsh words that passed."

"A citizen of Springfield," says Mr. Herndon, "who visited our office
on business about a year before Mr. Lincoln's nomination, relates the
following:--

"'Mr. Lincoln was seated at his table, listening very attentively to a
man who was talking earnestly in a low tone. After the would-be client
had stated the facts of his case, Mr. Lincoln replied, "Yes, there is
no reasonable doubt but 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 rightfully belongs, it appears to me, as much to the
woman and her children as it does to you. You must remember that some
things that are legally right are not morally right. I shall not take
your case, but will give you a little advice, for which I will charge
you nothing. You seem to be a sprightly, energetic man. I would advise
you to try your hand at making six hundred dollars in some other way."'"

In the summer of 1841, Mr. Lincoln was engaged in a curious case. The
circumstances impressed him very deeply with the insufficiency and
danger of "circumstantial evidence;" so much so, that he not only wrote
the following account of it to Speed, but another more extended one,
which was printed in a newspaper published at Quincy, 111. His mind was
full of it: he could think of nothing else. It is apparent that in his
letter to Speed he made no pause to choose his words: there is nothing
constrained, and nothing studied or deliberate about it; but its
simplicity, perspicuity, and artless grace make it a model of English
composition. What Goldsmith once said of Locke may better be said of
this letter: "He never says more nor less than he ought, and never makes
use of a word that he could have changed for a better."

Springfield, June 19,1841.

Dear Speed,--We have had the highest state of excitement here for a
week past that our community has ever witnessed; and although the public
feeling is somewhat allayed, the curious affair which aroused it is very
far from being over yet, cleared of mystery. It would take a quire of
paper to give you any thing like a full account of it, and I therefore
only propose a brief outline. The chief personages in the drama are
Archibald Fisher, supposed to be murdered, and Archibald Trailor, Henry
Trailor, and William Trailor, supposed to have murdered him. The three
Trailors are brothers: the first, Arch., as you know, lives in town;
the second, Henry, in Clary's Grove; and the third, William, in Warren
County; and Fisher, the supposed murdered, being without a family, had
made his home with William. On Saturday evening, being the 29th of May,
Fisher and William came to Henry's in a one-horse dearborn, and there
staid over Sunday; and on Monday all three came to Springfield (Henry on
horseback), and joined Archibald at Myers's, the Dutch carpenter.
That evening at supper Fisher was missing, and so next morning some
ineffectual search was made for him; and on Tuesday, at 1 o'clock, p.m.,
William and Henry started home without him. In a day or two Henry and
one or two of his Clary-Grove neighbors came back for him again, and
advertised his disappearance in the papers. The knowledge of the matter
thus far had not been general, and here it dropped entirely, till about
the 10th inst., when Keys received a letter from the postmaster in
Warren County, that William had arrived at home, and was telling a very
mysterious and improbable story about the disappearance of Fisher, which
induced the community there to suppose he had been disposed of unfairly.
Keys made this letter public, which immediately set the whole town and
adjoining county agog. And so it has continued until yesterday. The mass
of the people commenced a systematic search for the dead body, while
Wickersbam was despatched to arrest Henry Trailor at the Grove, and Jim
Maxcy to Warren to arrest William. On Monday last, Henry was brought in,
and showed an evident inclination to insinuate that he knew Fisher to be
dead, and that Arch, and William had killed him. He said he guessed the
body could be found in Spring Creek, between the Beardstown Road and
Hickox's mill. Away the people swept like a herd of buffalo, and cut
down Hickox's mill-dam _nolens volens_, to draw the water out of the
pond, and then went up and down, and down and up the creek, fishing and
raking, and raking and ducking, and diving for two days, and, after all,
no dead body found. In the mean time a sort of a scuffling-ground had
been found in the brush in the angle, or point, where the road leading
into the woods past the brewery, and the one leading in past the brick
grove meet. From the scuffle-ground was the sign of something about
the size of a man having been dragged to the edge of the thicket, where
joined the track of some small wheeled carriage drawn by one horse,
as shown by the road-tracks. The carriage-track led off toward Spring
Creek. Near this drag-trail Dr. Merryman found two hairs, which, after a
long scientific examination, he pronounced to be triangular human hair,
which term, he says, includes within it the whiskers, the hair growing
under the arms, and on other parts of the body; and he judged that these
two were of the whiskers, because the ends were cut, showing that
they had flourished in the neighborhood of the razor's operations. On
Thursday last Jim Maxcy brought in William Trailor from Warren. On the
same day Arch, was arrested, and put in jail. Yesterday (Friday) William
was put upon his examining trial before May and Lavely. Archibald and
Henry were both present. Lamborn prosecuted, and Logan, Baker, and your
humble servant defended. A great many witnesses were introduced and
examined, but I shall only mention those whose testimony seemed most
important. The first of these was Capt. Ransdell. He swore, that, when
William and Henry left Springfield for home on Tuesday before mentioned,
they did not take the direct route,--which, you know, leads by the
butcher-shop,--but that they followed the street north until they got
opposite, or nearly opposite, May's new house, after which he could not
see them from where he stood; and it was afterwards proved, that, in
about an hour after they started, they came into the street by the
butcher's shop from towards the brick-yard. Dr. Merryman and others
swore to what is stated about the scuffle-ground, drag-trail, whiskers,
and carriage-tracks. Henry was then introduced by the prosecution.
He swore, that, when they started for home, they went out north, as
Ransdell stated, and turned down west by the brick-yard into the woods,
and there met Archibald; that they proceeded a small distance farther,
when he was placed as a sentinel to watch for and announce the approach
of any one that might happen that way; that William and Arch, took the
dearborn out of the road a small distance to the edge of the thicket,
where they stopped, and he saw them lift the body of a man into it; that
they then moved off with the carriage in the direction of Hickox's mill,
and he loitered about for something like an hour, when William returned
with the carriage, but without Arch., and said they had put him in a
safe place; that they went somehow, he did not know exactly how, into
the road close to the brewery, and proceeded on to Clary's Grove. He
also stated that some time during the day William told him that he and
Arch, had killed Fisher the evening before; that the way they did it was
by him (William) knocking him down with a club, and Arch, then choking
him to death. An old man from Warren, called Dr. Gilmore, was then
introduced on the part of the defence. He swore that he had known Fisher
for several years; that Fisher had resided at his house a long time at
each of two different spells,--once while he built a barn for him, and
once while he was doctored for some chronic disease; that two or three
years ago Fisher had a serious hurt in his head by the bursting of
a gun, since which he had been subject to continued bad health and
occasional aberration of mind. He also stated that on last Tuesday,
being the same day that Maxcy arrested William Trailor, he (the doctor)
was from home in the early part of the day, and on his return, about 11
o'clock, found Fisher at his house in bed, and apparently very unwell;
that he asked him how he had come from Springfield; that Fisher said he
had come by Peoria, and also told of several other places he had been
at, more in the direction of Peoria, which showed that he at the time
of speaking did not know where he had been wandering about in a state
of derangement. He further stated, that in about two hours he received
a note from one of Trail-or's friends, advising him of his arrest, and
requesting him to go on to Springfield as a witness, to testify as to
the state of Fisher's health in former times; that he immediately set
off, calling up two of his neighbors as company, and, riding all evening
and all night, overtook Maxcy and William at Lewiston in Fulton. County;
That Maxcy refusing to discharge Trailor upon his statement, his two
neighbors returned, and he came on to Springfield. Some question being
made as to whether the doctor's story was not a fabrication, several
acquaintances of his (among whom was the same postmaster who wrote to
Keys, as before mentioned) were introduced as sort of compurgators, who
swore that they knew the doctor to be of good character for truth
and veracity, and generally of good character in every way. Here the
testimony ended, and the Trailors were discharged, Arch, and William
expressing, both in word and manner, their entire confidence that Fisher
would be found alive at the doctor's by Galloway, Mallory, and Myers,
who a day before had been despatched for that purpose; while Henry still
protested that no power on earth could ever show Fisher alive. Thus
stands this curious affair. When the doctor's story was first made
public, it was amusing to scan and contemplate the countenances, and
hear the remarks, of those who had been actively engaged in the search
for the dead body: some looked quizzical, some melancholy, and some
furiously angry. Porter, who had been very active, swore he always knew
the man was not dead, and that he had not stirred an inch to hunt for
him: Langford, who had taken the lead in cutting down Hickox's mill-dam,
and wanted to hang Hickox for objecting, looked most awfully woebegone;
he seemed the "_wictim of hunrequited affection_," as represented in the
comic almanacs we used to laugh over. And Hart, the little drayman
that hauled Molly home once, said it was too damned bad to have so much
trouble, and no hanging, after all.

I commenced this letter on yesterday, since which I received yours of
the 13th. I stick to my promise to come to Louisville. Nothing new here,
except what I have written. I have not seen------since my last trip; and
I am going out there as soon as I mail this letter.

Yours forever,

Lincoln.

On the 3d of December, 1839, Mr. Lincoln was admitted to practice in
the Circuit Court of the United States; and on the same day the names
of Stephen A. Douglas, S. H. Treat, Schuyler Strong, and two other
gentlemen, were placed on the same roll. The "Little Giant" is always in
sight!

The first speech he delivered in the Supreme Court of the State was
one the like of which will never be heard again, and must have led the
judges to doubt the sanity of the new attorney. We give it in the form
in which it seems to be authenticated by Judge Treat:--

"A case being called for hearing in the Court, Mr. Lincoln stated
that he appeared for the appellant, and was ready to proceed with the
argument. He then said, 'This is the first case I have ever had in this
court, and I have therefore examined it with great care. As the Court
will perceive, by looking at the abstract of, the record, the only
question in the case is one of authority. I have not been able to find
any authority sustaining _my_ side of the case, but I _have found_
several cases directly in point on the _other_ side. I will now give
_these_ cases, and then submit the case.'"

The testimony of all the lawyers, his contemporaries and rivals, is in
the same direction. "But Mr. Lincoln's love of justice and fair play,"
says Mr. Gillespie, "was his predominating trait. I have often listened
to him when I thought he would certainly state his case out of Court.
It was not in his nature to assume, or to attempt to bolster up, a false
position. He would abandon his case first. He did so in the case of
Buckmaster for the use of Denham vs. Beenes and Arthur, in our Supreme
Court, in which I happened to be opposed to him. Another gentleman, less
fastidious, took Mr. Lincoln's place, and gained the case."

In the Patterson trial--a case of murder which attained some
celebrity--in Champaign County, Ficklin and Lamon prosecuted, and
Lincoln and Swett defended. After hearing the testimony, Mr. Lincoln
felt himself morally paralyzed, and said, "Swett, the man is guilty:
you defend him; I can't." They got a fee of five hundred or a thousand
dollars; of which Mr. Lincoln declined to take a cent, on the ground
that it justly belonged to Swett, whose ardor, courage, and eloquence
had saved the guilty man from justice.

It was probably his deep sense of natural justice, his irresistible
propensity to get at the equities of the matter in hand, that made him
so utterly impatient of all arbitrary or technical rules. Of these he
knew very little,--less than an average student of six months: "Hence,"
says Judge Davis, "a child could make use of the simple and technical
rules, the means and mode of getting at justice, better than Lincoln
could." "In this respect," says Mr. Herndon, "I really think he was very
deficient."

Sangamon County was originally in the First Judicial Circuit; but under
the Constitution of 1848, and sundry changes in the Judiciary Acts, it
became the Eighth Circuit. It was in 1848 that Judge Davis came on the
bench for the first time. The circuit was a very large one, containing
fourteen counties, and comprising the central portion of the State.
Lincoln travelled all over it--first with Judge Treat and then with
Judge Davis--twice every year, and was thus absent from Springfield
and home nearly, if not quite, six months out of every twelve. "In my
opinion," says Judge Davis, "Lincoln was as happy as _he_ could be,
on this circuit, and happy in no other place. This was his place of
enjoyment. As a general rule, of a Saturday evening, when all the
lawyers would go home [the judge means those who were close enough to
get there and back by the time their cases were called] and see their
families and friends, Lincoln would refuse to go." "It was on this
circuit," we are told by an authority equally high, "that he shone as a
_nisi prius_ lawyer; it was on this circuit Lincoln thought, spoke, and
acted; it was on this circuit that the people met, greeted, and cheered
on the man; it was on this circuit that he cracked his jokes, told his
stories, made his money, and was happy as nowhere in the world beside."
When, in 1857, Sangamon County was cut off from the Eighth Circuit by
the act creating the Eighteenth, "Mr. Lincoln would still continue with
Judge Davis, first finishing his business in Sangamon."

On his return from one of these long journeys, he found that Mrs.
Lincoln had taken advantage of his absence, and, with the connivance and
assistance of his neighbor, Gourly, had placed a second story and a new
roof on his house. Approaching it for the first time after this rather
startling alteration, and pretending not to recognize it, he called to
a man on the street, "Stranger, can you tell me where Lincoln lives? He
used to live here."

When Mr. Lincoln first began to "ride the circuit," he was too poor to
own horseflesh or vehicle, and was compelled to borrow from his friends.
But in due time he became the proprietor of a horse, which he fed and
groomed himself, and to which he was very much attached. On this animal
he would set out from home, to be gone for weeks together, with no
baggage but a pair of saddle-bags, containing a change of linen, and
an old cotton umbrella, to shelter him from sun or rain. When he got a
little more of this world's goods, he set up a one-horse buggy,--a
very sorry and shabby-looking affair, which he generally used when the
weather promised to be bad. But the lawyers were always glad to see him,
and the landlords hailed his coming with pleasure. Yet he was one of
those peculiar, gentle, uncomplaining men, whom those servants of
the public who keep "hotels" would generally put off with the most
indifferent accommodations. It was a very significant remark of a lawyer
thoroughly acquainted with his habits and disposition, that "Lincoln
was never seated next the landlord at a crowded table, and never got a
chicken liver or the best cut from the roast." If rooms were scarce, and
one, two, three, or four gentlemen were required to lodge together, in
order to accommodate some surly man who "stood upon his rights," Lincoln
was sure to be one of the unfortunates. Yet he loved the life, and never
went home without reluctance.

From Mr. S. O. Parks of Lincoln, himself a most reputable lawyer, we
have two or three anecdotes, which we give in his own language:--

"I have often said, that, for a man who was for the quarter of a century
both a lawyer and a politician, he was the most honest man I ever knew.
He was not only morally honest, but intellectually so. He could not
reason falsely: if he attempted it, he failed. In politics he never
would try to mislead. At the bar, when he thought he was wrong, he was
the weakest lawyer I ever saw. You know this better than I do. But I
will give you an example or two which occurred in this county, and which
you may not remember.

"A man was indicted for larceny: Lincoln, Young, and myself defended
him. Lincoln was satisfied by the evidence that he was guilty, and ought
to be convicted. He called Young and myself aside, and said, 'If you can
say any thing for the man, do it. I can't: if I attempt, the jury will
see that I think he is guilty, and convict him, of course.' The case was
submitted by us to the jury without a word. The jury failed to agree;
and before the next term the man died. Lincoln's honesty undoubtedly
saved him from the penitentiary.

"In a closely-contested civil suit, Lincoln had proved an account for
his client, who was, though he did not know it at the time, a very
slippery fellow. The opposing attorney then proved a receipt clearly
covering the entire cause of action. By the time he was through, Lincoln
was missing. The court sent for him to the hotel. 'Tell the judge,' said
he, 'that I can't come: _my hands are dirty; and I came over to clean
them!_'

"In the case of Harris and Jones vs. Buckles, Harris wanted Lincoln to
assist you and myself. His answer was characteristic: 'Tell Harris it's
no use to _waste money on me_ in that case: he'll get beat.'"

Mr. Lincoln was prone to adventures in which _pigs_ were the other
party. The reader has already enjoyed one from the pen of Miss Owen; and
here is another, from an incorrigible humorist, a lawyer, named J. H.
Wickizer:--

"In 1855 Mr. Lincoln and myself were travelling by buggy from Woodford
County Court to Bloomington, 111.; and, in passing through a little
grove, we suddenly heard the terrific squealing of a little pig near by
us. Quick as thought Mr. Lincoln leaped out of the buggy, seized a club,
pounced upon the old sow, and beat her lustily: she was in the act of
eating one of her young ones. Thus he saved the pig, and then remarked,
'By jing! the unnatural old brute shall not devour her own progeny!'
This, I think, was his first proclamation of freedom."

But Mr. Wickizer gives us another story, which most happily illustrates
the readiness of Mr. Lincoln's wit:--

"In 1858, in the court at Bloomington, Mr. Lincoln was engaged in a case
of no great importance; but the attorney on the other side, Mr. S------,
a young lawyer of fine abilities (now a judge of the Supreme Court of
the State), was always very sensitive about being beaten, and in this
case manifested unusual zeal and interest. The case lasted until late
at night, when it was finally submitted to the jury. Mr. S------spent a
sleepless night in anxiety, and early next morning learned, to his great
chagrin, that he had lost the case. Mr. Lincoln met him at the Court
House, and asked him what had become of his case. With lugubrious
countenance and melancholy tone, Mr. S-said, 'It's gone to hell.'--'Oh,
well!' replied Lincoln, 'then you'll see it again!'"

Although the humble condition and disreputable character of some of his
relations and connections were the subject of constant annoyance and
most painful reflections, he never tried to shake them off, and
never abandoned them when they needed his assistance. A son of his
foster-brother, John Johnston, was arrested in------County for stealing
a watch.

Mr. Lincoln went to the same town to address a mass meeting while the
poor boy was in jail. He waited until the dusk of the evening, and then,
in company with Mr. H. C. Whitney, visited the prison. "Lincoln knew he
was guilty," says Mr. Whitney, "and was very deeply affected,--more
than I ever saw him. At the next term of the court, upon the State's
Attorney's consent, Lincoln and I went to the prosecution witnesses, and
got them to come into open court, and state that they did not care to
presecute." The boy was released; and that evening, as the lawyers were
leaving the town in their buggies, Mr. Lincoln was observed to get down
from his, and walk back a short distance to a poor, distressed-looking
young man who stood by the roadside. It was young Johnston. Mr. Lincoln
engaged for a few moments apparently in earnest and nervous conversation
with him, then giving him some money, and returning to his buggy, drove
on.

A thousand tales could be told of Mr. Lincoln's amusing tricks and
eccentricities on these quiet rides from county to county, in company
with judges and lawyers, and of his quaint sayings and curious doings at
the courts in these Western villages. But, much against our will, we are
compelled to make selections, and present a few only, which rest upon
the most undoubted authority.

It is well known that he used to carry with him, on what Mr. Stuart
calls "the tramp around the circuit," ordinary school-books,--from
Euclid down to an English grammar,--and study them as he rode along, or
at intervals of leisure in the towns where he stopped. He supplemented
these with a copy of Shakspeare, got much of it by rote, and recited
long passages from it to any chance companion by the way.

He was intensely fond of cutting wood with an axe; and he was often
seen to jump from his buggy, seize an axe out of the hands of a roadside
chopper, take his place on the log in the most approved fashion, and,
with his tremendous long strokes, cut it in two before the man could
recover from his surprise.

It was this free life that charmed him, and reconciled him to existence.
Here he forgot the past, with all its cruelties and mortifications:
here were no domestic afflictions to vex his weary spirit and to try his
magnanimous heart.

"After he had returned from Congress," says Judge Davis, "and had lost
his practice, Goodrich of Chicago proposed to him to open a law-office
in Chicago, and go into partnership with him. Goodrich had an extensive
practice there. Lincoln refused to accept, and gave as a reason, that he
tended to consumption; that, if he went to Chicago, he would have to
sit down and study hard, and it would kill him; that he would rather go
around the circuit--the Eighth Judicial Circuit--than to sit down and
die in Chicago."

In the summer of 1857, at a camp-meeting in Mason County, one Metzgar
was most brutally murdered. The affray took place about half a mile
from the place of worship, near some wagons loaded with liquors and
provisions. Two men, James H. Norris and William D. Armstrong, were
indicted for the crime. Norris was tried in Mason County, convicted of
manslaughter, and sentenced to the penitentiary for the term of eight
years. But Armstrong, the popular feeling being very high against him in
Mason, "took a change of venue to Cass County," and was there tried
(at Beardstown) in the spring of 1858. Hitherto Armstrong had had
the services of two able counsellors, but now their efforts were
supplemented by those of a most determined and zealous volunteer.

Armstrong was the son of Jack and Hannah Armstrong of New Salem, the
child whom Mr. Lincoln had rocked in the cradle while Mrs. Armstrong
attended to other household duties. His life was now in imminent peril:
he seemed clearly guilty; and, if he was to be saved, it must be by the
interposition of some power which could deface that fatal record in the
Norris trial, refute the senses of witnesses, and make a jury forget
themselves and their oaths. Old Hannah had one friend whom she devoutly
believed could accomplish this. She wrote to Mr. Lincoln, and he replied
that he would defend the boy. (She says she has lost his letter.)
Afterwards she visited him at Springfield, and prepared him for the
event as well as she could, with an understanding weakened by a long
strain of severe and almost hopeless reflection.

When the trial came on, Mr. Lincoln appeared for the defence. His
colleague, Mr. Walker, had possessed him of the record in the Norris
case; and, upon close and anxious examination, he was satisfied that the
witnesses could, by a well-sustained and judicious cross-examination, be
made to contradict each other in some important particulars. Mr. Walker
"handled" the victims of this friendly design, while Mr. Lincoln sat
by and suggested questions. Nevertheless, to the unskilled mind, the
testimony seemed to be absolutely conclusive against the prisoner, and
every word of it fell like a new sentence of death. Norris had beaten
the murdered man with a club from behind, while Armstrong had pounded
him in the face with a slung-shot deliberately prepared for the
occasion; and, according to the medical men, either would have been
fatal without the other. But the witness whose testimony bore hardest
upon Armstrong swore that the crime was committed about eleven o'clock
at night, and that he saw the blows struck by the light of a moon nearly
full, and standing in the heavens about where the sun would stand at
ten o'clock in the morning. It is easy to pervert and even to destroy
evidence like this; and here Mr. Lincoln saw an opportunity which nobody
had dreamed of on the Norris trial. He handed to an officer of the court
an almanac, and told him to give it back to him when he should call for
it in presence of the jury. It was an almanac of the year previous to
the murder.

"Mr. Lincoln," says Mr. Walker, "made the closing argument for the
defence. At first he spoke slowly, and carefully reviewed the whole
testimony,--picked it all to pieces, and showed that the man had not
received his wounds at the place or time named by the witnesses, _but
afterwards, and at the hands of some one else_" "The evidence bore
heavily upon his client," says Mr. Shaw, one of the counsel for the
prosecution. "There were many witnesses, and each one seemed to add one
more cord that seemed to bind him down, until Mr. Lincoln was something
in the situation of Gulliver after his first sleep in Lilliput. But,
when he came to talk to the jury (that was always his forte), he
resembled Gulliver again. He skilfully untied here and there a knot,
and loosened here and there a peg, until, fairly getting warmed up,
he raised himself in his full power, and shook the arguments of his
opponents from him as if they were cobwebs." In due time he called for
the almanac, and easily proved by it, that, at the time the main witness
declared the moon was shining in great splendor, there was, in fact, no
moon at all, but black darkness over the whole scene. In the "roar
of laughter" and undisguised astonishment succeeding this apparent
demonstration, court, jury, and counsel forgot to examine that seemingly
conclusive almanac, and let it pass without a question concerning its
genuineness.1

In conclusion, Mr. Lincoln drew a touching picture of Jack Armstrong
(whose gentle spirit alas! had gone to that place of coronation for
the meek), and Hannah,--this sweet-faced old lady with the silver
locks,--welcoming to their humble cabin a strange and penniless boy,
to whom Jack, with that Christian benevolence which distinguished him
through life, became as a father, and the guileless Hannah even more
than a mother. The boy, he said, stood before them pleading for the life
of his benefactors' son,--the staff of the widow's declining years.

     1 Mr. E. J. Loomis, assistant in charge of the "Nautical
     Almanac" office, Washington, D.C., under date of Aug.
     1,1871, says,--

     "Referring to the 'Nautical Almanac' for 1857, I find, that,
     between the hours of ten and eleven o'clock on the night of
     the 29th of August, 1857, the moon was within one hour of
     setting.

     "The computed time of its setting on that night is 11 h. 57
     m.,--three minutes before midnight.

     "The moon was only two days past its first quarter, and
     could hardly be mistaken for 'nearly full.'"

     "In the case of the People vs. Armstrong, I was assisting
     prosecuting counsel. The prevailing belief at that time, and
     I may also say at the present, in Cass County, was as
     follows:--

     "Mr. Lincoln, previous to the trial, handed an almanac of
     the year previous to the murder to an officer of the court,
     stating that he might call for one during the trial, and, if
     he did, to send him that one. An important witness for the
     People had fixed the time of the murder to be in the night,
     near a camp-meeting; 'that the moon was about in the same
     place that the sun would be at ten o'clock in the morning,
     and was nearly full,'therefore he could see plainly, &c. At
     the proper time, Mr. Lincoln called to the officer for an
     almanac; and the one prepared for the occasion was shown by
     Mr. 'Lincoln, he reading from it at the time referred to by
     the witness 'The moon had already set;' that in the roar of
     laughter the jury and opposing counsel forgot to look at the
     date. Mr. Carter, a lawyer of this city (Beardstown), who
     was present at, but not engaged in, the Armstrong case, says
     he is satisfied that the almanac was of the year previous,
     and thinks he examined it at the time. This was the general
     impression in the court-room. I have called on the sheriff
     who officiated at that time (James A. Dick), who says that
     he saw a 'Goudy's Almanac' lying upon Mr. Lincoln's table
     during the trial, and that Mr. Lincoln took it out of his
     own pocket. Mr. Dick does not know the date of it. I have
     seen several of the petit jurymen who sat upon the case, who
     only recollect that the almanac floored the witness. But one
     of the jurymen, the foreman, Mr. Milton Logan, says that it
     was the one for the year of the murder, and no trick about
     it; that he is willing to make an affidavit that he examined
     it as to date, and that it was an almanac of the year of the
     murder. My own opinion is, that when an almanac was called
     for by Mr. Lincoln, two were brought, one of the year of the
     murder, and one of the year previous; that Mr. Lincoln was
     entirely innocent of any deception in the matter. I the more
     think this, from the fact that Armstrong was not cleared by
     any want of testimony against him, but by the irresistible
     appeal of Mr. Lincoln in his favor."--Henry Shaw.

"The last fifteen minutes of his speech," his colleague declares, "was
as eloquent as I ever heard; and such the power and earnestness with
which he spoke to that jury, that all sat as if entranced, and, when
he was through, found relief in a gush of tears." "He took the jury by
storm," says one of the prosecutors. "There were tears in Mr. Lincoln's
eyes while he spoke, but they were genuine. His sympathies were fully
enlisted in favor of the young man, and his terrible sincerity could
not help but arouse the same passion in the jury. I have said a hundred
times that it was Lincoln's speech that saved that criminal from the
gallows." In the language of Hannah, who sat by enchanted, "he told the
stories about our first acquaintance,--what I did for him, and how I did
it;" and she thinks it "was truly eloquent."

"As to the trial," continues Hannah, "Lincoln said to me, 'Hannah, your
son will be cleared before sundown.' He and the other lawyers addressed
the jury, and closed the case. I went down at Thompson's pasture: Stator
came to me, and told me soon that my son was cleared and a free man.
I went up to the Court House: the jury shook hands with me, so did the
Court, so did Lincoln. We were all affected, and tears, streamed down
Lincoln's eyes. He then remarked to me, 'Hannah, what did I tell you? I
pray to God that William may be a good boy hereafter; that this lesson
may prove in the end a good lesson to him and to all.'... After the
trial was over, Lincoln came down to where I was in Beardstown. I asked
him what he charged me; told him I was poor. He said, 'Why, Hannah, I
sha'n't charge you a cent,--never. Any thing I can do for you I will do
for you willing and freely without charges.' He wrote to me about some
land which some men were trying to get from me, and said, 'Hannah, they
can't get your land. Let them try it in the Circuit Court, and then you
appeal it; bring it to Supreme Court, and I and Herndon will attend to
it for nothing.'"

This boy William enlisted in the Union army. But in 1863 Hannah
concluded she "wanted" him. She does not say that William was laboring
under any disability, or that he had any legal right to his discharge.
She merely "wanted" him, and wrote Mr. Lincoln to that effect. He
replied promptly by telegraph:--

September, 1863.

Mrs. Hannah Armstrong,--I have just ordered the discharge of your boy
William, as you say, now at Louisville, Ky.

A. Lincoln.

For many years Mr. Lincoln was the attorney of the Illinois Central
Railway Company; and, having rendered in some recent causes most
important and laborious services, he presented a bill in 1857 for five
thousand dollars. He pressed for his money, and was referred to some
under-official who was charged with that class of business. Mr. Lincoln
would probably have modified his bill, which seemed exorbitant as
charges went among country lawyers, but the company treated him with
such rude insolence, that he contented himself with a formal demand,
and then immediately instituted suit on the claim. The case was tried at
Bloomington before Judge Davis; and, upon affidavits of N. B. Judd, O.
H.

Browning, S. T. Logan, and Archy Williams, respecting the value of the
services, was decided in favor of the plaintiff, and judgment given for
five thousand dollars. This was much more money than Mr. Lincoln had
ever had at one time.

In the summer of 1859 Mr. Lincoln went to Cincinnati to argue the
celebrated McCormick reaping-machine case. Mr. Edwin M. Stanton, whom he
never saw before, was one of his colleagues, and the leading counsel
in the case; and although the other gentlemen engaged received him with
proper respect, Mr. Stanton treated him with such marked and habitual
discourtesy, that he was compelled to withdraw from the case. When he
reached home he said that he had "never been so brutally treated as by
that man Stanton;" and the facts justified the statement.




CHAPTER XIV

WE have seen already, from one of his letters to Mr. Herndon, that Mr.
Lincoln was personally quite willing to be a candidate for Congress the
second time. But his "honor" forbade: he had given pledges, and made
private arrangements with other gentlemen, to prevent "the district
from going to the enemy." Judge Logan was nominated in his place; and,
although personally one of the most popular men in Illinois, he was
sadly beaten, in consequence of the record which the Whig party had made
"against the war." It was well as it was; for, if Mr. Lincoln had been
the candidate, he would have been still more disastrously defeated,
since it was mainly the votes he had given in Congress which Judge Logan
found it so difficult to explain and impossible to defend.

[Illustration: Stephen T. Logan 371]

Mr. Lincoln was an applicant, and a very urgent one, for the office of
Commissioner of the General Land-Office in the new Whig administration.
He moved his friends to urge him in the newspapers, and wrote to some
of his late associates in Congress (among them Mr. Schenck of Ohio),
soliciting their support. But it was all of no avail; Mr. Justin
Butterfield (also an Illinoisian) beat him in the race to Washington,
and got the appointment. It is said by one of Mr. Lincoln's numerous
biographers, that he often laughed over his failure to secure this great
office, pretending to think it beneath his merits; but we can find no
evidence of the fact alleged, and have no reason to believe it.

Mr. Fillmore subsequently offered him the governorship of Oregon. The
news reached him whilst away at court at Tremont or Bloomington. Mr.
Stuart and others "coaxed him to take it;" the former insisting that
Oregon would soon become a State, and he one of its senators. Mr.
Lincoln saw it all, and said he would accept "if his wife would
consent." But his wife "refused to do so;" and time has shown that she
was right, as she usually was when it came to a question of practical
politics.

From the time of his retirement from Congress to 1854, when the repeal
of the Missouri Compromise and the Kansas-Nebraska Bill broke the hollow
truce of 1856, which Mr. Clay and his compeers fondly regarded as a
peace, Mr. Lincoln's life was one of comparative political inactivity.
He did not believe that the sectional agitations could be permanently
stilled by the devices which then seemed effectual to the foremost
statesmen of either party and of both sections. But he was not disposed
to be forward in the renewal of them. He probably hoped against
conviction that time would allay the animosities which endangered at
once the Union and the principles of free government, which had thus far
preserved a precarious existence among the North American States.

Coming home to Springfield from the Tremont court in 1850 in company
with Mr. Stuart, he said, "The time will come when we must all be
Democrats or Abolitionists. When that time comes, my mind is made up.
The 'slavery question' can't be compromised."--"So is my mind made up,"
replied his equally firm companion; and at that moment neither doubted
on which side he would find the other when the great struggle took
place.

The Whig party everywhere, in Congress and in their conventions, local
and national, accepted the compromise of 1850 under the leadership of
Mr. Clay and Mr. Webster. Mr. Lincoln did the same; for, from the hour
that party lines were distinctly and closely drawn in his State, he
was an unswerving party man. But although he said nothing against those
measures, and much in favor of them, it is clear that he accepted the
result with reluctance. He spoke out his disapproval of the Fugitive
Slave Law as it was passed, believing and declaring wherever he went,
that a <DW64> man apprehended as a slave should have the privilege of a
trial by jury, instead of the summary processes provided by the law.

"Mr. Lincoln and I were going to Petersburg in 1850, I think," says Mr.
Herndon. "The political world was dead: the compromises of 1850 seemed
to settle the <DW64>'s fate. Things were stagnant; and all hope for
progress in the line of freedom seemed to be crushed out. Lincoln was
speculating with me about the deadness of things, and the despair which
arose out of it, and deeply regretting that his human strength and
power were limited by his nature to rouse and stir up the world. He said
gloomily, despairingly, sadly, 'How hard, oh! how hard it is to die and
leave one's country no better than if one had never lived for it! The
world is dead to hope, deaf to its own death-struggle, made known by a
universal cry, What is to be done? Is any thing to be done? Who can
do any thing? and how is it to be done? Did you ever think of these
things?'"

In 1850 Mr. Lincoln again declined to be a candidate for Congress; and a
newspaper called "The Tazewell Mirror" persisting in naming him for
the place, he published a letter, refusing most emphatically to be
considered a candidate. The concluding sentence alleged that there were
many men among the Whigs of the district who would be as likely as he to
bring "the district right side up."

Until the death of his excellent step-mother, Sarah Bush Lincoln, Mr.
Lincoln never considered himself free for a moment from the obligation
to look after and care for her family. She had made herself his mother;
and he regarded her and her children as near relatives,--much nearer
than any of the Hankses.

The limit of Thomas Lincoln's life was rapidly approaching. Mrs.
Chapman, his step-daughter, wrote Mr. Lincoln to that effect; and so did
John Johnston. He began to fear that the straitened circumstances of the
household might make them think twice before they sent for a doctor, or
procured other comforts for the poor old man, which he needed, perhaps,
more than drugs. He was too busy to visit the dying man, but sent him
a kind message, and directed the family to get whatever was wanted upon
his credit.

Springfield, Jan. 12,1851.

Dear Brother,--On the day before yesterday I received a letter from
Harriet, written at Greenup. She says she has just returned from your
house, and that father is very low, and will hardly recover. She also
says that you have written me two letters, and that, although you do not
expect me to come now, you wonder that I do not write. I received both
your letters; and, although I have not answered them, it is not because
I have forgotten them, or not been interested about them, but because
it appeared to me I could write nothing which could do any good. You
already know I desire that neither father nor mother shall be in want of
any comfort, either in health or sickness, while they live; and I feel
sure you have not failed to use my name, if necessary, to procure a
doctor or any thing else for father in his present sickness. My business
is such that I could hardly leave home now, if it were not, as it is,
that my own wife is sick a-bed. (It is a case of baby sickness, and, I
suppose, is not dangerous.) I sincerely hope 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 loved ones
gone before, and where the rest of us, through the help of God, hope ere
long to join them.

Write me again when you receive this.

Affectionately,

A. Lincoln.

Before and after the death of Thomas Lincoln, John Johnston and Mr.
Lincoln had a somewhat spirited correspondence regarding John's present
necessities and future plans. John was idle, thriftless, penniless, and
as much disposed to rove as poor old Tom had been in his earliest and
worst days. This lack of character and enterprise on John's part added
seriously to Mr. Lincoln's anxieties concerning his step-mother, and
greatly embarrassed his attempts to provide for her. At length he
wrote John the following energetic exhortation, coupled with a most
magnanimous pecuniary offer. It is the letter promised in a previous
chapter, and makes John an intimate acquaintance of the reader:--

Dear Johnston,--Your request for eighty dollars, I do not think it
best to comply with now. At the various times when I have helped you a
little, you have said to me, "We can get along very well now;" but in a
very short time I find you in the same difficulty again. Now, this can
only happen by some defect in your conduct. What that defect is, I
think I know. You are not _lazy_, and still you are an _idler_. I doubt
whether, since I saw you, you have done a good whole day's work in any
one day. You do not very much dislike to work, and still you do not work
much, merely because it does not seem to you that you could get much for
it. This habit of uselessly wasting time is the whole difficulty; and it
is vastly important to you, and still more so to your children, that you
should break the habit. It is more important to them, because they have
longer to live, and can keep out of an idle habit before they are in it
easier than they can get out after they are in.

You are now in need of some money; and what I propose is, that you shall
go to work, "tooth and nail," for somebody who will give you money for
it. Let father and your boys take charge of things at home, prepare for
a crop, and make the crop, and you go to work for the best money-wages,
or in discharge of any debt you owe, that you can get; and, to secure
you a fair reward for your labor, I now promise you, that, for every
dollar you will, between this and the first of next May, get for your
own labor, either in money or as your own indebtedness, I will then give
you one other dollar. By this, if you hire yourself at ten dollars a
month, from me you will get ten more, making twenty dollars a month for
your work. In this I do not mean you shall go off to St. Louis, or the
lead-mines, or the gold-mines in California; but I mean for you to go at
it for the best wages you can get close to home, in Cole's County. Now,
if you will do this, you will be soon 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 in as ever. You say you would almost give your place in heaven
for $70 or $80. Then you value your place in heaven very cheap; for I am
sure you can, with the offer I make, get the seventy or eighty dollars
for four or five months' work. You say, if I will furnish you the money,
you will deed me the land, and, if you don't pay the money back, you
will deliver possession. Nonsense! If you can't now live with the land,
how will you then live without it? You have always been kind to me,
and I do not mean to be unkind to you. On the contrary, if you will but
follow my advice, you will find it worth more than eighty times eighty
dollars to you.

Affectionately your brother,

A. Lincoln

Again he wrote:--

Shelbyville, Nov. 4, 1851.

Dear Brother,--When I came into Charleston day before yesterday, I
learned that you are anxious to sell the land where you live, and move
to Missouri. I have been thinking of this ever since, and cannot but
think such a notion is utterly foolish. 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 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 and drink and wear out, and no foot of land will be bought.
Now, I feel it is my duty to have no hand in such a piece of foolery.
I feel that it is so even on your own account, and particularly on
_mother's_ account. The eastern forty acres I intend to keep for mother
while she lives: if you _will not cultivate it_, it will rent for enough
to support her; at least, it will rent for something. Her dower in the
other two forties she can let you have, and no thanks to me. Now, do not
misunderstand this letter: I do not write it in any unkindness. I write
it in order, if possible, to get you to _face_ the truth, which truth
is, you are destitute because you have idled away all your time. Your
thousand pretences for not getting along better are all nonsense: they
deceive nobody but yourself. _Go to work_ is the only cure for your
case.

A word to mother. Chapman tells me he wants you to go and live with
him. If I were you, I would try it a while. If you get tired of it (as I
think you will not), you can return to your own home. Chapman feels
very kindly to you; and I have no doubt he will make your situation very
pleasant.

Sincerely your son,

A. Lincoln.

And again:--

Shelbyville, Nov. 9,1851.

Dear Brother,--When I wrote you before, I had not received your letter.
I still think as I did; but if the land can be sold so that I get three
hundred dollars to put to interest for mother, I will not object, if
she does not. But, before I will make a deed, the money must be had, or
secured beyond all doubt, at ten per cent.

As to Abram, I do not want him, _on my own account_; but I understand he
wants to live with me, so that he can go to school, and get a fair start
in the world, which I very much wish him to have. When I reach home, if
I can make it convenient to take, I will take him, provided there is no
mistake between us as to the object and terms of my taking him.

In haste as ever,

A. Lincoln.

On the 1st of July, 1852, Mr. Lincoln was chosen by a public meeting of
his fellow-citizens at Springfield to deliver in their hearing a eulogy
upon the life and character of Henry Clay; and on the 16th of the same
month he complied with their request. Such addresses are usually called
orations; but this one scarcely deserved the name. He made no effort to
be eloquent, and in no part of it was he more than ordinarily animated.
It is true that he bestowed great praise upon Mr. Clay; but it was
bestowed in cold phrases and a tame style, wholly unlike the bulk of
his previous compositions. In truth, Mr. Lincoln was never so devoted a
follower of Mr. Clay as some of his biographers have represented him. He
was for another man in 1836, most probably for another in 1840, and very
ardently for another in 1848. Dr. Holland credits him with a visit to
Mr. Clay at Ashland, and an interview which effectually cooled his ardor
in behalf of the brilliant statesman. But, in fact, Mr. Lincoln never
troubled himself to make such a pilgrimage to see or hear any man,--much
less Mr. Clay. None of his friends--Judge Davis, Mr. Herndon, Mr. Speed,
or any one else, so far as we are able to ascertain--ever heard of the
visit. If it had been made at any time after 1838, it could scarcely
have been concealed from Mr. Speed; and we are compelled to place it
along with the multitude of groundless stories which have found currency
with Mr. Lincoln's biographers.

If the address upon Clay is of any historical value at all, it is
because it discloses Mr. Lincoln's unreserved agreement with Mr. Clay in
his opinions concerning slavery and the proper method of extinguishing
it. They both favored gradual emancipation by the voluntary action of
the people of the Slave States, and the transportation of the whole
<DW64> population to Africa as rapidly as they should be freed from
service to their masters: it was a favorite scheme with Mr. Lincoln
then, as it was long after he became President of the United States.
"Compensated" and "voluntary emancipation," on the one hand, and
"colonization" of the freedmen on the other, were essential parts
of every "plan" which sprung out of his own individual mind. On this
occasion, after quoting Mr. Clay, he said, "This suggestion of the
possible ultimate redemption of the African race and African continent
was made twenty-five years ago. Every succeeding year has added strength
to the hope of its realization. May it indeed be realized! Pharaoh's
country was cursed with plagues, and his hosts were drowned in the Red
Sea, for striving to retain a captive people who had already served them
more than four hundred years. May like disasters never befall us! If, as
the friends of colonization hope, the present and coming generations of
our countrymen shall by any means succeed in freeing our land from the
dangerous presence of slavery, and at the same time restoring a captive
people to their long-lost fatherland, with bright prospects for the
future, and this, too, so gradually that neither races nor individuals
shall have suffered by the change, it will indeed be a glorious
consummation. And if to such a consummation the efforts of Mr. Clay
shall have contributed, it will be what he most ardently wished; and
none of his labors will have been more valuable to his country and his
kind."

During the campaign of 1852, Judge Douglas took the stump for Pierce
"in twenty-eight States out of the thirty-one." His first speech was
at Richmond, Va. It was published extensively throughout the Union, and
especially in Illinois. Mr. Lincoln felt an ardent desire to answer it,
and, according to his own account, got the "permission" of the "Scott
Club" of Springfield to make the speech under its auspices. It was a
very poor effort. If it was distinguished by one quality above another,
it was by its attempts at humor; and all those attempts were strained
and affected, as well as very coarse. He displayed a jealous and
petulant temper from the first sentence to the last, wholly beneath the
dignity of the occasion and the importance of the topic. Considered as
a whole, it may be said that none of his public performances was more
unworthy of its really noble author than this one. The reader has
doubtless observed in the course of this narrative, as he will in
the future, that Mr. Douglas's great success in obtaining place and
distinction was a standing offence to Mr. Lincoln's self-love and
individual ambition. He was intensely jealous of him, and longed to
pull him down, or outstrip him in the race for popular favor, which
they united in considering "the chief end of man." Some of the first
sentences of this speech before the "Scott Club" betray this feeling
in a most unmistakable and painful manner. "This speech [that of Mr.
Douglas at Richmond] has been published with high commendations in at
least one of the Democratic papers in this State, and I suppose it has
been and will be in most of the others. When I first saw it and read it,
I was reminded of old times, _when Judge Douglas was not so much greater
man than all the rest of us, as he is now_,--of the Harrison campaign
twelve years ago, when I used to hear and try to answer many of his
speeches; and believing that the Richmond speech, though marked with the
same species of 'shirks and quirks' as the old ones, was not marked with
any greater ability, I was seized with a strange inclination to attempt
an answer to it; and this inclination it was that prompted me to seek
the privilege of addressing you on this occasion."

In the progress of his remarks, Mr. Lincoln emphatically indorsed Mr.
Douglas's great speech at Chicago in 1850, in defence of the compromise
measures, which Mr. Lincoln pronounced the work of no party, but which,
"for praise or blame," belonged to Whigs and Democrats alike. The rest
of the address was devoted to a humorous critique upon Mr. Douglas's
language in the Richmond speech, to ridicule of the campaign biographies
of Pierce, to a description of Gens. Shields and Pierce wallowing in the
ditch in the midst of a battle, and to a most remarkable account of a
militia muster which might have been seen at Springfield a few years
previous. Mr. Douglas had expressed great confidence in the sober
judgment of the people, and at the same time had, rather inconsistently
as well as indecently, declared that Providence had saved us from one
military administration by the timely removal of Gen. Taylor. To this
Mr. Lincoln alluded in his closing paragraph, which is given as a fair
sample of the whole:--

"Let us stand by our candidate as faithfully as he has always stood by
our country, and I much doubt if we do not perceive a slight abatement
in Judge Douglas's confidence in Providence, as well as in the people. I
suspect that confidence is not more firmly fixed with the judge than
it was with the old woman whose horse ran away with her in a buggy. She
said she 'trusted in Providence till the britchin' broke, and then she
didn't know what on airth to do.' The chance is, the judge will see the
'britchin' broke;' and then he can at his leisure bewail the fate of
Locofocoism as the victim of misplaced confidence."

On the 4th of January, 1854, Mr. Douglas, Chairman of the Committee
on Territories, of the Senate of the United States, reported a bill
to establish a territorial government in Nebraska. This bill contained
nothing in relation to the Missouri Compromise, which still remained
upon the statute-book, although the principle on which it was based had
been violated in the Compromise legislation of 1850. A Whig Senator from
Kentucky gave notice, that, when the Committee's bill came before the
Senate, he would move an amendment repealing the Missouri Compromise.
With this admonition in mind, the Committee instructed Mr. Douglas to
report a substitute, which he did on the 23d of the same month. The
substitute made two Territories out of Nebraska, and called one of them
Kansas. It annulled the Missouri Compromise, forbade its application to
Kansas, Nebraska, or any other territory, and, as amended and finally
passed, fixed the following rules:... "It being the true intent and
meaning of this act not to legislate slavery into any Territory or
State, nor to exclude it therefrom, but to leave the people thereof
perfectly free to form and regulate their domestic institutions in their
own way, subject only to the Constitution of the United States." Mr.
Douglas had long since denounced his imprecations upon "the ruthless
hand" that should disturb that ancient compact of peace between the
sections; and now he put forth his own ingenious hand to do the deed,
and to take the curse, in both of which he was eminently successful. Not
that the Missouri Act may not have been repugnant to the Constitution,
for no court had ever passed upon it; but it was enacted for a holy
purpose, was venerable in age, was consecrated in the hearts of the
people by the unsurpassed eloquence of the patriots of a previous
generation, and having the authority of law, of reason, and of covenant,
it had till then preserved the Union, as its authors designed it should;
and, being in truth a sacred thing, it was not a proper subject for the
"ruthless" interference of mere politicians, like those who now devoted
it to destruction. If, upon a regularly heard and decided issue, the
Supreme Court should declare it unconstitutional, the recision of the
compact could be attributed to no party,--neither to slavery nor to
antislavery,--and the peace of the country might still subsist. But
its repeal by the party that did it--a coalition of Southern Whigs and
Democrats with Northern Democrats--was evidence of a design to carry
slavery into the region north of 36 deg. 30'; or the legislation was without
a purpose at all. It was the first aggression of the South; but be
it remembered in common justice, that she was tempted to it by the
treacherous proffers of a restless but powerful Northern leader, who
asked no recompense but her electoral votes. In due time he opened
her eyes to the nature of the fraud; and, if he carried through the
Kansas-Nebraska Act to catch the votes of the South in 1856, it cost him
no inconvenience to give it a false and startling construction to catch
the votes of the North in 1860. In the repeal of the Compromise, the
Northern Democrats submitted with reluctance to the dictation of Douglas
and the South. It was the great error of the party,--the one disastrous
error of all its history. The party succeeded in 1856 only by the
nomination of Mr. Buchanan, who was out of the country when the
Kansas-Nebraska Act was passed, and who was known to have opposed it.
But the questions which grew out of it, the false and disingenuous
construction of the act by its author, the slavery agitations in Kansas
and throughout the country, disrupted the party at Charleston, and made
possible Mr. Lincoln's election by a minority of the votes cast. And to
the Whig party, whose Senators and Representatives from the South voted
for the Douglas Bill in a body, the renewal of the slavery agitation,
invited and insured by their action, was the signal of actual
dissolution.

Up to this date, Mr. Lincoln's views of slavery, and how they were
formed, are as well known to the reader as they can be made known from
the materials left behind for a history of them. It is clear that his
_feelings_ on the subject were inspired by individual cases of apparent
hardship which had come under his observation. John Hanks, on the last
trip to New Orleans, was struck by Lincoln's peculiarly active sympathy
for the servile race, and insists, that, upon sight of their wrongs,
"the iron entered his heart." In a letter to Mr. Speed, which will
shortly be presented, Mr. Lincoln confesses to a similar experience
in 1841, and speaks with great bitterness of the pain which the actual
presence of chained and manacled slaves had given him. Indeed, Mr.
Lincoln was not an ardent sympathizer with sufferings of any sort,
which he did not witness with the eye of flesh. His compassion might be
stirred deeply by an object present, but never by an object absent and
unseen. In the former case he would most likely extend relief, with
little inquiry into the merits of the case, because, as he expressed it
himself, it "took a pain out of his own heart;" and he devoutly believed
that every such act of charity or mercy sprung from motives purely
selfish. None of his public acts, either before or after he became
President, exhibits any special tenderness for the African race, or
any extraordinary commiseration of their lot. On the contrary, he
invariably, in words and deeds, postponed the interests of the blacks to
the interests of the whites, and expressly subordinated the one to the
other. When he was compelled, by what he deemed an overruling necessity,
founded on both military and political considerations, to declare the
freedom of the public enemy's slaves, he did so with avowed reluctance,
and took pains to have it understood that his resolution was in no wise
affected by sentiment. He never at any time favored the admission of
<DW64>s into the body of electors, in his own State or in the States of
the South. He claimed that those who were incidentally liberated by the
Federal arms were poor-spirited, lazy, and slothful; that they could be
made soldiers only by force, and willing laborers not at all; that they
seemed to have no interest in the cause of their own race, but were as
docile in the service of the Rebellion as the mules that ploughed the
fields or drew the baggage-trains; and, as a people, were useful only to
those who were at the same time their masters and the foes of those who
sought their good. With such views honestly formed, it is no wonder that
he longed to see them transported to Hayti, Central America, Africa, or
anywhere, so that they might in no event, and in no way, participate in
the government of his country. Accordingly, he was, from the beginning,
as earnest a colonizationist as Mr. Clay, and, even during his
Presidency, zealously and persistently devised schemes for the
deportation of the <DW64>s, which the latter deemed cruel and atrocious
in the extreme. He believed, with his rival, that this was purely a
"white man's government;" but he would have been perfectly willing to
share its blessings with the black man, had he not been very certain
that the blessings would disappear when divided with such a partner. He
was no Abolitionist in the popular sense; did not want to break over the
safeguards of the Constitution to interfere with slavery where it had
a lawful existence; but, wherever his power rightfully extended, he was
anxious that the <DW64> should be protected, just as women and
children and unnaturalized men are protected, in life, limb, property,
reputation, and every thing that nature or law makes sacred. But this
was all: he had no notion of extending to the <DW64> the _privilege of
governing_ him and other white men, by making him an elector. That was a
political trust, an office to be exercised only by the superior race.

It was therefore as a white man, and in the interests of white men,
that he threw himself into the struggle to keep the blacks out of the
Territories. He did not want them there either as slaves or freemen;
but he wanted them less as slaves than as freemen. He perceived clearly
enough the motives of the South in repealing the Missouri Compromise. It
did, in fact, arouse him "like a fire-bell in the night." He felt that a
great conflict impended; and, although he had as yet no idea that it was
an "irrepressible conflict between opposing and enduring forces," which
must end in making all free or all slave, he thought it was serious
enough to demand his entire mind and heart; and he freely gave them
both.

Mr. Gillespie gives the substance of a conversation with him, which,
judging from the context, must have taken place about this time.
Prefacing with the remark that the slavery question was the only one "on
which he (Mr. Lincoln) would become excited," he says,--

"I recollect meeting with him once at Shelbyville, when he remarked that
something must be done, or slavery would overrun the whole country. He
said there were about six hundred thousand non-slaveholding whites
in Kentucky to about thirty-three thousand slaveholders; that, in the
convention then recently held, it was expected that the delegates would
represent these classes about in proportion to their respective
numbers; but, when the convention assembled, there was not a single
representative of the non-slaveholding class: every one was in the
interest of the slaveholders; 'and,' said he, 'the thing is spreading
like wildfire over the country. In a few years we will be ready to
accept the institution in Illinois, and the whole country will adopt
it.' I asked him to what he attributed the change that was going on in
public opinion. He said he had put that question to a Kentuckian shortly
before, who answered by saying, 'You might have any amount of land,
money in your pocket, or bank-stock, and, while travelling around,
nobody would be any wiser; but, if you had a darkey trudging at your
heels, everybody would see him, and know that you owned a slave.' 'It is
the most glittering, ostentatious, and displaying property in the world;
and now,' says he, 'if a young man goes courting, the only inquiry
is, how many <DW64>s he or she owns. The love for slave property was
swallowing up every other mercenary possession. Its ownership betokened,
not only the possession of wealth, but indicated the gentleman of
leisure, who was above and scorned labor.' These things Mr. Lincoln
regarded as highly seductive to the thoughtless and giddy-headed young
men who looked upon work as vulgar and ungentlemanly. Mr. Lincoln was
really excited, and said, with great earnestness, that this spirit
ought to be met, and, if possible, checked; that slavery was a great
and crying injustice, an enormous national crime, and that we could not
expect to escape punishment for it. I asked him how he would proceed in
his efforts to check the spread of slavery. _He confessed he did not
see his way clearly. I think he made up his mind from that time that he
would oppose slavery actively_. I know that Mr. Lincoln always contended
that no man had any right other than mere brute force gave him to a
slave. He used to say that it was singular that the courts would hold
that a man never lost his right to his property that had been stolen
from him, but that he instantly lost his right to himself if he was
stolen. Mr. Lincoln always contended that the cheapest way of getting
rid of slavery was for the nation to buy the slaves, and set them free."

If the passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Bill awakened Lincoln from his
dream of security regarding the slavery question, which he hoped had
been put to rest by the compromises of 1820 and 1850, it did the
same with all likeminded people in the North. From that moment
the Abolitionists, on the one hand, discerned a hope, not only of
restricting slavery, but of ultimate emancipation; and the Southern
Disunionists, on the other, who had lately met with numerous and signal
defeats in their own section, perceived the means of inflaming
the popular heart to the point of disunion. A series of agitations
immediately began,--incessant, acrimonious, and in Kansas murderous and
bloody,--which destroyed the Whig party at once, and continued until
they severed the Democratic party at Charleston. All other issues were
as chaff to this,--slavery or no slavery in the Territories,--while the
discussion ranged far back of this practical question, and involved the
much broader one, whether slavery possessed inherent rights under
the Constitution. The Whigs South having voted for the repeal of the
compromise, and the Whigs North against it, that party was practically
no more. Some of its members went into the Know-Nothing lodges; some
enlisted under the Abolition flag, and others drifted about and together
until they formed themselves into a new organization, which they called
Republican. It was a disbanded army; and, released from the authority of
discipline and party tradition, a great part of the members engaged for
a while in political operations of a very disreputable character. But
the better class, having kept themselves unspotted from the pollution
of Know-Nothingism, gradually but speedily formed the Republican party,
which in due time drew into its mighty ranks nearly all the elements of
opposition to the Democracy. Such a Whig was Mr. Lincoln, who lost no
time in taking his ground. In Illinois the new party was not (in 1854)
either Abolitionist, Republican, Know-Nothing, Whig, or Democratic, for
it was composed of odds and ends of all; but simply the Anti-Nebraska
party, of which Mr. Lincoln soon became the acknowledged leader.

Returning from Washington, Mr. Douglas attempted to speak at Chicago;
but he was not heard, and, being hissed and hooted by the populace of
the city, betook himself to more complaisant audiences in the country.
Early in October, the State Fair being in progress there, he spoke at
Springfield. His speech was ingenious, and, on the whole, able: but he
was on the defensive; and the consciousness of the fact, both on his own
part and that of the audience, made him seem weaker than he really was.
By common consent the Anti-Nebraska men put up Mr. Lincoln to reply; and
he did reply with such power as he had never exhibited before. He was
not the Lincoln who had spoken that tame address over Clay in 1852,
or he who had deformed his speech before the "Scott Club" with petty
jealousies and gross vulgarisms, but a new and greater Lincoln, the like
of whom no one in that vast multitude had ever heard before. He felt
that he was addressing the people on a living and vital question, not
merely for the sake of speaking, but to produce conviction, and achieve
a great practical result. How he succeeded in his object may be gathered
from the following extracts from a leading editorial in "The Springfield
Journal," written by Mr. Herndon:--

"This Anti-Nebraska speech of Mr. Lincoln was the profoundest, in our
opinion, that he has made in his whole life. He felt upon his soul the
truths burn which he uttered, and all present felt that he was true to
his own soul. His feelings once or twice swelled within, and came near
stifling utterance.... He quivered with emotion. The whole house was as
still as death.

"He attacked the Nebraska Bill with unusual warmth and energy; and all
felt that a man of strength was its enemy, and that he intended to blast
it if he could by strong and manly efforts. He was most successful, and
the house approved the glorious triumph of truth by loud and continued
huzzas. Women waved their white handkerchiefs in token of woman's silent
but heartfelt assent. Douglas felt the sting: the animal within was
roused, because he frequently interrupted Mr. Lincoln. His friends felt
that he was crushed by Lincoln's powerful argument, manly logic, and
illustrations from nature around us. The Nebraska Bill was shivered,
and, like a tree of the forest, was torn and rent asunder by hot bolts
of truth.... Mr. Lincoln exhibited Douglas in all the attitudes he could
be placed in a friendly debate. He exhibited the bill in all its aspects
to show its humbuggery and falsehood; and, when thus torn to rags, cut
into slips, held up to the gaze of the vast crowd, a kind of scorn and
mockery was visible upon the face of the crowd and upon the lips of the
most eloquent speaker.... At the conclusion of this speech, every man,
woman, and child felt that it was unanswerable.... He took the heart
captive, and broke like a sun over the understanding."

Mr. Douglas rose to reply. He was excited, angry, imperious in his tone
and manner, and his voice loud and shrill. Shaking his forefinger at the
Democratic malcontents with furious energy, and declaiming rather than
debating, he occupied to little purpose the brief interval remaining
until the adjournment for supper. Then, promising to resume his address
in the evening, he went his way; and that audience "saw him no more."
Evening came, but not the orator. Many fine speeches were made during
the continuance of that fair upon the one absorbing topic,--speeches by
the ablest men in Illinois,--Judge Trumbull, Judge Breese, Col. Taylor
(Democratic recusants), and Stephen A. Douglas and John Calhoun (then
Surveyor-General of Nebraska). But it is no shame to any one of these,
that their really impressive speeches were but slightly appreciated,
nor long remembered, beside Mr. Lincoln's splendid and enduring
performance,--enduring in the memory of his auditors, although preserved
upon no written or printed page.

Among those whom the State Fair brought to Springfield for political
purposes, were some who were neither Whigs, Democrats, Know-Nothings,
nor yet mere Anti-Nebraska men: there were the restless leaders of the
then insignificant Abolition faction. Chief among them was Owen Lovejoy;
and second to him, if second to any, was William H. Herndon. But the
position of this latter gentleman was one of singular embarrassment.
According to himself, he was an Abolitionist "sometime before he was
born," and hitherto he had made his "calling and election sure" by
every word and act of a life devoted to political philanthropy and
disinterested political labors. While the two great national parties
divided the suffrages of the people, North and South, every thing in his
eyes was "dead." He detested the bargains by which those parties were
in the habit of composing sectional troubles, and sacrificing the
"principle of freedom." When the Whig party "paid its breath to time,"
he looked upon its last agonies as but another instance of divine
retribution. He had no patience with time-servers, and regarded with
indignant contempt the "policy" which would postpone the natural rights
of an enslaved race to the success of parties and politicians. He stood
by at the sacrifice of the Whig party in Illinois with the spirit of
Paul when he "held the clothes of them that stoned Stephen." He believed
it was for the best, and hoped to see a new party rise in its place,
great in the fervor of its faith, and animated by the spirit of
Wilberforce, Garrison, and the Lovejoys. He was a fierce zealot, and
gloried proudly in his title of "fanatic;" for it was his conviction
that fanatics were at all times the salt of the earth, with power to
save it from the blight that follows the wickedness of men. He believed
in a God, but it was the God of nature,--the God of Socrates and Plato,
as well as the God of Jacob. He believed in a Bible, but it was the open
scroll of the universe; and in a religion clear and well defined, but it
was a religion that scorned what he deemed the narrow slavery of verbal
inspiration. Hot-blooded, impulsive, brave morally and physically,
careless of consequences when moved by a sense of individual duty, he
was the very man to receive into his inmost heart the precepts of Mr.
Seward's "higher law." If he had pledged faith to slavery, no peril of
life or body could have induced him to violate it. But he held himself
no party to the compromises of the Constitution, nor to any law which
recognized the justice of human bondage; and he was therefore free to
act as his God and nature prompted.

Now, Mr. Herndon had determined to make an Abolitionist out of Mr.
Lincoln when the proper time should arrive; and that time would be only
when Mr. Lincoln could change front and "come out" without detriment to
his personal aspirations. For, although Mr. Herndon was a zealot in the
cause, he loved his partner too dearly to wish him to espouse it while
it was unpopular and politically dangerous to belong to it. "I cared
nothing for the ruin of myself," said he; "but I did not wish to see Mr.
Lincoln sacrificed." He looked forward to a better day, and, in the
mean time, was quite willing that Mr. Lincoln should be no more than
a nominal Whig, or a strong Anti-Nebraska man; being quite sure, that,
when the auspicious moment arrived, he would be able to present him to
his brethren as a convert over whom there would surely be great joy.
Still, there was a bare chance that he might lose him. Mr. Lincoln was
beset by warm friends and by old coadjutors, and besought to pause in
his antislavery course while there was yet time. Among these there was
none more earnest or persuasive than John T. Stuart, who was but the
type of a class. Tempted on the one side to be a Know-Nothing, and on
the other side to be an Abolitionist, Mr. Lincoln said, as if in some
doubt of his real position, "I _think_ I am still a Whig." But Mr.
Herndon was more than a match for the full array against him. An earnest
man, instant in season and out of season, he spoke with the eloquence
of apparent truth and of real personal love. Moreover, Mr. Lincoln's
preconceptions inclined him to the way in which Mr. Herndon desired him
to walk; and it is not surprising that in time he was, not only almost,
but altogether, persuaded by a friend and partner, whose opportunities
to reach and convince his wavering mind were, daily and countless. "From
1854 to 1860," says Mr. Herndon, "I kept putting in Lincoln's hands the
speeches and sermons of Theodore Parker, the speeches of Phillips and
Beecher. I took 'The Anti-slavery Standard' for years before 1856, 'The
Chicago Tribune,' and 'The New York Tribune;' kept them in my office,
kept them purposely on my table, and would read to Lincoln good, sharp,
and solid things well put. Lincoln was a natural antislavery man, as I
think, and yet he needed watching,--needed hope, faith, energy; and I
think I warmed him. Lincoln and I were just the opposite one of
another. He was cautious and practical; I was spontaneous, ideal, and
speculative. He arrived at truths by reflection; I, by intuition; he,
by reason; I, by my soul. He calculated; I went to toil asking no
questions, never doubting. Lincoln had great faith in my intuitions, and
I had great faith in his reason."

Of course such a man as we have described Mr. Herndon to be could have
nothing but loathing and disgust for the secret oaths, the midnight
lurking, and the proscriptive spirit of Know-Nothingism. "A number of
gentlemen from Chicago," says he, "among them the editor of 'The Star of
the West,' an Abolitionist paper published in Chicago, waited on me
in my office, and asked my advice as to the policy of going into
Know-Nothing Lodges, and ruling them for freedom. I opposed it as being
wrong in principle, as well as a fraud on the lodges, and wished to
fight it out in open daylight. Lincoln was opposed to Know-Nothingism,
but did not say much in 1854 or 1855 (did afterwards). I told Lincoln
what was said, and argued the question with him often, insisting that,
as we were advocating _freedom for the slave in tendency_ under the
Kansas-Nebraska Bill, it was radically wrong to enslave the religious
ideas and faith of men. The gentlemen who waited on me as before stated
asked me if I thought that Mr. Lincoln could be trusted for freedom.
I said to them, 'Can you trust yourselves? If you can, you can trust
Lincoln forever.'"

[Illustration: John T. Stuart 392]

With this explanation of the political views of Mr. Herndon, and
his personal relations to Mr. Lincoln, the reader will more easily
understand what follows.

"This State Fair," continues Mr. Herndon, "called thousands to the city.
We Abolitionists all assembled here, taking advantage of the fair to
organize and disseminate our ideas. As soon as Lincoln had finished his
speech, Lovejoy, who had been in the hall, rushed up to the stand, and
notified the crowd that there would be a meeting there in the evening:
subject, _Freedom_. I had been with the Abolitionists that day, and knew
their intentions: namely, to force Lincoln with our organization, and
to take broader and deeper and more radical views and ideas than in his
speech, which was simply _Historic Kansas_.... He (Lincoln) had not
then announced himself for freedom, only discussed the inexpediency
of repealing the Missouri Compromise Line. The Abolitionists that day
determined to make Lincoln take a stand. I determined he should _not at
that time_, because the time had not yet come when Lincoln should show
his hand. When Lovejoy announced the Abolition gathering in the evening,
I rushed to Lincoln, and said, 'Lincoln, go home; take Bob and the
buggy, and leave the county: go quickly, go right off, and never mind
the order of your going.' Lincoln took a hint, got his horse and buggy,
and did leave quickly, not noting the order of his going. He staid away
till all conventions and fairs were over."

But the speech against the repeal of the Compromise signally impressed
all parties opposed to Mr. Douglas's late legislation,--Whigs,
Abolitionists, and Democratic Free-soilers,--who agreed with perfect
unanimity, that Mr. Lincoln should be pitted against Mr. Douglas
wherever circumstances admitted of their meeting. As one of the
evidences of this sentiment, Mr. William Butler drew up a paper
addressed to Mr. Lincoln, requesting and "urging him to follow Douglas
up until the election." It was signed by Mr. Butler, William Jayne,
P. P. Eads, John Cassady, B. F. Irwin, and many others. Accordingly,
Lincoln "followed" Douglas to Peoria, where the latter had an
appointment, and again replied to him, in much the same spirit, and with
the same arguments, as before. The speech was really a great one, almost
perfectly adapted to produce conviction upon a doubting mind. It ought
to be carefully read by every one who desires to know Mr. Lincoln's
power as a debater, after his intellect was matured and ripened by years
of hard experience. On the general subject of slavery and <DW64>s in the
Union, he spoke as follows:--

"Before proceeding, let me say, I think I have no prejudice against the
Southern people: they are just what we would be in their situation. If
slavery did not now exist among them, they would not introduce it: if
it did now exist amongst us, we should not instantly give it up. This I
believe of the masses North and South. Doubtless there are individuals
on both sides who would not hold slaves under any circumstances, and
others would gladly introduce slavery anew if it were out of existence.
We know that some Southern men do free their slaves, go North, and
become tip-top Abolitionists; while some Northern men go South, and
become cruel slave-masters.

"When Southern people tell us they are no more responsible for the
origin of slavery than we, I acknowledge the fact. When it is said that
the institution exists, and that it is very difficult to get rid of it
in any satisfactory way, I can understand and appreciate the saying. _I
surely will not blame them for not doing what I should not know how to
do myself. If all earthly power were given me, I should not know what
to do as to the existing institution_. My first impulse would be to free
all the existing slaves, and send them to Liberia,--to their own native
land; but a moment's reflection would convince me that whatever of high
hope (as I think there is) there may be in this, in the long run, its
sudden execution is impossible. If they were all landed there in a day,
they would all perish in the next ten days; and there are not surplus
shipping and surplus money enough in the world to carry them there in
many times ten days. What then? Free them all, and keep them among us
as underlings? Is it quite certain that this betters their condition? _I
think I would not hold_ one in slavery at any rate, yet the point is not
clear enough to me to denounce people upon. What next? Free them, and
make them politically and socially our equals? My own feelings will not
admit of this; and, if mine would, we all know that those of the great
mass of white people would not. Whether this feeling accords with
justice and sound judgment is not the sole question, if, indeed, it is
any part of it. A universal feeling, whether well or ill founded, cannot
be safely disregarded. _We cannot, then, make them equals_. It does seem
to me that systems of gradual emancipation might be adopted; but for
their tardiness in this I will not undertake to judge our brethren
of the South. When they remind us of their constitutional rights, I
acknowledge them, not grudgingly, but fully and fairly; _and I would
give them any legislation for the reclaiming of their fugitives which
should not in its stringency be more likely to carry a free man into
slavery than our ordinary criminal laws are to hang an innocent one_.

"But all this, to my judgment, furnishes no more excuse for permitting
slavery to go into our own free territory than it would for reviving the
African slave-trade by law. The law which forbids the bringing of slaves
_from_ Africa, and that which has so long forbidden the taking them _to_
Nebraska, can hardly be distinguished on any moral principle; and the
repeal of the former could find quite as plausible excuses as that of
the latter.

"But Nebraska is urged as a great Union-saving measure. Well, I, too,
go for saving the Union. Much as I hate slavery, I would consent to the
extension of it, rather than see the Union dissolved, just as I would
consent to any great evil to avoid a greater one. But, when I go to
Union-saving, I must believe, at least, that the means I employ have
adaptation to the end. To my mind, Nebraska has no such adaptation. 'It
hath no relish of salvation in it.' It is an aggravation, rather, of the
only one thing which ever endangers the Union. When it came upon us, all
was peace and quiet. The nation was looking to the forming of new bonds
of Union, and a long course of peace and prosperity seemed to lie before
us. In the whole range of possibility, there scarcely appears to me to
have been any thing out of which the slavery agitation could have been
revived, except the project of repealing the Missouri Compromise. Every
inch of territory we owned already had a definite settlement of the
slavery question, and by which all parties were pledged to abide.
Indeed, there was no uninhabited country on the continent which we could
acquire, if we except some extreme Northern regions, which are wholly
out of the question. In this state of the case, the Genius of Discord
himself could scarcely have invented a way of getting us by the ears,
but by turning back and destroying the peace measures of the past.

"The structure, too, of the Nebraska Bill is very peculiar. The people
are to decide the question of slavery for themselves; but _when_
they are to decide, or _how_ they are to decide, or whether, when the
question is once decided, it is to remain so, or is to be subject to an
indefinite succession of new trials, the law does not say. Is it to be
decided by the first dozen settlers who arrive there, or is it to await
the arrival of a hundred? Is it to be decided by a vote of the people,
or a vote of the Legislature, or, indeed, on a vote of any sort? To
these questions the law gives no answer. There is a mystery about this;
for, when a member proposed to give the Legislature express authority
to exclude slavery, it was hooted down by the friends of the bill.
This fact is worth remembering. Some Yankees in the East are sending
emigrants to Nebraska to exclude slavery from it; and, so far as I can
judge, they expect the question to be decided by voting in some way
or other. But the Missourians are awake too. They are within a
stone's-throw of the contested ground. They hold meetings and pass
resolutions, in which not the slightest allusion to voting is made. They
resolve that slavery already exists in the Territory; that more shall go
there; and that they, remaining in Missouri, will protect it, and
that Abolitionists shall be hung or driven away. Through all this,
bowie-knives and six-shooters are seen plainly enough, but never a
glimpse of the ballot-box. And really, what is the result of this? Each
party within having numerous and determined backers without, is it not
probable that the contest will come to blows and bloodshed? Could there
be a more apt invention to bring about a collision and violence on
the slavery question than this Nebraska project is? I do not charge or
believe that such was intended by Congress; but if they had literally
formed a ring, and placed champions within it to fight out the
controversy, the fight could be no more likely to come off than it is.
And, if this fight should begin, is it likely to take a very peaceful,
Union-saving turn? Will not the first drop of blood so shed be the real
knell of the Union?"

No one in Mr. Lincoln's audience appreciated the force of this speech
more justly than did Mr. Douglas himself. He invited the dangerous
orator to a conference, and frankly proposed a truce. What took place
between them was explicitly set forth by Mr. Lincoln to a little knot
of his friends, in the office of Lincoln & Herndon, about two days after
the election. We quote the statement of B. F. Irwin, explicitly
indorsed by P. L. Harrison and Isaac Cogdale, all of whom are already
indifferently well known to the reader. "W. H. Herndon, myself, P. L.
Harrison, and Isaac Cogdale were present. What Lincoln said was about
this: that the day after the Peoria debate in 1854, Douglas came to
him (Lincoln), and flattered him that he (Lincoln) understood the
Territorial question from the organization of the government better than
all the opposition in the Senate of the United States; and he did not
see that he could make any thing by debating it with him; and then
reminded him (Lincoln) of the trouble they had given him, and remarked
that Lincoln had given him more trouble than all the opposition in the
Senate combined; and followed up with the proposition, that he would
go home, and speak no more during the campaign, if Lincoln would do
the same: to which proposition Lincoln acceded." This, according to
Mr. Irwin's view of the thing, was running Douglas "into his hole," and
making "him holler, Enough."

Handbills and other advertisements announced that Judge Douglas would
address the people of Lacon the day following the Peoria encounter; and
the Lacon Anti-Nebraska people sent a committee to Peoria to secure Mr.
Lincoln for a speech in reply. He readily agreed to go, and on the way
said not a word of the late agreement to the gentleman who had him
in charge. Judge Douglas observed the same discreet silence among
his friends. Whether they had both agreed to go to Lacon before this
agreement was made, or had mutually contrived this clever mode of
deception, cannot now be determined. But, when they arrived at Lacon,
Mr. Douglas said he was too hoarse to speak, although, "a large portion
of the people of the county assembled to hear him." Mr. Lincoln, with
unheard-of magnanimity, "informed his friends that he would not like to
take advantage of the judge's indisposition, and would not address the
people." His friends could not see the affair in the same light, and
"pressed him for a speech;" but he persistently and unaccountably
"refused."

Of course, Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Douglas met no more during the campaign.
Mr. Douglas did speak at least once more (at Princeton), but Mr. Lincoln
scrupulously observed the terms of the agreement. He came home, wrote
out his Peoria speech, and published it in seven consecutive issues of
"The Illinois Daily Journal;" but he never spoke nor thought of speaking
again. When his friends insisted upon having a reason for this most
unexpected conduct, he gave the answer already quoted from Mr. Irwin.

The election took place on the 7th of November. During his absence,
Mr. Lincoln had been announced as a candidate for the House of
Representatives of the Illinois Legislature. William Jayne took the
responsibility of making him a candidate. Mrs. Lincoln, however, "saw
Francis, the editor, and had Lincoln's name taken out." When Mr. Lincoln
returned, Jayne (Mrs. Lincoln's old friend "Bill") went to see him. "I
went to see him," says Jayne, "in order to get his consent to run.
This was at his house. He was then the saddest man I ever saw,--the
gloomiest. He walked up and down the floor, almost crying; and to all my
persuasions to let his name stand in the paper, he said, 'No, I can't.
You don't know all. I say you don't begin to know one-half, and that's
enough.' I did, however, go and have his name re-instated; and there
it stood. He and Logan were elected by about six hundred majority."
Mr. Jayne had caused originally both Judge Logan and Mr. Lincoln to be
announced, and they were both elected. But, after all, Mrs. Lincoln
was right, and Jayne and Lincoln were both wrong. Mr. Lincoln was a
well-known candidate for the United States Senate, in the place of Mr.
Shields, the incumbent, who had voted for the Kansas-Nebraska Bill; and,
when the Legislature met and showed a majority of Anti-Nebraska men,
he thought it a necessary preliminary of his candidacy that he should
resign his seat in the House. He did so, and Mr. Jayne makes the
following acknowledgment: "Mr. Lincoln resigned his seat, finding
out that the Republicans, the Anti-Nebraska men, had carried the
Legislature. A. M. Broadwell ran as a Whig Anti-Nebraska man, and was
badly beaten. The people of Sangamon County was down on Lincoln,--hated
him." None can doubt that even the shame of taking a woman's advice
might have been preferable to this!

But Mr. Lincoln "had set his heart on going to the United States
Senate." Counting in the Free-soil Democrats, who had revolted against
Mr. Douglas's leadership, and been largely supported the Whigs in the
late elections, there was now on joint ballot a clear Anti-Nebraska
majority of two. A Senator was to be chosen to succeed Mr. Shields; and
Mr. Lincoln had a right to expect the place. He had fairly earned the
distinction, and nobody in the old Whig party was disposed to withhold
it. But a few Abolitionists doubted his fidelity to their extreme
views; and five Anti-Nebraska Senators and Representatives, who had been
elected as Democrats, preferred to vote for a Senator with antecedents
like their own. The latter selected Judge Trumbull as their candidate,
and clung to him manfully through the whole struggle. They were five
only in number; but in the situation of affairs then existing they
were the sovereign five. They were men of conceded integrity, of good
abilities in debate, and extraordinary political sagacity. Their
names ought to be known to posterity, for their unfriendliness at this
juncture saved Mr. Lincoln to the Republicans of Illinois, to be brought
forward at the critical moment as a fresh and original candidate for the
Presidency. They were Judd of Cook County, Palmer of Macoupin, Cook of
La Salle, Baker and Allen of Madison. They called themselves Democrats,
and, with the modesty peculiar to bolters, claimed to be the only
"Simon-pure." "They could not act with the Democrats from principle,
and would not act with the Whigs from policy;" but, holding off from the
caucuses of both parties, they demanded that all Anti-Nebraska should
come to them, or sacrifice the most important fruits of their late
victory at the polls. But these were not the only enemies Mr. Lincoln
could count in the body of his party. The Abolitionists suspected him,
and were slow to come to his support. Judge Davis went to Springfield,
and thinks he "got some" of this class "to go for" him; but it is
probable they were "got" in another way. Mr. Lovejoy was a member, and
required, as the condition of his support and that of his followers,
that Mr. Lincoln should pledge himself to favor the exclusion of slavery
from _all_ the Territories of the United States. This was a long step
in advance of any that Mr. Lincoln had previously taken. He was, as
a matter of course, opposed to the introduction of slavery into the
Territories north of the line of 36 deg. 30'; but he had, up to this time,
regarded all south of that as being honestly open to slavery. The
villany of obliterating that line, and the necessity of its immediate
restoration,--in short, the perfect sanctity of the Missouri
settlement,--had formed the burden of all his speeches in-the preceding
canvass. But these opinions by no means suited the Abolitionists, and
they required him to change them forthwith. He thought it would be
wise to do so, considering the peculiar circumstances of his case; but,
before committing himself finally, he sought an understanding with Judge
Logan. He told the judge what he was disposed to do, and said he would
act upon the inclination, if the judge would not regard it as "treading
upon his toes." The judge said he was opposed to the doctrine proposed;
but, for the sake of the cause in hand, he would cheerfully risk his
"toes." And so the Abolitionists were accommodated: Mr. Lincoln quietly
made the pledge, and they voted for him.

On the eighth day of February, 1855, the two Houses met in convention to
choose a Senator. On the first ballot, Mr. Shields had forty-one votes,
and three Democratic votes were scattered. Mr. Lincoln had forty-five,
Mr. Trumbull five, and Mr. Koerner two. On the seventh ballot, the
Democrats left Shields, and, with two exceptions, voted for Gov.
Matte-son. In addition to the party strength, Matteson received also the
votes of two of the anti-Nebraska Democrats. That stout little knot, it
was apparent, was now breaking up. For many reasons the Whigs detested
Matteson most heartily, and dreaded nothing so much as his success. But
of that there now appeared to be great danger; for, unless the Whigs
abandoned Lincoln and went for Trumbull, the five Anti-Nebraska men
would unite on Matteson, and elect him. Mr. Gillespie went to Lincoln
for advice. "He said unhesitatingly, 'You ought to drop me, and go for
Trumbull: that is the only way you can defeat Matteson.' Judge Logan
came up about that time, and insisted on running Lincoln still; but the
latter said, 'If you do, you will lose both Trumbull and myself; and I
think the cause, in this case, is to be preferred to men.' We adopted
his suggestion, and turned upon Trumbull, and elected him, although it
grieved us to the heart to give up Mr. Lincoln. This, I think, shows
that Mr. Lincoln was capable of sinking himself for the cause in which
he was engaged." It was with great bitterness of spirit that the Whigs
accepted this hard alternative. Many of them accused the little squad
of Anti-Nebraska Democrats of "ungenerous and selfish" motives. One of
them, "Mr. Waters of McDonough, was especially indignant, and utterly
refused to vote for Mr. Trumbull at all. On the last ballot he threw
away his ballot on Mr. Williams."

"Mr. Lincoln was very much disappointed," says Mr. Parks, a member of
the Legislature, and one of Mr. Lincoln's special friends; "for I think,
that, at that time, it was the height of his ambition to get into the
United States Senate. He manifested, however, no bitterness towards Mr.
Judd, or the other Anti-Nebraska Democrats, by whom politically he was
beaten, but evidently thought that their motives were right. He told
me several times afterwards, that the election of Trumbull was the best
thing that could have happened."

In the great campaign of 1858, Mr. Douglas on various occasions
insisted, that, in 1854, Mr. Lincoln and Judge Trumbull, being until
then political enemies, had formed a secret agreement to abolitionize,
the one the Whig, and the other the Democratic party; and, in order that
neither might go unrewarded for a service so timely and patriotic,
Mr. Trumbull had agreed on the one hand that Mr. Lincoln should have
Shields's seat in the United States Senate (in 1855); and Mr. Lincoln
had agreed, on the other, that Judge Trumbull should have Douglas's seat
(in 1859). But Mr. Douglas alleged, that, when the first election
(in 1854) came on, Judge Trumbull treated his fellow-conspirator with
shameful duplicity, and cheated himself into the Senate just four years
in advance of his appointed time; that, Mr. Lincoln's friends being
greatly incensed thereat, Col. James H. Matheny, Mr. Lincoln's "friend
and manager for twenty years," exposed the plot and the treachery; that,
in order to silence and conciliate the injured party, Mr. Lincoln was
promised the senatorial nomination in 1858, and thus a second time
became a candidate in pursuance of a bargain more than half corrupt. But
it is enough to say here, that Mr. Lincoln explicitly and emphatically
denied the accusation as often as it was made, and bestowed upon the
character of Judge Trumbull encomiums as lofty and as warm as he ever
bestowed upon any contemporary. With the exception of Col. Matheny,
we find none of Mr. Lincoln's peculiar friends complaining of Judge
Trumbull; but as many of them as have spoken in the records before us
(and they are numerous and prominent) speak of the purity, devotion,
and excellence of Judge Trumbull in the most unreserved and unaffected
manner. In fact and in truth, he did literally nothing to advance his
own interest: he solicited no vote, and got none which did not come to
him by reason of the political necessities of the time. His election
consolidated the Anti-Nebraska party in the State, and, in the language
of Mr. Parks, his "first encounter with Mr. Douglas in the Senate filled
the people of Illinois with admiration for his abilities; and the ill
feeling caused by his election gradually passed away."

But Mr. Douglas had a graver charge to make against Mr. Lincoln than
that of a simple conspiracy with Trumbull to dispose of a great office.
He seems to have known nothing of Mr. Lincoln's secret understanding
with Lovejoy and his associates; but he found, that, on the day previous
to the election for Senator, Lovejoy had introduced a series of extreme
antislavery resolutions; and with these he attempted to connect Mr.
Lincoln, by showing, that, with two exceptions, every member who voted
for the resolutions on the 7th of February voted also for Mr. Lincoln
on the 8th. The first of the resolutions favored the restoration of the
prohibition of slavery north of 36 deg. 30', and also a similar prohibition
as to "_all_ territory which now belongs to the United States, or which
may hereafter come under their jurisdiction." The second resolution
declared against the admission of any Slave State, no matter out of what
Territory, or in what manner formed; and the third demanded, first, the
unconditional repeal of the Fugitive-Slave Law, or, failing that, the
right of _habeas corpus_ and trial by jury for the person claimed as a
slave. The first resolution was carried by a strict party vote; while
the second and third were defeated. But Mr. Douglas asserted that Mr.
Lincoln was committed in favor of all three, because the members that
supported them subsequently supported him. Of all this Mr. Lincoln
took no further notice than to say that Judge Douglas might find the
Republican platform in the resolutions of the State Convention of that
party, held at Bloomington in 1856. In fact, he maintained a singular
reticence about the whole affair, probably dreading to go into it too
deeply, lest his rival should unearth the private pledge to Lovejoy, of
which Judge Logan has given us the history. When Judge Douglas produced
a set of resolutions which he said had been passed by the Abolitionists
at their Convention at Springfield, during the State Fair (the meeting
alluded to by Mr. Herndon), and asserted that Mr. Lincoln was one of the
committee that reported them, the latter replied with great spirit,
and said what he could say with perfect truth,--that he was not near
Springfield when that body met, and that his name had been used without
his consent.




CHAPTER XV

MR. LINCOLN predicted a bloody conflict in Kansas as the immediate
effect of the repeal of the Missouri restriction. He had not long to
wait for the fulfilment of his prophecy: it began, in fact, before he
spoke; and if blood had not actually flowed on the plains of Kansas,
occurrences were taking place on the Missouri border which could
not avoid that result. The South invited the struggle by repealing a
time-honored compromise, in such a manner as to convince the North that
she no longer felt herself bound by any Congressional restrictions upon
the institution of slavery; and that she intended, as far as her power
would permit, to push its existence into all the Territories of the
Union. The Northern States accepted the challenge promptly. The people
of the Free States knew how to colonize and settle new Territories. The
march of their westward settlements had for years assumed a steady
tread as the population of these States augmented, and the facility for
emigrating increased. When, therefore, the South threw down the barriers
which had for thirty years consecrated all the Territories north of 36 deg.
30' to free labor, and announced her intention of competing therein for
the establishment of her "peculiar institution," the North responded
by using the legitimate means at her command to throw into the exposed
regions settlers who would organize the Territories in the interest of
free labor. The "irrepressible conflict" was therefore opened in the
Territories, with the people of the two sections of the country arrayed
against each other as participants in, as well as spectators of, the
contest. As participants, each section aided its representatives. The
struggle opened in Kansas, and in favor of the South. During the passage
of the bill organizing the Territory, preparations had been extensively
made along the Missouri border, by "Blue Lodges" and "Social Bands," for
the purpose of getting control of its Territorial government. The whole
eastern border of the Territory was open to these marauders; and they
were not slow to embrace the opportunity of meeting their enemies with
so man y advantages in their favor. Public meetings were held in many
of the frontier counties of Missouri, in which the people were not only
advised to go over and take early possession of the Territory, but to
hold themselves in readiness to remove all emigrants who should go there
under the auspices of the Northern Aid Societies. It was with these
"Border Ruffians," and some volunteers from Alabama and South Carolina,
with a few vagabond "colonels" and "generals" from the Slave States
generally, that the South began the struggle. Of course, the North did
not look with complacency upon such a state of things. If the repeal
of the Missouri Compromise startled the people of the Free States from
their sense of security, the manner of applying "popular sovereignty,"
as indicated at its first introduction, was sufficient to arouse public
sentiment to an unwonted degree. Kansas became at once a subject of
universal interest. Societies were formed for throwing into her borders,
with the utmost expedition, settlers who could be relied upon to mould
her government in the interest of freedom. At the same time there was
set in train all the political machinery that could be used to agitate
the question, until the cry of "Bleeding Kansas" was heard throughout
the land.

It is not necessary in this connection to set down, in order, the raids,
assassinations, burnings, robberies, and election frauds which followed.
Enough if their origin and character be understood. For this present
purpose, a brief summary only will be given of what occurred during
the long struggle to make Kansas a Slave State; for upon the practical
issues which arose during the contest followed the discussions between
Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Douglas, upon the merits of which the former was
carried into the Presidential office.

The first Territorial governor appointed under the provisions of
the Kansas-Nebraska Act was Andrew H. Reeder of Pennsylvania. He was
appointed by President Pierce. He reached Kansas in the autumn of 1854,
and proceeded to establish a Territorial Government. The first election
was for a delegate to Congress. By the aid of the people of Missouri,
it resulted in favor of the Democrats. The governor then ordered an
election for a first Territorial Legislature, to be held on the 31st of
March, 1855. To this election the Missourians came in greater force than
before; and succeeded in electing proslavery men to both Houses of the
Legislature, with a single exception in each house. The governor,
a proslavery man, set aside the returns in six districts, as being
fraudulent; whereupon new elections were held, which, with one
exception, resulted in favor of the Free-State men. These parties,
however, were refused their seats in the Legislature; while the persons
chosen at the previous election were accepted.

The Legislature thus organized proceeded to enact the most hostile
measures against the Free-State men. Many of these acts were promptly
vetoed by the governor. The Legislature then petitioned the President
for his removal. Their wishes were complied with; and Wilson G. Shannon
of Ohio was appointed in his stead. In the mean time, the Free-State
men entirely repudiated the Legislature, and refused to be bound by its
enactments.

Such was the situation in Kansas when Mr. Lincoln addressed to Mr. Speed
the following letter:--

Springfield, Aug. 24, 1855.

Dear Speed,--You know what a poor correspondent I am. Ever since I
received your very agreeable letter of the 22d of May, I have been
intending to write you an answer to it. You suggest that in political
action now you and I would differ. I suppose we would; not quite as
much, however, as you may think. You know I dislike slavery; and you
fully admit the abstract wrong of it. So far there is no cause of
difference. But you say, that, sooner than yield your legal right to
the slave,--especially at the bidding of those who are not themselves
interested,--you would see the Union dissolved. I am not aware that _any
one_ is bidding you yield that right: very certainly I am not. I leave
that matter entirely to yourself. I also acknowledge your rights and my
obligations under the Constitution in regard to your slaves. I confess I
hate to see the poor creatures hunted down, and caught and carried
back to their stripes and unrequited toils; but I bite my lip, and keep
quiet. In 1841 you and I had together a tedious low-water trip on a
steamboat from Louisville to St. Louis. You may remember, as I well do,
that, from Louisville to the mouth of the Ohio, there were on board
ten or a dozen slaves shackled together with irons. That sight was a
continued torment to me; and I see something like it every time I touch
the Ohio, or any other slave border. It is not fair for you to assume
that I have no interest in a thing which has, and continually exercises,
the power of making me miserable. You ought rather to appreciate how
much the great body of the Northern people do crucify their feelings, in
order to maintain their loyalty to the Constitution and the Union. I
do oppose the extension of slavery because my judgment and feeling so
prompt me; and I am under no obligations to the contrary. If for this
you and I must differ, differ we must. You say, if you were President,
you would send an army, and hang the leaders of the Missouri outrages
upon the Kansas elections; still, if Kansas fairly votes herself a Slave
State, she must be admitted, or the Union must be dissolved. But how if
she votes herself a Slave State _unfairly_,--that is, by the very means
for which you say you would hang men? Must she still be admitted, or the
Union dissolved? That will be the phase of the question when it first
becomes a practical one. In your assumption that there may be a fair
decision of the slavery question in Kansas, I plainly see you and I
would differ about the Nebraska law. I look upon that enactment, _not as
a law, but a violence_ from the beginning. It was conceived in violence,
is maintained in violence, and is being executed in violence. I say
it was conceived in violence, because the destruction of the Missouri
Compromise, under the circumstances, was nothing less than violence. It
was passed in violence, because it could not have passed at all but
for the votes of many members in violence of the known will of their
constituents. It is maintained in violence, because the elections since
clearly demand its repeal; and the demand is openly disregarded.

You say men ought to be hung for the way they are executing that law;
and I say the way it is being executed is quite as good as any of its
antecedents. It is being executed in the precise way which was intended
from the first; else why does no Nebraska man express astonishment or
condemnation? Poor Reeder is the only public man who has been silly
enough to believe that any thing like fairness was ever intended; and he
has been bravely undeceived.

That Kansas will form a slave constitution, and with it will ask to be
admitted into the Union, I take to be already a settled question, and so
settled by the very means you so pointedly condemn. By every principle
of law ever held by any court, North or South, every <DW64> taken to
Kansas is free; yet, in utter disregard of this,--in the spirit of
violence merely,--that beautiful Legislature gravely passes a law to
hang any man who shall venture to inform a <DW64> of his legal rights.
This is the substance and real object of the law. If, like Haman, they
should hang upon the gallows of their own building, I shall not be among
the mourners for their fate. In my humble sphere, I shall advocate
the restoration of the Missouri Compromise so long as Kansas remains a
Territory; and when, by all these foul means, it seeks to come into the
Union as a Slave State, I shall oppose it. I am very loath, in any case,
to withhold my assent to the enjoyment of property acquired or located
in good faith; but I do not admit that good faith in taking a <DW64> to
Kansas to be held in slavery is a probability with any man. Any man who
has sense enough to be the controller of his own property has too much
sense to misunderstand the outrageous character of the whole Nebraska
business. But I digress. In my opposition to the admission of Kansas, I
shall have some company; but we may be beaten. If we are, I shall not,
on that account, attempt to dissolve the Union. I think it probable,
however, we shall be beaten. Standing as a unit among yourselves, you
can, directly and indirectly, bribe enough of our men to carry the day,
as you could on the open proposition to establish a monarchy. Get hold
of some man in the North whose position and ability is such that he can
make the support of your measure, whatever it may be, a Democratic party
necessity, and the thing is done. Apropos of this, let me tell you an
anecdote. Douglas introduced the Nebraska Bill in January. In February
afterwards, there was a called session of the Illinois Legislature. Of
the one hundred members composing the two branches of that body,
about seventy were Democrats. These latter held a caucus, in which the
Nebraska Bill was talked of, if not formally discussed. It was thereby
discovered that just three, and no more, were in favor of the measure.
In a day or two Douglas's orders came on to have resolutions passed
approving the bill; and they were passed by large majorities!!! The
truth of this is vouched for by a bolting Democratic member. The masses,
too, Democratic as well as Whig, were even nearer unanimous against it;
but, as soon as the party necessity of supporting it became apparent,
the way the Democracy began to see the wisdom and justice of it was
perfectly astonishing.

You say, that, if Kansas fairly votes herself a Free State, as a
Christian you will rather rejoice at it. All decent slaveholders talk
that way; and I do not doubt their candor. But they never vote that way.
Although in a private letter, or conversation, you will express your
preference that Kansas shall be free, you would vote for no man for
Congress who would say the same thing publicly. No such man could be
elected from any district in a Slave State. You think Stringfellow & Co.
ought to be hung; and yet, at the next Presidential election, you
will vote for the exact type and representative of Stringfellow. The
slave-breeders and slave-traders are a small, odious, and detested class
among you; and yet in politics they dictate the course of all of you,
and are as completely your masters as you are the master of your own
<DW64>s. You inquire where I now stand. That is a disputed point. I
think I am a Whig; but others say there are no Whigs, and that I am an
Abolitionist. When I was at Washington, I voted for the Wilmot Proviso
as good as forty times; and I never heard of any one attempting to un
whig me for that. I now do no more than oppose the extension of slavery.
I am not a Know-Nothing: that is certain. How could I be? How can
any one who abhors the oppression of <DW64>s be in favor of degrading
classes of white people? Our progress in degeneracy appears to me to
be pretty rapid. As a nation, we began by declaring that"_all men are
created equal._" We now practically read it "all men are created equal,
except <DW64>s." When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read "all
men are created equal, except <DW64>s and foreigners and Catholics."
When it comes to this, I should prefer emigrating to some country where
they make no pretence of loving liberty,--to Russia, for instance, where
despotism can be taken pure, and without the base, alloy of hypocrisy.

Mary will probably pass a day or two in Louisville in October. My
kindest regards to Mrs. Speed. On the leading subject of this letter, I
have more of her sympathy than I have of yours; and yet let me say I am

Your friend forever,

A. Lincoln.

Gov. Shannon arrived in the Territory Sept. 1,1855. On his way thither,
he declared himself in favor of making Kansas a Slave State. He found
affairs in a turbulent condition, which his policy by no means tended
to mitigate or assuage. The Free-State party held a mass-meeting at Big
Springs in the early part of September, at which they distinctly and
earnestly repudiated the legislative government, which claimed to
have been elected in March, as well as all laws passed by it; and they
decided not to participate in an election for a delegate to Congress,
which the Legislature had appointed to be held on the 1st of October
following. They also held a Delegate Convention at Topeka, on the 19th
of September, and appointed an Executive Committee for the Territory;
and also an election for a Delegate to Congress, to be held on the
second Tuesday in October. These two rival elections for a congressional
delegate took place on different days; at the former of which,
Whitfield, representing the proslavery party, was elected; while at the
other, Gov. Reeder, representing the Free-State party, was chosen.
On the 28d of October, the Free-State party held a constitutional
Convention at Topeka, and formed a State constitution in their interest,
under the provisions of which they subsequently acted, and also asked
for admission into the Union.

While we are upon this phase of the Kansas question, it may not be amiss
to postpone the relation of some intermediate events, in order to give
the reader the benefit of an expression of Mr. Lincoln's views, which
thus far has found place in no printed record.

Sometime in 1856 an association of Abolitionists was formed in Illinois
to go to Kansas and aid the Free-State men in opposing the Government.
The object of those engaged in this work was, in their opinion, a very
laudable one,--no other than the defence of freedom, which they thought
foully menaced in that far-off region. Among these gentlemen, and one
of the most courageous and disinterested, was William H. Herndon. He
says,--

"Mr. Lincoln was informed of our intents by some means. Probably the
idea of resistance was more known than I now remember. He took the first
opportunity he could to dissuade us from our partially-formed purpose.
We spoke of liberty, justice, and God's higher law, and invoked the
spirit of these as our holiest inspiration. In 1856 he addressed us on
this very subject, substantially in these words:--

"'Friends, I agree with you in Providence; but I believe in the
providence of the most men, the largest purse, and the longest cannon.
You are in the minority,--in a sad minority; and you can't hope to
succeed, reasoning from all human experience. You would rebel against
the Government, and redden your hands in the blood of your countrymen.
If you are in the minority, as you are, you can't succeed. I say again
and again, against the Government, with a great majority of its best
citizens backing it, and when they have the most men, the longest purse,
and the biggest cannon, you can't succeed.

"'If you have the majority, as some of you say you have, you can succeed
with the ballot, throwing away the bullet. You can peaceably, then,
redeem the Government, and preserve the liberties of mankind, through
your votes and voice and moral influence. Let there be peace. In a
democracy, where the majority rule by the ballot through the forms of
law, these physical rebellions and bloody resistances are radically
wrong, unconstitutional, and are treason. Better bear the ills you have
than fly to those you know not of. Our own Declaration of Independence
says, that governments long established, for trivial causes should
not be resisted. Revolutionize through the ballot-box, and restore the
Government once more to the affections and hearts of men, by making it
express, as it was intended to do, the highest spirit of justice and
liberty. Your attempt, if there be such, to resist the laws of Kansas
by force, is criminal and wicked; and all your feeble attempts will be
follies, and end in bringing sorrow on your heads, and ruin the cause
you would freely die to preserve!'

"This little speech," continues Mr. Herndon, "is not in print. It is a
part of a much longer one, likewise not in print. This speech squelched
the ideas of physical resistance, and directed our energies through
other more effective channels, which his wisdom and coolness pointed
out to us. This little speech, so timely and well made, saved many of
us from great follies, if not our necks from the halter. The man who
uttered it is no more; but this little speech, I hope, shall not soon be
forgotten. Mr. Lincoln himself, after this speech, subscribed money to
the people of Kansas _under conditions_, which I will relate in other
ways. He was not alone in his gifts: I signed the same paper, I think,
for the same amount, most cheerfully; and would do it again, only
doubling the sum, adding no conditions, only the good people's wise
discretion."

Early in 1856 it became painfully apparent to Mr. Lincoln that he
must take a decisive stand upon the questions of the day, and become
a Know-Nothing, a Democrat, a Republican, or an Abolitionist. Mere
"Anti-Nebraska" would answer no longer: the members of that ephemeral
coalition were seeking more permanent organizations. If interrogated
concerning his position, he would probably have answered still, "I think
I am a Whig." With the Abolition or Liberty party, he had thus far
shown not a particle of sympathy. In 1840, 1844, 1848, and 1852, the
Abolitionists, Liberty-men, or Free-Soilers, ran candidates of their own
for the Presidency, and made no little noise and stir in the politics of
the country; but they were as yet too insignificant in number to claim
the adhesion of a practical man like Mr. Lincoln. In fact, his partner,
one of the most earnest of them all, had not up to this time desired his
fellowship. But now Mr. Herndon thought the hour had arrived when his
hero should declare himself in unmistakable terms. He found, however,
one little difficulty in the way: he was not precisely certain of his
hero. Mr. Lincoln might go that way, and he might go the other way: his
mind was not altogether made up; and there was no telling on which side
the decision would fall. "He was button-holed by three ideas, and by men
belonging to each class: first, he was urged to remain a Whig; secondly,
he was urged to become a Know-Nothing, Say-Nothing, Do-Nothing;
and, thirdly, he was urged to be baptized in Abolitionism: and in my
imagination I can see Lincoln strung out three ways. At last two cords
were snapped, he flying to Freedom."

And this is the way the cords were snapped: Mr. Herndon drew up a
paper to be signed by men of his class in politics, calling a county
convention to elect delegates to the State convention at Bloomington.
"Mr. Lincoln was then backward," says Mr. Herndon, "dodge-y,--so" and
so. I was determined to make him take a stand, if he would not do
it willingly, which he might have done, as he was naturally inclined
Abolitionward. Lincoln was absent when the call was signed, and
circulated here. I signed Mr. Lincoln's name without authority; had
it published in "The Journal." John T. Stuart was keeping his eye on
Lincoln, with the view of keeping him on his side,--the totally-dead
conservative side. Mr. Stuart saw the published call, and grew mad;
rushed into my office, seemed mad, horrified, and said to me, 'Sir, did
Mr. Lincoln sign that Abolition call which is published this morning?' I
answered, 4 Mr. Lincoln did not sign that call.'--'Did Lincoln authorize
you to sign it?' said Mr. Stuart. 'No: he never authorized me to sign
it.'--'Then do you know that you have ruined Mr. Lincoln?'--'I did not
know that I had ruined Mr. Lincoln; did not intend to do so; thought
he was a made man by it; that the time had come when conservatism was a
crime and a blunder.'--'You, then, take the responsibility of your acts;
do you?'--'I do, most emphatically.'

"However, I instantly sat down and wrote to Mr. Lincoln, who was then
in Pekin or Tremont,--possibly at court. He received my letter, and
instantly replied, either by letter or telegraph,--most likely by
letter,--that he adopted _in toto_ what I had done, and promised to meet
the radicals--Lovejoy, and suchlike men--among us."

At Bloomington Lincoln was the great figure. Beside him all the
rest--even the oldest in the faith and the strongest in the work--were
small. Yet he was universally regarded as a recent convert, although the
most important one that could be made in the State of Illinois. "We
met at Bloomington; and it was there," says Mr. Herndon in one of his
lectures, "that Mr. Lincoln was baptized, and joined our church. He made
a speech to us. I have heard or read all Mr. Lincoln's great speeches;
and I give it as my opinion, on my best judgment, that the Bloomington
speech was the grand effort of his life. Heretofore, and up to this
moment, he had simply argued the slavery question on grounds of
policy,--on what are called the statesman's grounds,--never reaching the
question of the radical and the eternal right. Now he was newly baptized
and freshly born: he had the fervor of a new convert; the smothered
flame broke out; enthusiasm unusual to him blazed up; his eyes were
aglow with an inspiration; he felt justice; his heart was alive to the
right; his sympathies, remarkably deep for him, burst forth, and he
stood before the throne of the eternal Right, in presence of his God,
and then and there unburdened his penitential and fired soul. This
speech was fresh, new, genuine, odd, original; filled with fervor not
unmixed with a divine enthusiasm; his head breathing out through his
tender heart its truths, its sense of right, and its feeling of the good
and for the good. This speech was full of fire and energy and force:
it was logic; it was pathos; it was enthusiasm; it was justice, equity,
truth, right, and the good, set ablaze by the divine fires of a soul
maddened by the wrong; it was hard, heavy, knotty, gnarly, edged, and
heated. I attempted for about fifteen minutes, as was usual with me
then, to take notes; but at the end of that time I threw pen and paper
to the dogs, and lived only in the inspiration of the hour. If Mr.
Lincoln was six feet four inches high usually, _at Bloomington_ he was
seven feet, and inspired at that. From that day to the day of his death,
he stood firm on the right. He felt his great cross, had his great
idea, nursed it, kept it, taught it to others, and in his fidelity bore
witness of it to his death, and finally sealed it with his precious
blood."

[Illustration: William Herndon 418]

If any thing in the foregoing description by Mr. Herndon seems
extravagant to the reader, something must be pardoned to the spirit of a
patient friend and an impatient teacher, who saw in this scene the
first fruits of his careful husbandry, and the end of his long vigil. He
appears to have participated even then in the belief which Mr. Lincoln
himself avowed,--that the latter was designed by the Dispenser of all
things to occupy a great place in the world's history; and he felt
that that day's doings had fixed his political character forever. The
Bloomington Convention was called "Republican," and the Republican party
of Illinois was there formed: but the most noted Abolitionists were in
it, the spirit of the Lovejoys was present; and Mr. Herndon had a right
to say, that, if Mr. Lincoln was not an Abolitionist, he was tending
"Abolition-ward" so surely that no doubt could be entertained of his
ultimate destination. But, after all, the resolutions of the convention
were very "moderate." They merely denounced the administration for
its course regarding Kansas, stigmatized the repeal of the Missouri
Compromise as an act of bad faith, and opposed "the extension of slavery
into Territories heretofore free." It was surely not because Mr. Lincoln
was present, and aiding at the passage of such resolutions, that Mr.
Herndon and others thereafter regarded him as a "newborn" Abolitionist.
It must have been the general warmth of his speech against the
South,--his manifest detestation of slaveholders and slaveholding, as
exhibited in his words,--which led them to believe that his feelings at
least, if not his opinions, were similar to theirs. But the reader will
see, nevertheless, as we get along in our history, that the Bloomington
resolutions were the actual standard of Mr. Lincoln's views; that he
continued to express his determination to maintain the rights of the
Slave States under the Constitution, and to make conspicuously plain his
abhorrence of <DW64> suffrage and <DW64> equality. He certainly disliked
the Southern politicians very much; but even that sentiment, growing
daily more fierce and ominous in the masses of the new party, was in his
case counterbalanced by his prejudices or his caution, and he never saw
the day when he would willingly have clothed the <DW64>s with political
privileges.

Notwithstanding the conservative character of the resolutions, the
proceedings of the Bloomington Convention were alarming to a portion of
the community, and seem to have found little favor with the people of
Springfield. About five days after its adjournment, Herndon and Lincoln
bethought them of holding a ratification meeting. Mr. Herndon got out
huge posters, announcing the event, and employed a band of musicians to
parade the streets and "drum up a crowd." As the hour of meeting drew
near, he "lit up the Court House with many blazes," rung the bells, and
blew a horn. At seven o'clock the meeting should have been called to
order, but it turned out to be extremely slim. There was nobody present,
with all those brilliant lights, but A. Lincoln, W. H. Herndon, and John
Pain. "When Lincoln came into the courtroom," says the bill-poster and
horn-blower of this great demonstration, "he came with a sadness and a
sense of the ludicrous on his face. He walked to the stand, mounted
it in a kind of mockery,--mirth and sadness all combined,--and said,
'Gentlemen, this meeting is larger than I _knew_ it would be. I knew
that Herndon and myself would come, but I did not know that any one else
would be here; and yet another has come,--you, John Pain. These are sad
times, and seem out of joint. All seems dead, dead, dead: but the age
is not yet dead; it liveth as sure as our Maker liveth. Under all this
seeming want of life and motion, the world does move nevertheless. Be
hopeful. And now let us adjourn, and appeal to the people.'

"This speech is in substance just as he delivered it, and substantially
in the same sad but determined spirit; and so we did adjourn, did go
out, and did witness the fact that 'the world was not dead.'"

The Bloomington Convention sent delegates to the general Republican
Convention, which was to be held at Philadelphia in June. That body was
to nominate candidates for the Presidency and Vice-Presidency, and high
hopes were entertained of their success. But much remained to be done
before such a revolution in sentiment could be expected. The American
or Know-Nothing party--corrupt, hideous, and delusive, but still
powerful--had adopted the old Whig platform on the several slavery
questions, and planted itself decisively against the agitations of the
Anti-Nebraska men and the Republicans. A "National Council" had taken
this position for it the year previous, in terms beside which
the resolutions of the Whigs and Democrats in 1852 were mild and
inexpressive. Something, therefore, must be done to get this great
organization out of the way, or to put its machinery under "Republican"
control. We have seen a party of gentlemen from Chicago proposing to
go into the lodges, and "rule them for freedom." Mr. Herndon and Mr.
Lincoln rejected the plot with lofty indignation; but a section of the
Free-Soil politicians were by no means so fastidious. They were for
the most part bad, insincere, trading men, with whom the profession of
principles of any kind was merely a convenient disguise, and who could
be attached to no party, except from motives of self-interest. As yet,
they were not quite certain whether it were possible to raise more
hatred in the Northern mind against foreigners and Catholics than
against slaveholders; and they prudently determined to be in a situation
to try either. Accordingly, they went into the lodges, took the oaths,
swore to stand by the platform of the "National Council" of 1855, and
were perfectly ready to do that, or to betray the organization to the
Republicans, as the prospect seemed good or bad. Believing the latter
scheme to be the best, upon deliberation, they carried it out as far as
in them lay, and then told the old, grim, honest, antislavery men,
with whom they again sought association, that they had joined the
Know-Nothings, and sworn irrevocable oaths to proscribe foreigners and
Catholics, solely that they might rule the order "for freedom;" and,
the Republicans standing in much need of aid just then, the excuse was
considered very good. But it was too shameless a business for Lincoln
and Herndon; and they most righteously despised it.

In February, 1856, the Republicans held what Mr. Greeley styles their
"first National. Convention," at Pittsburg; but they made no nominations
there. At the same time, a Know-Nothing American "National Council" was
sitting at Philadelphia (to be followed by a nominating convention); and
the Republicans at Pittsburg had not adjourned before they got news
by telegraph, that the patriots who had entered the lodges on false
pretences were achieving a great success: the American party was
disintegrating, and a great section of it falling away to the
Republicans. A most wonderful political feat had been performed, and
the way was now apparently clear for a union of the all-formidable
anti-Democratic elements in the Presidential canvass.

On the 17th of June the National Republican Convention met at
Philadelphia, and nominated John C. Fremont for President, and William
L. Dayton for Vice-President. Mr. Williams, Chairman of the Illinois
Delegation, presented to the convention the name of Abraham Lincoln for
the latter office; and it was received with great enthusiasm by some of
the Western delegates. He received, however, but 110 votes, against
259 for Mr. Dayton, and 180 scattered; and Mr. Dayton was immediately
thereafter unanimously declared the nominee.

While this convention was sitting, Mr. Lincoln was attending court at
Urbana, in Champaign County. When the news reached that place that Mr.
Dayton had been nominated, and "Lincoln had received 110 votes," some
of the lawyers insisted that the latter must have been "our [their]
Lincoln;" but he said, "No, it could not be: it must have been the
_great_ Lincoln from Massachusetts." He utterly refused to believe in
the reality of this unexpected distinction until he saw the proceedings
in full. He was just then in one of his melancholy moods, his spirits
depressed, and his heart suffering the miseries of a morbid mind.

With an indorsement of the "self-evident truths" and "inalienable
rights" of the Declaration of Independence, the Republican Convention
adopted the following as the practical and essential features of its
platform:--

"Resolved,... That we deny the authority of Congress, of a territorial
Legislature, of any individual, or association of individuals, to give
legal existence to slavery in any Territory of the United States while
the present Constitution shall be maintained.

"Resolved, That the Constitution confers upon Congress sovereign power
over the Territories of the United States for their government; and
that, in the exercise of this power, it is both the right and the
duty of Congress to prohibit in the Territories those twin relics of
barbarism,--polygamy and slavery."

The National Democratic Convention had already placed in nomination
Buchanan and Breckenridge. Their platform denounced as sectional the
principles and purposes of their opponents; re-affirmed "the principles
contained in the organic laws establishing the Territories of Kansas and
Nebraska, as embodying the only sound and safe solution of the slavery
question," and declared further,--

"That by the uniform application of Democratic principles to the
organization of Territories and the admission of new States, with or
without slavery as they may elect, the equal rights of all the States
will be preserved intact, the original compacts of the Constitution
maintained inviolate, and the perpetuity and expansion of the Union
insured to its utmost capacity of embracing, in peace and harmony,
every future American State that may be constituted or annexed with a
republican form of government."

Mr. Lincoln was again a candidate for the office of Presidential
elector, and made a thorough and energetic canvass. Some of his speeches
were very striking; and probably no man in the country discussed
the main questions in that campaign--Kansas, and slavery in the
Territories--in a manner more original and persuasive. From first to
last, he scouted the intimation that the election of Fremont would
justify a dissolution of the Union, or that it could possibly become
even the occasion of a dissolution. In his eyes, the apprehensions of
disunion were a "humbug;" the threat of it mere bluster, and the fear of
it silly timidity.

In the heat of the canvass, Mr. Lincoln wrote the following perfectly
characteristic letter,--marked "Confidential:"--

Springfield, Sept. 8, 1856.

Harrison Maltby, Esq.

Dear Sir,--I understand you are a Fillmore man. Let me prove to you that
every vote withheld from Fremont and given to Fillmore in this State
actually lessens Fillmore's chance of being President.

Suppose Buchanan gets all the Slave States and Pennsylvania, and any
other one State besides; then he is elected, no matter who gets all the
rest.

But suppose Fillmore gets the two Slave States of Maryland and
Kentucky; then Buchanan is not elected: Fillmore goes into the House of
Representatives, and may be made President by a compromise.

But suppose, again, Fillmore's friends throw away a few thousand votes
on him in Indiana and Illinois: it will inevitably give these States to
Buchanan, which will more than compensate him for the loss of Maryland
and Kentucky; will elect him, and leave Fillmore no chance in the H. R.,
or out of it.

This is as plain as adding up the weights of three small hogs. As Mr.
Fillmore has no possible chance to carry Illinois for himself, it is
plainly to his interest to let Fremont take it, and thus keep it out of
the hands of Buchanan. Be not deceived. Buchanan is the hard horse to
beat in this race. Let him have Illinois, and nothing can beat him;
and he will get Illinois if men persist in throwing away votes upon
Mr. Fillmore. Does some one persuade you that Mr. Fillmore can carry
Illinois? Nonsense! There are over seventy newspapers in Illinois
opposing Buchanan, only three or four of which support Mr. Fillmore, all
the rest going for Fremont. Are not these newspapers a fair index of the
proportion of the votes? If not, tell me why.

Again, of these three or four Fillmore newspapers, two, at least, are
supported in part by the Buchanan men, as I understand. Do not they know
where the shoe pinches? They know the Fillmore movement helps them, and
therefore they help it.

Do think these things over, and then act according to your judgment.

Yours very truly,

A. Lincoln.

(Confidential.)

This letter was discovered by the Buchanan men, printed in their
newspapers, and pronounced, as its author anticipated, "a mean trick."
It was a dangerous document to them, and was calculated to undermine the
very citadel of their strength.

Mr. Lincoln was still in imperfect fellowship--if, indeed, in any
fellowship at all--with the extreme Abolitionists. He had met
with Lovejoy and his followers at Bloomington, and was apparently
co-operating with them for the same party purposes; but the intensity of
his opposition to their radical views is intimated very strongly in this
letter to Mr. Whitney:--

SprinGfield, July 9, 1856.

Dear Whitney,--I now expect to go to Chicago on the 15th, and I probably
shall remain there or thereabout for about two weeks.

It turned me blind when I first heard Swett was beaten and Lovejoy
nominated; but, after much anxious reflection, I really believe it is
best to let it stand. This, of course, I wish to be confidential.

Lamon did get your deeds. I went with him to the office, got them, and
put them in his hands myself.

Yours very truly,

A. Lincoln.

In June, 1857, Judge Douglas made a speech at Springfield, in which he
attempted to vindicate the wisdom and fairness of the law under which
the people of Kansas were about to choose delegates to a convention to
be held at Lecompton to frame a State constitution. He declared
with emphasis, that, if the Free-State party refused to vote at this
election, they alone would be blamable for the proslavery constitution
which might be formed. The Free-State men professed to have a vast
majority,--"three-fourths," "four-fifths," "nine-tenths," of the voters
of Kansas. If these wilfully staid away from the polls, and allowed the
minority to choose the delegates and make the constitution, Mr. Douglas
thought they ought to abide the result, and not oppose the constitution
adopted. Mr. Douglas's speech indicated clearly that he himself would
countenance no opposition to the forthcoming Lecompton Convention, and
that he would hold the Republican politicians responsible if the result
failed to be satisfactory to them.

Judge Douglas seldom spoke in that region without provoking a reply from
his constant and vigilant antagonist. Mr. Lincoln heard this speech
with a critical ear, and then, waiting only for a printed report of it,
prepared a reply to be delivered a few weeks later. The speeches were
neither of them of much consequence, except for the fact that Judge
Douglas seemed to have plainly committed himself in advance to the
support of the Lecompton Constitution. Mr. Lincoln took that much for
granted; and, arguing from sundry indications that the election would
be fraudulently conducted, he insisted that Mr. Douglas himself, as
the author of the Kansas-Nebraska Bill, and the inventor of "popular
sovereignty," had made this "outrage" possible. He did not believe
there were any "Free-State Democrats" in Kansas to make it a Free State
without the aid of the Republicans, whom he held to be a vast majority
of the population. The latter, he contended, were not all registered;
and, because all were not registered, he thought none ought to vote.
But Mr. Lincoln advised no bloodshed, no civil war, no roadside
assassinations. Even if an incomplete registry might justify a majority
of the people in an obstinate refusal to participate in the regulation
of their own affairs, it certainly would not justify them in taking up
arms to oppose all government in the Territory; and Mr. Lincoln did not
say so. We have seen already how, in the "little speech" reported by Mr.
Herndon, he deprecated "all physical rebellions" in this country, and
applied his views to this case.

Mr. Lincoln also discussed the Dred-Scott Decision at some length; and,
while doing so, disclosed his firm belief, that, in some respects, such
as "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," the <DW64>s were made
by the Declaration of Independence the equals of white men. But it
did not follow from this that he was in favor of political or social
equality with them. "There is," said he, "a natural disgust in the
minds of nearly all the white people to the idea of an indiscriminate
amalgamation of the white and black races; and Judge Douglas evidently
is basing his chief hope upon the chances of his being able to
appropriate the benefit of this disgust to himself. If he can, by
much drumming and repeating, fasten the odium of that idea upon his
adversaries, he thinks he can struggle through the storm. He therefore
clings to his hope, as a drowning man to the last plank. He makes
an occasion for lugging it in from the opposition to the Dred-Scott
Decision. He finds the Republicans insisting that the Declaration of
Independence includes all men,--black as well as white; and forthwith
he boldly denies that it includes <DW64>s at all, and proceeds to argue
gravely, that all who contend it does, do so only because they want to
vote, eat, sleep, and marry with <DW64>s. Now, 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. I need not
have her for either. I can just leave her alone. In some respects, she
certainly is not my equal; but in her natural right to eat the bread she
earns with her own hands, without asking leave of any one else, she is
my equal, and the equal of all others."

These speeches were delivered, the one early and the other late, in
the month of June: they present strongly, yet guardedly, the important
issues which were to engage Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Douglas in the famous
campaign of 1858, and leave us no choice but to look into Kansas, and
observe what had taken place and what was happening there.

Violence still (June, 1857) prevailed throughout the Territory. The
administration of President Pierce committed itself at the first in
support of the proslavery party. It acknowledged the Legislature as the
only legal government in the Territory, and gave it military assistance
to enforce its enactments. Gov. Shannon, having by his course only
served to increase the hostility between the parties, was recalled, and
John W. Geary of Pennsylvania was appointed his successor. Gov. Geary,
while adopting the policy of the administration, so far as recognizing
the Legislative party as the only legally organized government, was yet
disposed to see, that, so far as the two parties could be got to act
together, each should be fairly protected. This policy, however, soon
brought him into collision with some of the proslavery leaders in the
Territory; and, not being sustained by Mr. Buchanan's administration,
which had in the mean time succeeded the administration of President
Pierce, he resigned his office. Hon. Robert J. Walker of Mississippi
was appointed his successor, with Hon. F. P. Stanton of Tennessee as
secretary. Both were strong Democrats; and both were earnest advocates
of the policy of the administration, as expressed in the recent
presidential canvass, and in Mr. Buchanan's inaugural Message,--the
absolute freedom of the people of the Territories to form such
governments as they saw fit, subject to the provisions of the
Constitution. Gov. Walker and his secretary earnestly set themselves to
work to carry out this policy. The governor, in various addresses to the
people of the Territory, assured all parties that he would protect
them in the free expression of their wishes in the election for a new
Territorial legislature; and he besought the Free-State men to give up
their separate Territorial organization, under which they had already
applied for admission into the Union, and by virtue of which they
claimed still to have an equitable legal existence. The governor was so
earnest in his policy, and so fair-minded in his purposes, that he
soon drew upon himself the opposition of the proslavery party of the
Territory, now in a small minority, as well as the enmity of that party
in the States. He assured the people they should have a fair election
for the new Legislature to be chosen in October (1857), and which would
come into power in January following. The people took him at his word;
and he kept it. Enormous frauds were discovered in two districts,
which were promptly set aside. The triumph of the Free-State party was
complete: they elected a legislature in their interest by a handsome
majority. And now began another phase of the struggle. The policy of
the Governor and the Secretary was repudiated at Washington: the former
resigned, and the latter was removed. Meanwhile, a convention held under
the auspices of the old Legislature had formed a new constitution, known
as the Lecompton Constitution, which the old Legislature proposed to
submit to the people for ratification on the 21st of December. The
manner of submitting it was singular, to say the least. The people
were required to vote either for the constitution with slavery, or the
constitution without slavery. As without slavery the constitution was
in some of its provisions as objectionable as if it upheld slavery, the
Free-State men refused to participate in its ratification. The vote
on its submission, therefore, stood 4,206 for the constitution with
slavery, and 567 without slavery; and it was this constitution, thus
submitted and thus adopted, that Mr. Buchanan submitted to Congress on
the 2d of February, 1858, as the free expression of the wishes of the
people of Kansas; and its support was at once made an administration
measure. Meantime the new Legislature elected by the people of the
Territory in October submitted this same Lecompton Constitution to the
people again, and in this manner: votes to be given for the constitution
with slavery and without slavery, and also against the constitution
entirely. The latter manner prevailed; the vote against the constitution
in any form being over ten thousand. Thus the proslavery party in the
Territory was overthrown. Under the auspices of the new Free-State
Legislature, a constitutional convention was held at Wyandotte, in
March, 1859. A Free-State constitution was adopted, under which Kansas
was subsequently admitted into the Union.

Before leaving this Kansas question, there is one phase of the closing
part of the struggle which it is worth while to note, particularly as it
has a direct bearing upon the fortunes of Judge Douglas, and indirectly
to the success of Mr. Lincoln. Douglas always insisted that his plan of
"popular sovereignty" would give to the people of the Territories the
utmost freedom in the formation of their local governments. When Mr.
Buchanan attempted to uphold the Lecompton Constitution as being the
free choice of the people of Kansas, Judge Douglas at once took issue
with the administration on this question, and the Democratic party
was split in twain. Up to the time of the vote of the people of the
Territory on the constitution, Douglas had been an unswerving supporter
of the administration policy in Kansas. His speech at Springfield,
in the June previous, could not be misunderstood. He held all the
proceedings which led to the Lecompton issue to be in strict accordance,
not only with the letter, but the spirit, of the Kansas-Nebraska Act,
and with the faith of the Democratic party as expounded by himself. But
a few weeks later it became manifest that his opinions had undergone
a change. Ominous rumors of a breach with the administration began to
circulate among his friends. It was alleged at length that Mr. Douglas's
delicate sense of justice had been shocked by the unfairness of certain
elections in Kansas: it was even intimated that he, too, considered the
Lecompton affair an "outrage" upon the sovereign people of Kansas, and
that he would speedily join the Republicans--the special objects of
his indignation in the June speech--in denouncing and defeating it. The
Kansas-Nebraska Bill had borne its appropriate fruits,--the fruits all
along predicted by Mr. Lincoln,--and Mr. Douglas commended them to
anybody's eating but his own. His desertion was sudden and astonishing;
but there was method in it, and a reason for it. The next year Illinois
was to choose a senator to fill the vacancy created by the expiration of
his own term; and the choice lay between the author of the
Kansas-Nebraska Bill and its most conspicuous opponent in that State.
The newspapers were not yet done publishing Mr. Lincoln's speech, in
which occurred the following paragraph:--

"Three years and a half ago Judge Douglas brought forward his famous
Nebraska Bill. The country was at once in a blaze. He scorned all
opposition, and carried it through Congress. Since then he has seen
himself superseded in a Presidential nomination by one indorsing the
general doctrine of his measure, but at the same time standing clear of
the odium of its untimely agitation and its gross' breach of national
faith; and he has seen the successful rival constitutionally elected,
not by the strength of friends, but by the division of his adversaries,
being in a popular minority of nearly four hundred thousand votes.
He has seen his chief aids in his own State, Shields and Richardson,
politically speaking, successively tried, convicted, and executed for
an offence not their own, but his. And now he sees his own case standing
next on the docket for trial."




CHAPTER XVI

ALTHOUGH primarily responsible for all that had taken place in Kansas,
Mr. Douglas appeared to be suddenly animated by a new and burning zeal
in behalf of the Free-State party in the Territory. It struck him very
forcibly, just when he needed most to be struck by a new idea, that
the Lecompton Constitution was not "the act and deed of the people of
Kansas."

Accordingly, Mr. Douglas took his stand against Lecompton at the first
note of the long conflict in Congress. We shall make no analysis of the
debates, nor set out the votes of senators and representatives which
marked the intervals of that fierce struggle between sections, parties,
and factions which followed. It is enough to say here, that Mr. Douglas
was found speaking and voting with the Republicans upon every phase of
the question. He had but one or two followers in the Senate, and a mere
handful in the House; yet these were faithful to his lead until a final
conference committee and the English Bill afforded an opportunity for
some of them to escape. For himself he scorned all compromises, voted
against the English Bill, and returned to Illinois to ask the votes
of the people upon a winter's record wholly and consistently
anti-Democratic. The fact is mentioned, not to obscure the fame of the
statesman, nor to impugn the honesty of the politician, but because it
had an important influence upon the canvass of the ensuing summer.

During the winter Mr. Douglas held frequent consultations with the
leaders of the Republican party. Their meetings were secret, and for
that reason the more significant. By this means, harmony of action was
secured for the present, and something provided for the future. Mr.
Douglas covertly announced himself as a convert to the Republicans,
declared his uncompromising enmity to "the slave power," and said that,
however he might be distrusted then, he would be seen "fighting their
battles in 1860;" but for the time he thought it wise to conceal his
ultimate intentions. He could manage the Democracy more effectually
by remaining with them until better opportunities should occur. "He
insisted that he would never be driven from the party, but would remain
in it until he exposed the administration and the Disunionists; and,
when he went out, he would go of his own accord. He was in the habit of
remarking, that it was policy for him to remain in the party, in order
to hold certain of the rank-and-file; so that, if he went over from the
Democracy to any other party, he would be able to take the crowd along
with him; and, when he got them all over, he would cut down the bridges,
and sink the boats." When asked if he knew precisely where his present
course was taking him, he answered repeatedly, "I do; and I have checked
all my baggage, and taken a through ticket."

He was a proselyte not to be despised: his weight might be sufficient
to turn the scale in the Presidential election. The Republicans were
naturally pleased with his protestations of friendship, and more than
pleased with his proffers of active service; but he was not content with
this alone. He contrived to convince many of his late opponents that the
Kansas-Nebraska Bill itself was actually conceived in the interests
of antislavery, and that the device was the most cunning of political
tricks, intended to give back to "freedom" all the vast expanse of
territory which the Missouri line had dedicated forever to slavery. "Mr.
Douglas's plan for destroying the Missouri line," said one Republican,
"and thereby opening the way for the march of freedom beyond the limits
forever prohibited by that line, and the opening up of Free States in
territory which it was conceded belonged to the Slave States, and its
march westward, embracing the whole line of the Pacific from the British
possessions to Mexico, struck me as the most magnificent scheme
ever conceived by the human mind. This character of conversation, so
frequently employed by Mr. Douglas with those with whom he talked, made
the deepest impression upon their minds, enlisted them in his behalf,
and changed, in almost every instance, their opinion of the man." In
support of this view, Mr. Douglas could point to Kansas, where the
battle under his bill was being fought out. The Free-State men had,
perhaps from the very beginning, been in a majority, and could take
possession of the Territory or the new State, as the case might be,
whenever they could secure a fair vote. The laboring classes of, the
North were the natural settlers of the western Territories. If these
failed in numbers, the enormous and increasing European immigration
was at their back; and, if both together failed, the churches, aid
societies, and antislavery organizations were at hand to raise, arm,
and equip great bodies of emigrants, as they would regular forces for a
public purpose. The South had no such facilities: its social, political,
and material conditions made a sudden exodus of its voting population
to new countries a thing impossible. It might send here a man with a few
<DW64>s, and there another. It might insist vehemently upon its supposed
rights in the common Territories, and be ready to fight for them; but
it could never cover the surface of those Territories with cosey
farmsteads, or crowd them with intelligent and muscular white men; and
yet these last would inevitably give political character to the
rising communities. Such clearly were to be the results of "popular
sovereignty," as Mr. Douglas had up to that time maintained it under the
Nebraska Bill.

It signified the right of the people of a Territory "to form and
regulate their domestic institutions in their own way" when, and not
before, they came to frame a State constitution. The Missouri line, on
the contrary, had been a sort of convention, which, by common consent,
gave all north of it to freedom, and all south of it to slavery. But
popular sovereignty disregarded all previous compacts, all ordinances,
and all laws. With this doctrine in practice, the North were sure to be
victors in every serious contest. But when Mr. Douglas changed ground
again, and popular sovereignty became squatter sovereignty, he had
reason to boast himself the most efficient, although the wiliest and
coolest, antislavery agitator on the continent. The new doctrine implied
the right of a handful of settlers to determine the slavery question in
their first Legislature. It made no difference whether they did this by
direct or "unfriendly legislation:" the result was the same.

"Popular sovereignty! popular sovereignty!" said Mr. Lincoln. "Let us
for a moment inquire into this vast matter of popular sovereignty. What
is popular sovereignty? We recollect, that, in an early period in
the history of this struggle, there was another name for the
same thing,--_squatter sovereignty_. It was not exactly popular
sovereignty,--squatter sovereignty. What do these terms mean? What do
those terms mean when used now? And vast credit is taken by our friend,
the Judge, in regard to his support of it, when he declares the last
years of his life have been, and all the future years of his life shall
be, devoted to this matter of popular sovereignty. What is it? Why,
it is the sovereignty of the people! What was squatter sovereignty?
I suppose, if it had any significance at all, it was the right of the
people to govern themselves, to be sovereign in their own affairs while
they were squatted down in a country not their own, while they had
squatted on a territory that did not belong to them; in the sense that
a State belongs to the people who inhabit it, when it belongs to
the nation. Such right to govern themselves was called 'squatter
sovereignty.'"

Again, and on another occasion, but still before Mr. Douglas had
substituted "squatter" for "popular" sovereignty,--a feat which was not
performed until September, 1859,--Mr. Lincoln said,--

"I suppose almost every one knows, that in this controversy, whatever
has been said has had reference to <DW64> slavery. We have not been in
a controversy about the right of the people to govern themselves in the
ordinary matters of domestic concern in the States and Territories.
Mr. Buchanan, in one of his late messages (I think when he sent up the
Lecompton Constitution), urged that the main point to which the public
attention had been directed was not in regard to the great variety of
small domestic matters, but it was directed to <DW64> slavery; and he
asserts, that, if the people had had a fair chance to vote on that
question, there was no reasonable ground of objection in regard to minor
questions. Now, while I think that the people had not had given them, or
offered them, a fair chance upon that slavery question, still, if
there had been a fair submission to a vote upon that main question, the
President's proposition would have been true to the uttermost. Hence,
when hereafter I speak of popular sovereignty, I wish to be understood
as applying what I say to the question of slavery only, not to other
minor domestic matters of a Territory or a State.

"Does Judge Douglas, when he says that several of the past years of his
life have been devoted to the question of popular sovereignty, and that
all the remainder of his life shall be devoted to it,--does he mean to
say, that he has been devoting his life to securing to the people of
the Territories the right to exclude slavery from the Territories? If
he means so to say, he means to deceive; because he and every one knows
that the decision of the Supreme Court, which he approves, and makes an
especial ground of attack upon me for disapproving, forbids the people
of a Territory to exclude slavery. This covers the whole ground, from
the settlement of a Territory till it reaches the degree of maturity
entitling it to form a State constitution. So far as all that ground
is concerned, the judge is not sustaining popular sovereignty, but
absolutely opposing it. He sustains the decision which declares that the
popular will of the Territories has no constitutional power to exclude
slavery during their territorial existence. This being so, the period of
time from the first settlement of a territory till it reaches the point
of forming a State constitution is not the thing that the Judge has
fought for, or is fighting for; but, on the contrary, he has fought for,
and is fighting for, the thing that annihilates and crushes out that
same popular sovereignty."

It is probable, that, in the numerous private conferences held by Mr.
Douglas with Republican leaders in the winter of 1857-8, he managed
to convince them that it was, after all, not popular sovereignty,
but squatter sovereignty, that he meant to advance as his final and
inevitable deduction from "the great principles" of the Nebraska Bill.
This he knew, and they were sure, would give antislavery an unbroken
round of solid victories in all the Territories. The South feared it
much more than they did the Republican theory: it was, in the language
of their first orator, "a shortcut to all the ends of Sewardism."

But Mr. Douglas's great difficulty was to produce any belief in his
sincerity. At home, in Illinois, the Republicans distrusted him almost
to a man; and at Washington, among his peers in the Senate and the
House, it seemed necessary for him to repeat his plans and promises
very often, and to mingle with them bitter and passionate declamations
against the South. At last, however, he succeeded,--partially, at least.
Senator Wilson believed him devoutly; Mr. Burlingame said his record
was "laid up in light;" Mr. Colfax, Mr. Blair, and Mr. Covode were
convinced; and gentlemen of the press began industriously to prepare
the way for his entrance into the Republican party. Mr. Greeley was
thoroughly possessed by the new idea, and went about propagating
and enforcing it with all his might. Among all the grave counsellors
employed in furthering Mr. Douglas's defection, it is singular that only
one man of note steadily resisted his admission to a place of leadership
in the Republican ranks: Judge Trumbull could not be persuaded; he had
no faith in the man who proposed to desert, and had some admonitions to
deliver, based upon the history of recent events. He was willing enough
to take him "on probation," but wholly opposed to giving him any power.
Covode was employed to mollify Judge Trumbull; but he met with no
success, and went away without so much as delivering the message with
which Mr. Douglas had charged him. The message was a simple proposition
of alliance with the home Republicans, to the effect, that, if they
agreed to return him to the Senate in 1858, he would fight their
Presidential battle in 1860. Judge Trumbull did not even hear it, but he
was well assured that Mr. Douglas was "an applicant for admission into
the Republican party." "It was reported to me at that time," said
he, "that such was the fact; and such appeared to be the universal
understanding, among the Republicans at Washington. I will state another
fact,--I almost quarrelled with some of my best Republican friends in
'regard to this matter. I was willing to receive Judge Douglas into
the Republican party on probation; but I was not, as these Republican
friends were, willing to receive him, and place him at the head of our
ranks."

Toward the latter part of April, 1858, a Democratic State Convention
met in Illinois, and, besides nominating a ticket for State officers,
indorsed Mr. Douglas. This placed him in the field for re-election as
an Anti-Lecompton Democrat; but it by no means shook the faith of his
recently acquired Republican friends: they thought it very natural,
under the circumstances, that his ways should be a little devious, and
his policy somewhat dark. He had always said he could do more for them
by seeming to remain within the Democratic party; and they looked
upon this latest proceeding--his practical nomination by a Democratic
convention--as the foundation for an act of stupendous treason between
that time and the Presidential election. They continued to press the
Republicans of Illinois to make no nomination against him,--to vote for
him, to trust him, to follow him, as a sincere and manifestly a powerful
antislavery leader. These representations had the effect of seducing
away, for a brief time, Mr. Wash-burne and a few others among the
lesser politicians of the State; but, when they found the party at large
irrevocably opposed to the scheme, they reluctantly acquiesced in what
they could not prevent,--Mr. Lincoln's nomination. But the plot made a
profound impression on Mr. Lincoln's mind: it proved the existence
of personal qualities in Mr. Douglas, which, to a simpler man, were
unimaginable and inexplicable. A gentleman once inquired of Mr. Lincoln
what he thought of Douglas's chances at Charleston. "Well," he replied,
"were it not for certain matters that I know transpired, which I
regarded at one time among the impossibilities, I would say he stood no
possible chance. I refer to the fact, that, in the Illinois contest with
myself, he had the sympathy and support of Greeley, of Burlingame, and
of Wilson of Massachusetts, and other leading Republicans; that, at
the same time, he received the support of Wise, and the influence of
Breckinridge, and other Southern men; that he took direct issue with
the administration, and secured, against all its power, one hundred and
twenty-five thousand out of one hundred and thirty thousand Democratic
votes cast in the State. A man that can bring such influence to bear
with his own exertions may play the devil at Charleston."

From about the 7th to the 16th of June, 1858, Mr. Lincoln was busily
engaged writing a speech: he wrote it in scraps,--a sentence now, and
another again. It was originally scattered over numberless little pieces
of paper, and was only reduced to consecutive sheets and connected form
as the hour for its delivery drew near. It was to be spoken on or
about the 16th, when the Republican State Convention would assemble at
Springfield, and, as Mr. Lincoln anticipated, would nominate him for
senator in Congress.

About the 13th of June, Mr. Dubois, the State auditor, entered the
office of Lincoln & Herndon, and found Mr. Lincoln deeply intent upon
the speech. "Hello, Lincoln! what _are_ you writing?" said the auditor.
"Come, tell me."--"I sha'n't tell you," said Lincoln. "_It is none of
your business_, Mr. Auditor. Come, sit down, and let's be jolly."

On the 16th, the convention, numbering, with delegates and alternates,
about a thousand men, met, and passed unanimously the following
resolution:--

"That Hon. Abraham Lincoln is our first and only choice for United
States senator to fill the vacancy about to be created by the expiration
of Mr. Douglas's term of office."

That evening Mr. Lincoln came early to his office, along with Mr.
Herndon. Having carefully locked the door, and put the key in his own
pocket, he pulled from his bosom the manuscript of his speech, and
proceeded to read it slowly and distinctly. When he had finished the
first paragraph, he came to a dead pause, and turned to his astounded
auditor with the inquiry, "How do you like that? What do you think of
it?"--"I think," returned Mr. Herndon, "it is true; but is it entirely
_politic_ to read or speak it as it is written?"

--"That makes no difference," Mr. Lincoln said. "That expression is a
truth of all human experience,--'a house divided against itself cannot
stand;' and 'he that runs may read.' The proposition is indisputably
true, and has been true for more than six thousand years; and--I will
deliver it as written. I want to use some universally known figure,
expressed in simple language as universally known, that may strike home
to the minds of men, in order to rouse them to the peril of the times.
I would rather be _defeated with this expression in_ the speech, and it
held up and discussed before the people, than _to be victorious without
it._"

It may be questioned whether Mr. Lincoln had a clear right to indulge in
such a venture, as a representative party man in a close contest. He
had other interests than his own in charge: he was bound to respect the
opinions, and, if possible, secure the success, of the party which had
made him its leader. He knew that the strange doctrine, so strikingly
enunciated, would alienate many well-affected voters. Was it his duty
to cast these away, or to keep them? He was not asked to sacrifice any
principle of the party, or any opinion of his own previously expressed,
but merely to forego the trial of an experiment, to withhold the
announcement of a startling theory, and to leave the creed of the
party as it came from the hands of its makers, without this individual
supplement, of which they had never dreamed. It is evident that he
had not always been insensible to the force of this reasoning. At the
Bloomington Convention he had uttered the same ideas in almost the same
words; and their novelty, their tendency, their recognition of a
state of incipient civil war in a country for the most part profoundly
peaceful,--these, and the bloody work which might come of their
acceptance by a great party, had filled the minds of some of his hearers
with the most painful apprehensions. The theory was equally shocking to
them, whether as partisans or as patriots. Among them was Hon. T. Lyle
Dickey, who sought Mr. Lincoln, and begged him to suppress them in
future. He vindicated his speech as he has just vindicated it in the
interview with Mr. Herndon; but, after much persuasion, he promised at
length not to repeat it.

It was now Mr. Herndon's turn to be surprised: the pupil had outstripped
the teacher. He was intensely anxious for Mr. Lincoln's election:
he feared the effect of this speech; and yet it was so exactly in
accordance with his own faith, that he could not advise him to suppress
it. It might be heresy to many others, but it was orthodoxy to him;
and he was in the habit of telling the whole truth, without regard
to consequences. If it cost a single defeat now, he was sure that its
potency would one day be felt, and the wisdom of its present utterance
acknowledged. He therefore urged Mr. Lincoln to speak it as he had
written it, and to treat with the scorn of a prophet those who, having
ears, would not hear, and, having eyes, would not see. The advice was
not unacceptable, but Mr. Lincoln thought he owed it to other friends to
counsel with them also.

About a dozen gentlemen were called to meet in the Library Room in
the State House. "After seating them at the round table," says John
Armstrong, one of the number, "he read that clause or section of his
speech which reads, 'a house divided against itself cannot stand,' &c.
He read it slowly and cautiously, so as to let each man fully understand
it. After he had finished the reading, he asked the opinions of his
friends as to the wisdom or policy of it. Every man among them condemned
the speech in substance and spirit, and especially that section quoted
above. They unanimously declared that the whole speech was too far in
advance of the times; and they all condemned that section or part of his
speech already quoted, as unwise and impolitic, if not false. William
H. Herndon sat still while they were giving their respective opinions
of its unwisdom and impolicy: then he sprang to his feet and said,
'Lincoln, deliver it just as it reads. If it is in advance of the times,
let us--you and I, if no one else--lift the people to the level of this
speech now, higher hereafter. The speech is true, wise, and politic, and
will succeed now or in the future. Nay, it will aid you, if it will not
make you President of the United States.'

"Mr. Lincoln sat still a short moment, rose from his chair, walked
backwards and forwards in the hall, stopped and said, 'Friends, I have
thought about this matter a great deal, have weighed the question well
from all corners, and am thoroughly convinced the time has come when it
should be uttered; and if it must be that I must go down because of this
speech, then let me go down linked to truth,--die in the advocacy of
what is right and just. This nation cannot live on injustice,--"a house
divided against itself cannot stand," I say again and again.' This was
spoken with some degree of emotion,--the effects of his love of truth,
and sorrow from the disagreement of his friends with himself."

On the evening of the 17th this celebrated speech--known since as
"The House-divided-against-itself Speech"--was delivered to an immense
audience in the hall of the House of Representatives. Mr. Lincoln never
penned words which had a more prodigious influence upon the public mind,
or which more directly and powerfully affected his own career. It was as
follows:--

Gentlemen of the Convention,--If we could first know where we are, and
whither we are tending, we could then better judge what to do, and
how to do it. We are now far on into the fifth year since a policy was
initiated with the avowed object and confident promise of putting an end
to slavery agitation. Under the operation of that policy, that agitation
had not only not ceased, but has constantly augmented. In my opinion,
it will not cease until a crisis shall have been reached and passed. "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 farther
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 till it shall become alike lawful in all the
States,--old as well as new, North as well as South.

Have we no tendency to the latter condition? Let any one who doubts
carefully contemplate that now almost complete legal combination,--piece
of machinery, so to speak,--compounded of the Nebraska doctrine and the
Dred-Scott Decision. Let him consider, not only what work the machinery
is adapted to do, and how well adapted, but also let him study the
history of its construction, and trace, if he can, or rather fail, if he
can, to trace, the evidences of design and concert of action among its
chief master-workers from the beginning.

But so far Congress only had acted; and an indorsement by the people,
real or apparent, was indispensable, to save the point already gained
and give chance for more. The New Year of 1854 found slavery excluded
from more than half the States by State constitutions, and from most
of the national territory by congressional prohibition. Four days later
commenced the struggle which ended in repealing that congressional
prohibition. This opened all the national territory to slavery, and was
the first point gained.

This necessity had not been overlooked, but had been provided for, as
well as might be, in the notable argument of "_squatter sovereignty_"
otherwise called "_sacred right of self-government;_" which latter
phrase, though expressive of the only rightful basis of any government,
was so perverted in this attempted use of it as to amount to just this:
that, if any one man choose to enslave another, no third man shall be
allowed to object. That argument was incorporated into the Nebraska Bill
itself, in the language which follows: "It being the true intent and
meaning of this act not to legislate slavery into any Territory or
State, nor exclude it therefrom, but to leave the people thereof
perfectly free to form and regulate their domestic institutions in their
own way, subject only to the Constitution of the United States."

Then opened the roar of loose declamation in favor of "squatter
sovereignty" and "sacred right of self-government."

"But," said opposition members, "let us be more specific,--let us amend
the bill so as to expressly declare that the people of the Territory may
exclude slavery."--"Not we," said the friends of the measure; and down
they voted the amendment.

While the Nebraska Bill was passing through Congress, a law-case
involving the question of a <DW64>'s freedom, by reason of his owner
having voluntarily taken him first into a Free State, and then a
Territory covered by the congressional prohibition, and held him as a
slave,--for a long time in each,--was passing through the United-States
Circuit Court for the District of Missouri; and both the Nebraska Bill
and lawsuit were brought to a decision in the same month of May, 1854.
The <DW64>'s name was Dred Scott, which name now designates the decision
finally made in the case.

Before the then next Presidential election, the law-case came to, and
was argued in, the Supreme Court of the United States; but the decision
of it was deferred until after the election. Still, before the election,
Senator Trumbull, on the floor of the Senate, requests the leading
advocate of the Nebraska Bill to state his opinion whether a people of
a Territory can constitutionally exclude slavery from their limits; and
the latter answers, "That is a question for the Supreme Court."

The election came. Mr. Buchanan was elected, and the indorsement, such
as it was, secured. That was the second point gained. The indorsement,
however, fell short of a clear popular majority by nearly four hundred
thousand votes; and so, perhaps, was not overwhelmingly reliable and
satisfactory. The outgoing President, in his last annual Message, as
impressively as possible echoed back upon the people the weight and
authority of the indorsement.

The Supreme Court met again; did not announce their decision, but
ordered a re-argument. The Presidential inauguration came, and still
no decision of the court; but the incoming President, in his inaugural
address, fervently exhorted the people to abide by the forthcoming
decision, whatever it might he. Then, in a few days, came the decision.

This was the third point gained.

The reputed author of the Nebraska Bill finds an early occasion to
make a speech at this Capitol indorsing the Dred-Scott Decision, and
vehemently denouncing all opposition to it. The new President, too,
seizes the early occasion of the Silliman letter to indorse and strongly
construe that decision, and to express his astonishment that any
different view had ever been entertained. At length a squabble springs
up between the President and the author of the Nebraska Bill, on the
mere question of fact whether the Lecompton Constitution was, or was
not, in any just sense, made by the people of Kansas; and, in that
squabble, the latter declares that all he wants is a fair vote for the
people, and that he cares not whether slavery be voted down or voted up.
I do not understand his declaration, that he cares not whether slavery
be voted down or voted up, to be intended by him other than as an apt
definition of the policy he would impress upon the public mind,--the
principle for which he declares he has suffered much, and is ready to
suffer to the end.

And well may he cling to that principle! If he has any parental feeling,
well may he cling to it! That principle is the only shred left of his
original Nebraska doctrine. Under the Dred-Scott Decision, squatter
sovereignty squatted out of existence,--tumbled down like temporary
scaffolding; like the mould at the foundery, served through one blast,
and fell back into loose sand; helped to carry an election, and then
was kicked to the winds. His late joint struggle with the Republicans
against the Lecompton Constitution involves nothing of the original
Nebraska doctrine. That struggle was made on a point--the right of a
people to make their own constitution--upon which he and the Republicans
have never differed.

The several points of the Dred-Scott Decision, in connection with
Senator Douglas's "care-not" policy, constitute the piece of machinery
in its present state of advancement. The working-points of that
machinery are,--

First, That no <DW64> slave, imported as such from Africa, and no
descendant of such, can ever be a citizen of any State, in the sense of
that term as used in the Constitution of the United States.

This point is made in order to deprive the <DW64>, in every possible
event, of the benefit of this provision of the United States
Constitution, which declares that "The citizens of each State shall be
entitled to all the privileges and immunities of citizens in the several
States.

Secondly, That, "subject to the Constitution of the United States,"
neither Congress nor a Territorial Legislature can exclude slavery from
any United States Territory.

This point is made in order that individual men may fill up the
Territories with slaves, without danger of losing them as property, and
thus to enhance the chances of permanency to the institution through all
the future.

Thirdly, That whether the holding a <DW64> in actual slavery in a Free
State makes him free, as against the holder, the United States courts
will not decide, but will leave it to be decided by the courts of any
Slave State the <DW64> may be forced into by the master.

This point is made, not to be pressed immediately; but if acquiesced in
for a while, and apparently indorsed by the people at an election, then
to sustain the logical conclusion, that, what Dred Scott's master might
lawfully do with Dred Scott in the free State of Illinois, every other
master may lawfully do with any other one or one thousand slaves in
Illinois, or in any other Free State.

Auxiliary to all this, and working hand in hand with it, the Nebraska
doctrine, or what is left of it, is to educate and mould public opinion,
at least Northern public opinion, not to care whether slavery is voted
down or voted up.

This shows exactly where we now are, and partially, also, whither we are
tending.

It will throw additional light on the latter to go back and run the mind
over the string of historical facts already stated. Several things
will now appear less dark and mysterious than they did when they were
transpiring.

The people were to be left "perfectly free," "subject only to the
Constitution." What the Constitution had to do with it, outsiders could
not then see. Plainly enough now, it was an exactly fitted niche for
the Dred-Scott Decision afterward to come in, and declare that perfect
freedom of the people to be just no freedom at all.

Why was the amendment expressly declaring the right of the people to
exclude slavery voted down? Plainly enough now: the adoption of it would
have spoiled the niche for the Dred-Scott Decision.

Why was the court decision held up? Why even a senator's individual
opinion withheld till after the Presidential election? Plainly enough
now: the speaking out then would have damaged the "perfectly free"
argument upon which the election was to be carried.

Why the outgoing President's felicitation on the indorsement? Why the
delay of a re-argument? Why the incoming President's advance exhortation
in favor of the decision? These things look like the cautious patting
and petting of a spirited horse preparatory to mounting him, when it
is dreaded that he may give the rider a fall. And why the hasty
after-indorsements of the decision by the President and others?

We cannot absolutely know that all these exact adaptations are the
result of preconcert. But when we see a lot of framed timbers, different
portions of which we know have been gotten out at different times and
places, and by different workmen,--Stephen, Franklin, Roger, and James,
for instance,--and when we see these timbers joined together, and see
they exactly make the frame of a house or a mill, all the tenons and
mortises, exactly fitting, and all the lengths and proportions of the
different pieces exactly adapted to their respective places, and not
a piece too many or too few,--not omitting even scaffolding--or, if
a single piece be lacking, we can see the place in the frame exactly
fitted and prepared to yet bring such piece in,--in such a case, we find
it impossible not to believe that Stephen and Franklin and Roger and
James all understood one another from the beginning, and all worked upon
a common plan or draft drawn up before the first blow was struck.

It should not be overlooked, that, by the Nebraska Bill, the people of
a State as well as Territory were to be left "perfectly free" "subject
only to the Constitution." Why mention a State? They were legislating
for Territories, and not for or about States. Certainly the people of
a State are and ought to be subject to the Constitution of the United
States; but why is mention of this lugged into this merely territorial
law? Why are the people of a Territory and the people of a State therein
lumped together, and their relation to the Constitution therein treated
as being precisely the same?

While the opinion of the court by Chief-Justice Taney, in the Dred-Scott
case, and the separate opinions of all the concurring judges, expressly
declare that the Constitution of the United States neither permits
Congress nor a Territorial Legislature to exclude slavery from any
United States

Territory, they all omit to declare whether or not the same Constitution
permits a State, or the people of a State, to exclude it. Possibly, this
was a mere omission; but who can be quite sure, if McLean or Curtis had
sought to get into the opinion a declaration of unlimited power in the
people of a State to exclude slavery from their limits, just as Chase
and Mace sought to get such declaration, in behalf of the people of a
Territory, into the Nebraska Bill,--I ask, who can be quite sure that
it would not have been voted down in the one case as it had been in the
other?

The nearest approach to the point of declaring the power of a State over
slavery is made by Judge Nelson. He approaches it more than once, using
the precise idea, and almost the language too, of the Nebraska Act. On
one occasion his exact language is, "Except in cases where the power
is restrained by the Constitution of the United States, the law of the
State is supreme over the subject of slavery within its jurisdiction."

In what cases the power of the State is so restrained by the United
States Constitution is left an open question, precisely as the same
question, as to the restraint on the power of the Territories, was
left open in the Nebraska Act. Put that and that together, and we have
another nice little niche, which we may ere long see filled with another
Supreme Court decision, declaring that the Constitution of the United
States does not permit a State to exclude slavery from its limits. And
this may especially be expected if the doctrine of "care not whether
slavery be voted down or voted up" shall gain upon the public mind
sufficiently to give promise that such a decision can be maintained when
made.

Such a decision is all that slavery now lacks of being alike lawful in
all the States. Welcome or unwelcome, such decision is probably coming,
and will soon be upon us, unless the power of the present political
dynasty shall be met and overthrown. We shall lie down pleasantly
dreaming that the people of Missouri are on the verge of making their
State free; and we shall awake to the reality, instead, that the Supreme
Court has made Illinois a Slave State.

To meet and overthrow the power of that dynasty is the work now before
all those who would prevent that consummation. That is what we have to
do. But how can we best do it?

There are those who denounce us openly to their own friends, and yet
whisper softly, that Senator Douglas is the aptest instrument there is
with which to effect that object. They do not tell us, nor has he told
us, that he wishes any such object to be effected. They wish us to infer
all, from the facts that he now has a little quarrel with the present
head of the dynasty; and that he has regularly voted with us, on a
single point, upon which he and we have never differed.

They remind us that he is a very great man, and that the largest of us
are very small ones. Let this be granted. But "a _living dog_ is better
than a _dead lion_." Judge Douglas, if not a dead lion for this work,
is at least a caged and toothless one. How can he oppose the advances
of slavery? He don't care any thing about it. His avowed mission is
impressing the "public heart" to care nothing about it.

A leading Douglas Democrat newspaper thinks Douglas's superior talent
will be needed to resist the revival of the African slave-trade. Does
Douglas believe an effort to revive that trade is approaching? He has
not said so. Does he really think so? But, if it is, how can he resist
it? For years he has labored to prove it a sacred right of white men to
take <DW64> slaves into the new Territories. Can he possibly show that
it is less a sacred right to buy them where they can be bought cheapest?
And unquestionably they can be bought cheaper in Africa than in
Virginia.

He has done all in his power to reduce the whole question of slavery
to one of a mere right of property; and as such, how can he oppose the
foreign slave-trade,--how can he refuse that trade in that "property"
shall be "perfectly free,"--unless he does it as a protection to the
home production? And, as the home producers will probably not ask the
protection, he will be wholly without a ground of opposition.

Senator Douglas holds, we know, that a man may rightfully be wiser
to-day than he was yesterday; that he may rightfully change when he
finds himself wrong. But can we for that reason run ahead, and infer
that he will make any particular change, of which he himself has
given no intimation? Can we safely base our action upon any such vague
inferences?

Now, as ever, I wish not to misrepresent Judge Douglas's position,
question his motives, or do aught that can be personally offensive to
him. Whenever, if ever, he and we can come together on principle, so
that our great cause may have assistance from his great ability, I hope
to have interposed no adventitious obstacle.

But clearly he, is not now with us; he does not pretend to be; he does
not promise ever to be. Our cause, then, must be intrusted to, and
conducted by, its own undoubted friends,--those whose hands are free,
whose hearts are in the work, who do care for the result.

Two years ago the Republicans of the nation mustered over thirteen
hundred thousand strong. We did this under the single impulse of
resistance to a common danger, with every external circumstance against
us. Of strange, discordant, and even hostile elements, we gathered from
the four winds, and formed and fought the battle through, under the
constant hot fire of a disciplined, proud, and pampered enemy. Did we
brave all then to falter now?--now, when that same enemy is wavering,
dissevered, and belligerent?

The result is not doubtful. We shall not fail,--if we stand firm, we
shall not fail. Wise counsels may accelerate or mistakes delay it; but,
sooner or later, the victory is sure to come.

The speech produced a profound impression upon men of all parties:
the Democrats rejoiced in it, and reprobated it; the conservative
Republicans received it coldly, and saw in it the sign of certain
defeat. In the eyes of the latter it was a disheartening mistake at
the outset of a momentous campaign,--a fatal error, which no policy or
exertion could retrieve. Alone of all those directly affected by it, the
Abolitionists, the compatriots of Mr. Herndon, heard in it the voice of
a fearless leader, who had the wisdom to comprehend an unwelcome fact,
and the courage to proclaim it at the moment when the delusion of
fancied security and peace was most generally and fondly entertained.
It was the "irrepressible conflict" which Mr. Seward had been preaching,
and to which the one party had given almost as little credit as the
other. Except a few ultraists here and there, nobody as yet had actually
prepared his armor for this imaginary conflict, to which the nation was
so persistently summoned,--and, indeed, none but those few seriously
believed in the possibility of its existence. The Republican party had
heretofore disavowed the doctrine with a unanimity nearly as great as
that exhibited by the little council of Mr. Lincoln's immediate friends.
It was therefore to be expected, that, when a slow, cautious, moderate
man like Mr. Lincoln came forward with it in this startling fashion,
it would carry dismay to his followers, and a cheering assurance to his
enemies. But Mr. Lincoln was looking farther than this campaign: he was
quietly dreaming of the Presidency, and edging himself to a place in
advance, where he thought the tide might take him up in 1860. He was
sure that sectional animosities, far from subsiding, would grow deeper
and stronger with time; and for that reason the next nominee of the
exclusively Northern party must be a man of radical views. "I think,"
says Mr. Herndon, "the speech was intended to take the wind out of
Seward's sails;" and Mr. Herndon is not alone in his opinion.

A day or two after Mr. Lincoln spoke, one Dr. Long came into his office,
and delivered to him a foretaste of the remarks he was doomed to hear
for several months. "Well, Lincoln," said he, "that foolish speech of
yours will kill you,--will defeat you in this contest, and probably for
all offices for all time to come. I am sorry, sorry,--very sorry: I wish
it was wiped out of existence. Don't you wish it, now?" Mr. Lincoln had
been writing during the doctor's lament; but at the end of it he laid
down his pen, raised his head, lifted his spectacles, and, with a look
half quizzical, half contemptuous, replied, "Well, doctor, if I had to
draw a pen across, and erase my whole life from existence, and I had
one poor gift or choice left, as to what I should save from the wreck, I
should choose that speech, and leave it to the world unerased."

Leonard Swett, than whom there was no more gifted man, nor a better
judge of political affairs, in Illinois, is convinced that "the first
ten lines of that speech defeated him." "The sentiment of the 'house
divided against itself' seemed wholly inappropriate," says Mr. Swett.
"It was a speech made at the commencement of a campaign, and apparently
made for the campaign. Viewing it in this light alone, nothing could
have been more unfortunate or inappropriate. It was saying first the
wrong thing; yet he saw that it was an abstract truth, and standing by
the speech would ultimately find him in the right place. I was inclined
at the time to believe these words were hastily and inconsiderately
uttered; but subsequent facts have convinced me they were deliberate and
had been matured.... In the summer of 1859, when he was dining with
a party of his intimate friends at Bloomington, the subject of his
Springfield speech was discussed. We all insisted that it was a great
mistake; but he justified himself, and finally said, 'Well, gentlemen,
you may think that speech was a mistake; but I never have believed it
was, and you will see the day when you will consider it was the wisest
thing I ever said.'"

John T. Stuart was a family connection of the Todds and Edwardses, and
thus also of Lincoln. Mr. C. C. Brown married Mr. Stuart's daughter,
and speaks of Mr. Lincoln as "our relative." This gentleman says, "The
Todd-Stuart-Edwards family, with preacher and priest, dogs and servants,
got mad at Mr. Lincoln because he made 'The House-divided-against-itself
Speech.' He flinched, dodged, said he would explain, and did explain, in
the Douglas debates."

But it was difficult to explain: explanations of the kind are generally
more hurtful than the original offence. Accordingly, Mr. Herndon reports
in his broad, blunt way, that "Mr. Lincoln met with many cold shoulders
for some time,--nay, during the whole canvass with Douglas." At the
great public meetings which characterized that campaign, "you could
hear, from all quarters in the crowd, Republicans saying, 'Damn that
fool speech! it will be the cause of the death of Lincoln and the
Republican party. Such folly! such nonsense! Damn it!'"

Since 1840 Lincoln and Douglas had appeared before the people, almost as
regularly as the elections came round, to discuss, the one against the
other, the merits of parties, candidates, and principles. Thus far Mr.
Lincoln had been in a certain sense the pursuer: he had lain in wait
for Mr. Douglas; he had caught him at unexpected turns and upon sharp
points; he had mercilessly improved the advantage of Mr. Douglas's long
record in Congress to pick apart and to criticise, while his own was so
much more humble and less extensive. But now at last they were
abreast, candidates for the same office, with a fair field and equal
opportunities. It was the great crisis in the lives of both. Let us see
what they thought of each other; and, in the extracts which convey the
information, we may also get a better idea of the character of each for
candor, generosity, and truthfulness.

Dr. Holland quotes from one of Mr. Lincoln's unpublished manuscripts as
follows:--

"Twenty-two years ago, Judge Douglas and I first became acquainted: we
were both young then,--he a trifle younger than I. Even then we were
both ambitious,--I, perhaps, quite as much so as he. With me the race of
ambition has been a failure,--a flat failure; with him it has been one
of splendid success. His name fills the nation, and is not unknown even
in foreign lands. I affect no contempt for the high eminence he has
reached,--so reached that the oppressed of my species might have shared
with me in the elevation, I would rather stand on that eminence than
wear the richest crown that ever pressed a monarch's brow."

Again, in the pending campaign, Mr. Lincoln said, "There is still
another disadvantage under which we labor, and to which I will invite
your attention. It arises out of the relative positions of the two
persons who stand before the State as candidates for the Senate. Senator
Douglas is of worldwide renown. All the anxious politicians of his
party, or who had been of his party for years past, have been looking
upon him as certainly, at no distant day, to be the President of the
United States. They have seen, in his round, jolly, fruitful face,
post-offices, land-offices, marshalships, and cabinet appointments,
chargeships 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 his
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."

Now hear Mr. Douglas. In their first joint debate at Ottawa, he said,
"In the remarks I have made on this platform, and the position of Mr.
Lincoln upon it, I mean nothing personally disrespectful or unkind to
that gentleman. I have known him for nearly twenty-five years. There
were many points of sympathy between us when we first got acquainted.
We were both comparatively boys, and both struggling with poverty in a
strange land. I was a schoolteacher in the town of Winchester, and he a
flourishing grocery-keeper in the town of Salem. He was more successful
in his occupation than I was in mine, and hence more fortunate in this
world's goods. Lincoln is one of those peculiar men who perform with
admirable skill every thing which they undertake. I made as good a
school-teacher as I could; and, when a cabinet-maker, I made a good
bedstead and tables, although my old boss said I succeeded better with
bureaus and secretaries than with any thing else; but I believe that
Lincoln was always more successful in business than I, for his business
enabled him to get into the Legislature. I met him there, however, and
had a sympathy with him, because of the up-hill struggle we both had in
life. He was then just as good at telling an anecdote as now. He could
beat any of the boys wrestling, or running a foot-race, in pitching
quoits, or tossing a copper; could ruin more liquor than all of the boys
of the town together; and the dignity and impartiality with which he
presided at a horse-race or fist-fight excited the admiration and won
the praise of everybody that was present and participated. I sympathized
with him because he was struggling with difficulties; and so was I. Mr.
Lincoln served with me in the Legislature in 1836, when we both retired,
and he subsided, or became submerged; and he was lost sight of as
a public man for some years. In 1846, when Wilmot introduced his
celebrated proviso, and the abolition tornado swept over the country,
Lincoln again turned up as a member of Congress from the Sangamon
district. I was then in the Senate of the United States, and was glad
to welcome my old friend and companion. Whilst in Congress, he
distinguished himself by his opposition to the Mexican War, taking the
side of the common enemy against his own country; and, when he
returned home, he found that the indignation of the people followed
him everywhere, and he was again submerged, or obliged to retire into
private life, forgotten by his former friends. He came up again in 1854,
just in time to make this abolition or Black Republican platform,
in company with Giddings, Lovejoy, Chase, and Fred. Douglas, for the
Republican party to stand upon. Trumbull, too, was one of our own
contemporaries."

Previous pages of this book present fully enough for our present purpose
the issues upon which this canvass was made to turn. The principal
speeches, the joint debates, with five separate and independent speeches
by Mr. Lincoln, and three by Mr. Douglas, have been collected and
published under Mr. Lincoln's supervision in a neat and accessible
volume. It is, therefore, unnecessary, and would be unjust, to reprint
them here. They obtained at the time a more extensive circulation than
such productions usually have, and exerted an influence which is very
surprising to the calm reader of the present day.

Mr. Douglas endeavored to prove, from Mr. Lincoln's Springfield speech,
that he (Mr. Lincoln) was a self-declared Disunionist, in favor of
reducing the institutions of all the States "to a dead uniformity," in
favor of abolishing slavery everywhere,--an old-time abolitionist, a
negropolist, an amalgamationist. This, with much vaunting of himself
for his opposition to Lecompton, and a loud proclamation of "popular
sovereignty," made the bulk of Mr. Douglas's speeches.

Mr. Lincoln denied these accusations; he had no "thought of bringing
about civil war," nor yet uniformity of institutions: he would not
interfere with slavery where it had a lawful existence, and was not in
favor of <DW64> equality or miscegenation. He did, however, believe that
Congress had the right to exclude slavery from the Territories,
and ought to exercise it. As to Mr. Douglas's doctrine of popular
sovereignty, there could be no issue concerning it; for everybody
agreed that the people of a Territory might, when they formed a State
constitution, adopt or exclude slavery as they pleased. But that a
Territorial Legislature possessed exclusive power, or any power at all,
over the subject, even Mr Douglas could not assert, inasmuch as the
Dred-Scott Decision was plain and explicit the other way; and Mr.
Douglas boasted that decision as the rule of his political conduct,
and sought to impose it upon all parties as a perfect definition of the
rights and duties of government, local and general.

At Ottawa, Mr. Douglas put to Mr. Lincoln a series of questions,
which, upon their next meeting (at Freeport), Mr. Lincoln answered as
follows:--

I have supposed myself, since the organization of the Republican party
at Bloomington, in May, 1856, bound as a party man by the platforms
of the party, then and since. If, in any interrogatories which I shall
answer, I go beyond the scope of what is within these platforms, it will
be perceived that no one is responsible but myself.

Having said thus much, I will take up the judge's interrogatories as I
find them printed in "The Chicago Times," and answer them _seriatim_.
In order that there may be no mistake about it, I have copied the
interrogatories in writing, and also my answers to them. The first one
of these interrogatories is in these words:--

Question 1.--"I desire to know whether Lincoln to-day stands, as he
did in 1854, in favor of the unconditional repeal of the Fugitive-Slave
Law."

Answer.--I do not now, nor ever did, stand in favor of the unconditional
repeal of the Fugitive-Slave Law.

Q. 2.--"I desire him to answer whether he stands pledged to-day, as he
did in 1854, against the admission of any more Slave States into the
Union, even if the people want them."

A.--I do not now, nor ever did, stand pledged against the admission of
any more Slave States into the Union.

Q. 3.--"I want to know whether he stands pledged against the admission
of a new State into the Union with such a constitution as the people of
that State may see fit to make."

A.--I do not stand pledged against the admission of a new State into the
Union, with such a constitution as the people of that State may see fit
to make.

Q. 4.--"I want to know whether he stands to-day pledged to the abolition
of slavery in the District of Columbia."

A.--I do not stand to-day pledged to the abolition of slavery in the
District of Columbia.

Q. 5.--"I desire him to answer whether he stands pledged to the
prohibition of the slave-trade between the different States."

A.--I do not stand pledged to the prohibition of the slave-trade between
the different States.

Q. 6.--"I desire to know whether he stands pledged to prohibit slavery
in all the Territories of the United States, north as well as south of
the Missouri Compromise line."

A.--I am impliedly, if not expressly, pledged to a belief in the right
and duty of Congress to prohibit slavery in all the United States
Territories. [Great applause.]

Q 7.--"I desire him to answer whether he is opposed to the acquisition
of any new territory unless slavery is first prohibited therein."

A.--I am not generally opposed to honest acquisition of territory;
and, in any given case, I would or would not oppose such acquisition,
accordingly as I might think such acquisition would or would not agitate
the slavery question among ourselves.

Now, my friends, it will be perceived, upon an examination of these
questions and answers, that so far I have only answered that I was
not pledged to this, that, or the other. The judge has not framed his
interrogatories to ask me any thing more than this, and I have answered
in strict accordance with the interrogatories, and have answered truly
that I am not pledged at all upon any of the points to which I have
answered. But I am not disposed to hang upon the exact form of his
interrogatory. I am rather disposed to take up at least some of these
questions, and state what I really think upon them.

As to the first one, in regard to the Fugitive-Slave Law, I have never
hesitated to say, and I do not now hesitate to say, that I think, under
the Constitution of the United States, the people of the Southern States
are entitled to a congressional slave law. Having said that, I have had
nothing to say in regard to the existing Fugitive-Slave Law, further
than that I think it should have been framed so as to be free from some
of the objections that pertain to it, without lessening its efficiency.
And inasmuch as we are not now in an agitation in regard to an
alteration or modification of that law, I would not be the man to
introduce it as a new subject of agitation upon the general question of
slavery.

In regard to the other question, of whether I am pledged to the
admission of any more Slave States into the Union, I state to you very
frankly, that I would be exceedingly sorry ever to be put in a position
of having to pass upon that question. I should be exceedingly glad to
know that there would never be another Slave State admitted into
the Union; but I must add, that, if slavery shall be kept out of the
Territories during the Territorial existence of any one given Territory,
and then the people shall, having a fair chance and a clear field, when
they come to adopt the constitution, do such an extraordinary thing as
to adopt a slave constitution, uninfluenced by the actual presence of
the institution among them, I see no alternative, if we own the country,
but to admit them into the Union. [Applause.]

The third interrogatory is answered by the answer to the second, it
being, as I conceive, the same as the second.

The fourth one is in regard to the abolition of slavery in the District
of Columbia. In relation to that, I have my mind very distinctly
made up. I should be exceedingly glad to see slavery abolished in
the District of Columbia. I believe that Congress possesses the
constitutional power to abolish it. Yet, as a member of Congress, I
should not, with my present views, be in favor of endeavoring to abolish
slavery in the District of Columbia, unless it would be upon these
conditions: First, that the abolition should be gradual; Second, That it
should be on a vote of the majority of qualified voters in the District;
and Third, That compensation should be made to unwilling owners. With
these three conditions, I confess I would be exceedingly glad to see
Congress abolish slavery in the District of Columbia, and, in the
language of Henry Clay, "sweep from our capital that foul blot upon our
nation."

In regard to the fifth interrogatory, I must say here, that as to the
question of the abolition of the slave-trade between the different
States, I can truly answer, as I have, that I am pledged to nothing
about it. It is a subject to which I have not given that mature
consideration that would make me feel authorized to state a position so
as to hold myself entirely bound by it. In other words, that question
has never been prominently enough before me to induce me to investigate
whether we really have the constitutional power to do it. I could
investigate it if I had sufficient time to bring myself to a conclusion
upon that subject; but I have not done so, and I say so frankly to you
here and to Judge Douglas. I must say, however, that, if I should be of
opinion that Congress does possess the constitutional power to abolish
slave-trading among the different States, I should still not be in favor
of the exercise of that power unless upon some conservative principle as
I conceive it, akin to what I have said in relation to the abolition of
slavery in the District of Columbia.

My answer as to whether I desire that slavery should be prohibited in
all Territories of the United States is full and explicit within itself,
and cannot be made clearer by any comments of mine. So I suppose, in
regard to the question whether I am opposed to the acquisition of any
more territory unless slavery is first prohibited therein, my answer is
such that I could add nothing by way of illustration, or making myself
better understood, than the answer which I have placed in writing.

Now, in all this the Judge has me, and he has me on the record. I
suppose he had flattered himself that I was really entertaining one set
of opinions for one place, and another set for another place,--that
I was afraid to say at one place what I uttered at another. What I am
saying here I suppose I say to a vast audience as strongly tending to
abolitionism as any audience in the State of Illinois; and I believe
I am saying that which, if it would be offensive to any persons, and
render them enemies to myself, would be offensive to persons in this
audience.

Mr. Douglas had presented his interrogatories on the 21st of August,
and Mr. Lincoln did not answer them until the 27th. They had no meetings
between those days; and Mr. Lincoln had ample time to ponder his
replies, and consult his friends. But he did more: he improved the
opportunity to prepare a series of insidious questions, which he felt
sure Mr. Douglas could not possibly answer without utterly ruining
his political prospects. Mr. Lincoln struggled for a great prize,
unsuspected by the common mind, but the thought of which was ever
present to his own. Mr. Douglas was a standing candidate for the
Presidency; but as yet Mr. Lincoln was a very quiet one, nursing hopes
which his modesty prevented him from obtruding upon others. He was wise
enough to keep the fact of their existence to himself, and in the
mean time to dig pitfalls and lay obstructions in the way of his most
formidable competitors. His present purpose was not only to defeat Mr.
Douglas for the Senate, but to "kill him,"--to get him out of the way
finally and forever. If he could make him evade the Dred-Scott Decision,
and deny the right of a Southern man to take his <DW64>s into a
Territory, and keep them there while it was a Territory, he would
thereby sever him from the body of the Democratic party, and leave him
the leader of merely a little half-hearted antislavery faction. Under
such circumstances, Mr. Douglas could never be the candidate of the
party at large; but he might serve a very useful purpose by running on a
separate ticket, and dividing the great majority of conservative votes,
which would inevitably elect a single nominee.

Mr. Lincoln went to Chicago, and there intimated to some of his friends
what he proposed to do. They attempted to dissuade him, because, as
they insisted, if Mr. Douglas should answer that the Dred-Scott Decision
might be evaded by the people of a Territory, and slavery prohibited
in the face of it, the answer would draw to him the sympathies of the
antislavery voters, and probably, of itself, defeat Mr. Lincoln. But, so
long as Mr. Douglas held to the decision in good faith, he had no hope
of more aid from that quarter than he had already received. It was
therefore the part of wisdom to let him alone as to that point. Mr.
Lincoln, on the contrary, looked forward to 1860, and was determined
that the South should understand the antagonism between Mr. Douglas's
latest conception of "squatter sovereignty," on the one hand, and the
Dred-Scott Decision, the Nebraska Bill, and all previous platforms of
the party, on the other. Mr. Douglas taught strange doctrines and false
ones; and Mr. Lincoln thought the faithful, far and near, should know
it. If Mr. Douglas was a schismatic, there ought to be a schism, of
which the Republicans would reap the benefit; and therefore he insisted
upon his questions. "That is no business of yours," said his friends.
"Attend exclusively to your senatorial race, and let the slaveholder and
Douglas fight out that question among themselves and for themselves. If
you put the question to him, he will answer that the Dred-Scott Decision
is simply an abstract rule, having no practical application."--"If he
answers that way, he's a dead cock in the pit," responded Mr. Lincoln.
"But that," said they, "is none of your business: you are concerned
only about the senator-ship."--"No," continued Mr. Lincoln, "not alone
_exactly_: I am killing larger game. The great battle of 1860 is worth a
thousand of this senatorial race."

He did accordingly propound the interrogatories as follows:--

1. If the people of Kansas shall, by means entirely unobjectionable in
all other respects, adopt a State constitution, and ask admission into
the Union under it, before they have the requisite number of inhabitants
according to the English Bill,--some ninety-three thousand,--will you
vote to admit them?

2. 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?

3. If the Supreme Court of the United States shall decide that
States cannot exclude slavery from their limits, are you in favor of
acquiescing in, adopting, and following such decision as a rule of
political action?

4. Are you in favor of acquiring additional territory, in disregard of
how such acquisition may affect the nation on the slavery question?

The first and fourth questions Mr. Douglas answered substantially in the
affirmative. To the third he replied, that no judge would ever be guilty
of the "moral treason" of making such a decision. But to the second--the
main question, to which all the others were riders and make-weights--he
answered as he was expected to answer. "It matters not," said he, "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."

The reply was more than enough for Mr. Lincoln's purpose. It cut Mr.
Douglas off from his party, and put him in a state of perfect antagonism
to it. He firmly denied the power of Congress to restrict slavery; and
he admitted, that, under the Dred-Scott Decision, all Territories were
open to its entrance. But he held, that, the moment the slaveholder
passed the boundary of a Territory, he was at the mercy of the
squatters, a dozen or two of whom might get together in a legislature,
and rob him of the property which the Constitution, the Supreme Court,
and Mr. Douglas himself said he had an indefeasible right to take there.
Mr. Lincoln knew that the Southern people would feel infinitely safer
in the hands of Congress than in the hands of the squatters. If they
regarded the Republican mode of excluding slavery as a barefaced
usurpation, they would consider Mr. Douglas's system of confiscation by
"unfriendly legislation" mere plain stealing. The Republicans said to
them, "We will regulate the whole subject by general laws, which you
participate with us in passing;" but Mr. Douglas offered them,
as sovereign judges and legislators, the territorial settlers
themselves,--squatters they might be,--whom the aid societies rushed
into the new Territories for the very purpose of keeping slavery away.
The new doctrine was admirably calculated to alarm and incense the
South; and, following so closely Mr. Douglas's conduct in the Lecompton
affair, it was very natural that he should now be universally regarded
by his late followers as a dangerous heretic and a faithless turncoat.
The result justified Mr. Lincoln's anticipations. Mr. Douglas did not
fully develop his new theory, nor personally promulgate it as the fixed
tenet of his faction, until the next year, when he embodied it in the
famous article contributed by him to "Harper's Magazine." But it did
its work effectually; and, when parties began to marshal for the great
struggle of 1860, Mr. Douglas was found to be, not precisely what he had
promised,--a Republican, "fighting their battles,"--but an independent
candidate, upon an independent platform, dividing the opposition.

Mr. Lincoln pointed out on the spot the wide difference between Mr.
Douglas's present views and those he had previously maintained with such
dogged and dogmatic persistence. "The new state of the case" had induced
"the Judge to sheer away from his original ground." The new theory was
false in law, and could have no practical application. The history of
the country showed it to be a naked humbug, a demagogue's imposture.
Slavery was established in all this country, without "local police
regulations" to protect it. Dred Scott himself was held in a Territory,
not only without "local police regulations" to favor his bondage, but in
defiance of a general law which prohibited it. A man who believed that
the Dred-Scott Decision was the true interpretation of the Constitution
could not refuse to <DW64> slavery whatever protection it needed in the
Territories without incurring the guilt of perjury. To say that slave
property might be constitutionally confiscated, destroyed, or driven
away from a place where it was constitutionally protected, was such an
absurdity as Mr. Douglas alone in this evil strait was equal to; the
proposition meaning, as he said on a subsequent occasion, "no less than
that a thing may lawfully be driven away from a place where it has a
lawful right to be."

"Of that answer at Freeport," as Mr. Herndon has it, Douglas "instantly
died. The red-gleaming Southern tomahawk flashed high and keen. Douglas
was removed out of Lincoln's way. The wind was taken out of Seward's
sails (by the House-divided Speech), and Lincoln stood out prominent."

The State election took place on the 2d of November, 1858. Mr. Lincoln
had more than four thousand majority of the votes cast; but this was not
enough to give him a majority in the Legislature. An old and inequitable
apportionment law was still in operation; and a majority of the members
chosen under it were, as it was intended by the law-makers they
should be, Democrats. In the Senate were fourteen Democrats to
eleven Republicans; and in the House, forty Democrats to thirty-five
Republicans. Mr. Douglas was, of course, re-elected, and Mr. Lincoln
bitterly disappointed. Some one asked Mr. Lincoln how he felt when the
returns came in. He replied, "that he felt like the boy that stumped his
toe,--'it hurt too bad to laugh, and he was too big to cry!'"

In this canvass Mr. Lincoln earned a reputation as a popular debater
second to that of no man in America,--certainly not second to that
of his famous antagonist. He kept his temper; he was not prone to
personalities; he indulged in few anecdotes, and those of a decent
character; he was fair, frank, and manly; and, if the contest had shown
nothing else, it would have shown, at least, that "Old Abe" could behave
like a well-bred gentleman under very trying circumstances. His marked
success in these discussions was probably no surprise to the people of
the Springfield District, who knew him as well as, or better than, they
did Mr. Douglas. But in the greater part of the State, and throughout
the Union the series of brilliant victories successively won by an
obscure man over an orator of such wide experience and renown was
received with exclamations of astonishment, alike by listeners and
readers. It is true that many believed, or pretended to believe, that he
was privately tutored and "crammed" by politicians of greater note
than himself; and, when the speeches were at last collected and printed
together, it was alleged that Mr. Lincoln's had been re-written or
extensively revised by Mr. Judd, Judge Logan, Judge Davis, or some one
else of great and conceded abilities.




CHAPTER XVII

IN the winter of 1858-9, Mr. Lincoln, having no political business on
hand, appeared before the public in the character of lecturer, having
prepared himself with much care. His lecture was, or might have been,
styled, "All Creation is a mine, and every man a miner." He began with
Adam and Eve, and the invention of the "fig-leaf apron," of which he
gave a humorous description, and which he said was a "joint operation."
The invention of letters, writing, printing, of the application of
steam, of electricity, he classed under the comprehensive head of
"inventions and discoveries," along with the discovery of America, the
enactment of patent-laws, and the "invention of <DW64>s, or the present
mode of using them." Part of the lecture was humorous; a very small part
of it actually witty; and the rest of it so commonplace that it was a
genuine mortification to his friends. He delivered it at two or three
points, and then declined all further invitations. To one of these he
replied, in March, as follows: "Your note, inviting me to deliver a
lecture in Gales-burgh, is received. I regret to say I cannot do so now:
I must stick to the courts a while. I read a sort of a lecture to three
different audiences during the last month and this; but I did so under
circumstances which made it a waste of no time whatever."

From the Douglas discussion many of the leaders of the Republican party
believed, and the reader will agree had some foundation for the belief,
that Mr. Lincoln was one of the greatest and best men in the party. It
was natural, therefore, that many eyes should be turned towards him
for the coming Presidential nomination. He had all the requisites of an
available candidate: he had not been sufficiently prominent in national
politics to excite the jealousies of powerful rivals; he was true,
manly, able; he was pre-eminently a man of the people; he had sprung
from a low family in the lowest class of society; he had been a
rail-splitter, a flat-boatman, a grocery-keeper,--every thing that could
commend him to the "popular heart." His manners, his dress, his stories,
and his popular name and style of "Honest Old Abe," pointed to him as a
man beside whose "running qualities" those of Taylor and Harrison were
of slight comparison. That he knew all this, and thought of it a great
deal, no one can doubt; and in the late campaign he had most adroitly
opened the way for the realization of his hopes. But he knew very well
that a becoming modesty in a "new man" was about as needful as any thing
else. Accordingly, when a Mr. Pickett wrote him on the subject in March,
1859, he replied as follows: "Yours of the 2d instant, inviting me to
deliver my lecture on 'Inventions' in Rock Island, is at hand, and
I regret to be unable from press of business to comply therewith. In
regard to the other matter you speak of, I beg that you will not give it
a further mention. I do not think I am fit for the Presidency."

But in April the project began to be agitated in his own town. On
the 27th of that month, he was in the office of "The Central Illinois
Gazette," when the editor suggested his name. Mr. Lincoln, "with
characteristic modesty, declined." But the editor estimated his "No"
at its proper value; and he "was brought out in the next issue, May
4." Thence the movement spread rapidly and strongly. Many Republicans
welcomed it, and, appreciating the pre-eminent fitness of the
nomination, saw in it the assurance of certain victory.

The West was rapidly filling with Germans and other inhabitants of
foreign birth. Dr. Canisius, a German, foreseeing Mr. Lincoln's
strength in the near future, wrote to inquire what he thought about the
restrictions upon naturalization recently adopted in Massachusetts, and
whether he favored the fusion of all the opposition elements in the next
canvass. He replied, that, as to the restrictions, he was wholly and
unalterably opposed to them; and as to fusion, he was ready for it
upon "Republican grounds," but upon no other. He would not lower "the
Republican standard even by a hair's breadth." The letter undoubtedly
had a good effect, and brought him valuable support from the foreign
population.

To a gentleman who desired his views about the tariff question, he
replied cautiously and discreetly as follows:--

Dr. Edward Wallace.

My dear Sir,--I am here just now attending court. Yesterday, before
I left Springfield, your brother, Dr. William S. Wallace, showed me a
letter of yours, in which you kindly mention my name, inquire for my
tariff-views, and suggest the propriety of my writing a letter upon the
subject. I was an old Henry-Clay Tariff Whig. In old times I made more
speeches on that subject than on any other.

I have not since changed my views. I believe yet, if we could have a
moderate, carefully adjusted, protective tariff, so far acquiesced in as
not to be a perpetual subject of political strife, squabbles, changes,
and uncertain, ties, it would be better for us. Still, it is my opinion,
that, just now, the revival of that question will not _advance the cause
itself, or the man who revives it._

I have not thought much on the subject recently; but my general
impression is, that the necessity for a protective tariff will ere long
force its old opponents to take it up; and then its old friends can join
in and establish it on a more firm and durable basis. We, the old Whigs,
have been entirely beaten out on the tariff question; and we shall not
be able to re-establish the policy until the absence of it shall have
demonstrated the necessity for it in the minds of men heretofore opposed
to it. With this view, I should prefer to not now write a public letter
upon the subject.

I therefore wish this to be considered confidential.

I shall be very glad to receive a letter from you.

In September Mr. Lincoln made a few masterly speeches in Ohio, where Mr.
Douglas had preceded him on his new hobby of "squatter sovereignty," or
"unfriendly legislation."

Clinton, Oct. 11,1859.

Yours truly,

A. Lincoln.

He spoke at Columbus, Cincinnati, and several other points, each
time devoting the greater part of his address to Mr. Douglas and his
theories, as if the habit of combating that illustrious chieftain was
hard to break.

In December he went to Kansas, speaking at Elwood, Don-aphan, Troy,
Atchison, and twice at Leavenworth. Wherever he went, he was met by
vast assemblages of people. His speeches were principally repetitions
of those previously made in Illinois; but they were very fresh and
captivating to his new audiences. These journeys, which turned out to be
continuous ovations, spread his name and fame far beyond the limits to
which they had heretofore been restricted.

During the winter of 1859-60, he saw that his reputation had reached
such a height, that he might honorably compete with such renowned men as
Seward, Chase, and Bates, for the Presidential nomination. Mr. Jackson
Grimshaw of Quincy urged him very strongly on the point. At length Mr.
Lincoln consented to a conference with Grimshaw and some of his more
prominent friends. It took place in a committee-room in the State
House. Mr. Bushnell, Mr. Hatch (the Secretary of State), Mr. Judd
(Chairman of the Republican State Central Committee), Mr. Peck, and
Mr. Grimshaw were present,--all of them "intimate friends." They were
unanimous in opinion as to the expediency and propriety of making him
a candidate. But "Mr. Lincoln, with his characteristic modesty, doubted
whether he could get the nomination, even if he wished it, and asked
until the next morning to answer us.... The next day he authorized us
to consider him, and work for him, if we pleased, as a candidate for the
Presidency."

It was in October, 1859, that Mr. Lincoln received an invitation to
speak in New York. It enchanted him: no event of his life had given
him more heartfelt pleasure. He went straight to his office, and, Mr.
Herndon says, "looked pleased, not to say _tickled_. He said to me,
'Billy, I am invited to deliver a lecture in New York. Shall I go?'--'By
all means,' I replied; 'and it is a good opening too.'--'If you were in
my fix, what subject would you choose?' said Lincoln. 'Why, a political
one: that's your forte,' I answered." Mr. Herndon remembered his
partner's previous "failure,--utter failure," as a lecturer, and, on
this occasion, dreaded excessively his choice of a subject. "In the
absence of a friend's advice, Lincoln would as soon take the Beautiful
for a subject as any thing else, when he had absolutely no sense of it."
He wrote in response to the invitation, that he would avail himself
of it the coming February, provided he might be permitted to make a
political speech, in case he found it inconvenient to get up one of
another kind. He had purposely set the day far ahead, that he might
thoroughly prepare himself; and it may safely be said, that no effort of
his life cost him so much labor as this one. Some of the party managers
who were afterwards put to work to verify its statements, and get it out
as a campaign document, are alleged to have been three weeks in finding
the historical records consulted by him.

On the 25th of February, 1860, he arrived in New York. It was Saturday,
and he spent the whole day in revising and retouching his speech. The
next day he heard Beecher preach, and on Monday wandered about the city
to see the sights. When the committee under whose auspices he was to
speak waited upon him, they found him dressed in a sleek and shining
suit of new black, covered with very apparent creases and wrinkles,
acquired by being packed too closely and too long in his little valise.
He felt uneasy in his new clothes and a strange place. His confusion
was increased when the reporters called to get the printed slips of his
speech in advance of its delivery. Mr. Lincoln knew nothing of such a
custom among the orators, and had no slips. He was, in fact, not quite
sure that the press would desire to publish his speech. When he reached
the Cooper Institute, and was ushered into the vast hall, he was
surprised to see the most cultivated men of the city awaiting him on
the stand, and an immense audience assembled to hear him. Mr. Bryant
introduced him as "an eminent citizen of the West, hitherto known to you
only by reputation." Mr. Lincoln then began, in low, monotonous tones,
which gradually became louder and clearer, the following speech:--

Mr. President and Fellow-Citizens of New York,--The facts with which I
shall deal this evening are mainly old and familiar; nor is there any
thing new in the general use I shall make of them. If there shall be
any novelty, it will be in the mode of presenting the facts, and the
inferences and observations following that presentation.

In his speech last autumn, at Columbus, Ohio, as reported in "The
New-York Times," Senator Douglas said,--"Our fathers, when they framed
the government under which we live, understood this question just as
well, and even better than we do now."

I fully indorse this, and I adopt it as a text for this discourse. I so
adopt it, because it furnishes a precise and agreed starting-point for
the discussion between Republicans and that wing of Democracy headed
by Senator Douglas. It simply leaves the inquiry, "What was the
understanding those fathers had of the questions mentioned?"

What is the frame of government under which we live?

The answer must be, "The Constitution of the United States." That
Constitution consists of the original, framed in 1787 (and under
which the present Government first went into operation), and twelve
subsequently framed amendments, the first ten of which were framed in
1789.

Who were our fathers that framed the Constitution? I suppose the
"thirty-nine" who signed the original instrument may be fairly called
our fathers who framed that part of the present Government. It is almost
exactly true to say they framed it; and it is altogether true to say
they fairly represented the opinion and sentiment of the whole nation at
that time. Their names, being familiar to nearly all, and accessible to
quite all, need not now be repeated.

I take these "thirty-nine," for the present, as being "our fathers, who
framed the Government under which we live."

What is the question which, according to the text, those fathers
understood just as well, and even better than we do now?

It is this: Does the proper division of local from Federal authority, or
any thing in the Constitution, forbid our Federal Government control as
to slavery in our Federal Territories?

Upon this, Douglas holds the affirmative, and Republicans the negative.
This affirmative and denial form an issue; and this issue, this
question, is precisely what the text declares our fathers understood
better than we.

Let us now inquire whether the "thirty-nine," or any of them, ever acted
upon this question; and, if they did, how they acted upon it,--how they
expressed that better understanding.

In 1784,--three years before the Constitution,--the United States then
owning the North-western Territory, and no other, the Congress of the
Confederation had before them the question of prohibiting slavery in
that Territory; and four of the "thirty-nine" who afterward framed
the Constitution were in that Congress, and voted on that question. Of
these, Roger Sherman, Thomas Mifflin, and Hugh Williamson voted for
the prohibition; thus showing, that, in their understanding, no line
dividing local from Federal authority, nor any thing else, properly
forbade the Federal Government to control as to slavery in Federal
territory. The other of the four, James McHenry, voted against the
prohibition, showing that, for some cause, he thought it improper to
vote for it.

In 1787--still before the Constitution, but while the Convention was in
session framing it, and while the North-western Territory still was
the only Territory owned by the United States--the same question of
prohibiting slavery in the Territory again came before the Congress of
the Confederation; and three more of the "thirty-nine" who afterward
signed the Constitution were in that Congress, and voted on the
question. They were William Blount, William Few, and Abraham Baldwin;
and they all voted for the prohibition, thus showing that, in their
understanding, no line dividing local from Federal authority, nor any
thing else, properly forbids the Federal Government to control as to
slavery in Federal territory. This time the prohibition became a law,
being part of what is now well known as the Ordinance of '87.

The question of Federal control of slavery in the Territories seems not
to have been directly before the convention which framed the original
Constitution; and hence it is not recorded that the "thirty-nine," or
any of them, while engaged on that instrument, expressed any opinion on
that precise question.

In 1789, by the First Congress which sat under the Constitution, an act
was passed to enforce the Ordinance of '87, including the prohibition
of slavery in the North-western Territory. The bill for this act was
reported by one of the "thirty-nine,"--Thomas Fitzsimmons, then a member
of the House of Representatives from Pennsylvania. It went through
all its stages without a word of opposition, and finally passed both
branches without yeas and nays, which is equivalent to a unanimous
passage. In this Congress there were sixteen of the "thirty-nine"
fathers who framed the original Constitution. They were John Langdon,
Nicholas Gilman, William S. Johnson, Roger Sherman, Robert Morris,
Thomas Fitzsimmons, William Few, Abraham Baldwin, Rufus King, William
Patterson, George Clymer, Richard Bassett, George Read, Pierce Butler,
Daniel Carrol, James Madison.

This shows that, in their understanding, no line dividing local from
Federal authority, nor any thing in the Constitution, properly forbade
Congress to prohibit slavery in the Federal territory; else both
their fidelity to correct principle, and their oath to support the
Constitution, would have constrained them to oppose the prohibition.

Again, George Washington, another of the "thirty-nine," was then
President of the United States, and, as such, approved and signed the
bill, thus completing its validity as a law, and thus showing, that, in
his understanding, no line dividing local from Federal authority, nor
any thing in the Constitution, forbade the Federal Government to control
as to slavery in Federal territory.

No great while after the adoption of the original Constitution, North
Carolina ceded to the Federal Government the country now constituting
the State of Tennessee; and a few years later Georgia ceded that which
now constitutes the States of Mississippi and Alabama. In both deeds of
cession it was made a condition by the ceding States that the Federal
Government should not prohibit slavery in the ceded country. Besides
this, slavery was then actually in the ceded country. Under these
circumstances, Congress, on taking charge of these countries, did not
absolutely prohibit slavery within them. But they did interfere with it,
take control of it, even there, to a certain extent. In 1798, Congress
organized the Territory of Mississippi. In the act of organization they
prohibited the bringing of slaves into the Territory, from any place
without the United States, by fine, and giving freedom to slaves so
brought. This act passed both branches of Congress without yeas and
nays. In that Congress were three of the "thirty-nine" who framed the
original Constitution: they were John Langdon, George Read, and Abraham
Baldwin. They all, probably, voted for it. Certainly they would have
placed their opposition to it upon record, if, in their understanding,
any line dividing local from Federal authority, or any thing in the
Constitution, properly forbade the Federal Government to control as to
slavery in Federal territory.

In 1803 the Federal Government purchased the Louisiana country. Our
former territorial acquisitions came from certain of our own States;
but this Louisiana country was acquired from a foreign nation. In 1804
Congress gave a territorial organization to that part of it which now
constitutes the State of Louisiana. New Orleans, lying within that part,
was an old and comparatively large city. There were other considerable
towns and settlements, and slavery was extensively and thoroughly
intermingled with the people. Congress did not, in the Territorial Act,
prohibit slavery; but they did interfere with it, take control of it,
in a more marked and extensive way than they did in the case of
Mississippi. The substance of the provision therein made, in relation to
slaves, was,--

First, That no slave should be imported into the Territory from foreign
parts.

Second, That no slave should be carried into it who had been imported
into the United States since the first day of May, 1798.

Third, That no slave should be carried into it, except by the owner, and
for his own use as a settler; the penalty in all the cases being a fine
upon the violator of the law, and freedom to the slave.

This act also was passed without yeas and nays. In the Congress which
passed it there were two of the "thirty-nine:" they were Abraham
Baldwin and Jonathan Dayton. As stated in the case of Mississippi, it is
probable they both voted for it. They would not have allowed it to pass
without recording their opposition to it, if, in their understanding, it
violated either the line proper dividing local from Federal authority or
any provision of the Constitution.

In 1819-20 came and passed the Missouri question. Many votes were taken
by yeas and nays, in both branches of Congress, upon the various phases
of the general question. Two of the "thirty-nine"--Rufus King and
Charles Pinckney--were members of that Congress. Mr. King steadily voted
for slavery prohibition and against all compromises; while Mr.
Pinckney as steadily voted against slavery prohibition and against all
compromises. By this Mr. King showed, that, in his understanding,
no line dividing local from Federal authority, nor any thing in the
Constitution, was violated by Congress prohibiting slavery in Federal
territory; while Mr. Pinckney, by his votes, showed, that, in his
understanding, there was some sufficient reason for opposing such
prohibition in that case.

The cases I have mentioned are the only acts of the "thirty-nine," or of
any of them, upon the direct issue, which I have been able to discover.

To enumerate the persons who thus acted as being four in 1784, three
in 1787, seventeen in 1789, three in 1798, two in 1804, and two in
1819-20,--there would be thirty-one of them. But this would be counting
John Lang-don, Roger Sherman, William Few, Rufus King, and George Read
each twice, and Abraham Baldwin four times. The true number of those
of the "thirty-nine" whom I have shown to have acted upon the question,
which, by the text, they understood better than we, is twenty-three,
leaving sixteen not shown to have acted upon it in any way.

Here, then, we have twenty-three out of our "thirty-nine" fathers, who
framed the government under which we live, who have, upon their official
responsibility and their corporal oaths, acted upon the very question
which the text affirms they "understood just as well, and even better
than we do now;" and twenty-one of them--a clear majority of the
"thirty-nine"--so acting upon it as to make them guilty of gross
political impropriety and wilful perjury if, in their understanding, any
proper division between local and Federal authority, or any thing in the
Constitution they had made themselves, and sworn to support, forbade the
Federal Government to control as to slavery in the Federal Territories.
Thus the twenty-one acted; and, as actions speak louder than words, so
actions under such responsibility speak still louder.

Two of the twenty-three voted against congressional prohibition of
slavery in the Federal Territories in the instances in which they acted
upon the question; but for what reasons they so voted is not known. They
may have done so because they thought a proper division of local from
Federal authority, or some provision or principle of the Constitution,
stood in the way; or they may, without any such question, have voted
against the prohibition, on what appeared to them to be sufficient
grounds of expediency. No one who has sworn to support the
Constitution can conscientiously vote for what he understands to be an
unconstitutional measure, however expedient he may think it; but one may
and ought to vote against a measure which he deems constitutional if, at
the same time, he deems it inexpedient. It, therefore, would be unsafe
to set down even the two who voted against the prohibition as having
done so because, in their understanding, any proper division of local
from Federal authority, or any thing in the Constitution, forbade the
Federal Government to control as to slavery in Federal territory.

The remaining sixteen of the "thirty-nine," so far as I have discovered,
have left no record of their understanding upon the direct question of
Federal control of slavery in the Federal Territories. But there is much
reason to believe that their understanding upon that question would not
have appeared different from that of their twenty-three compeers, had it
been manifested at all.

For the purpose of adhering rigidly to the text, I have purposely
omitted whatever understanding may have been manifested by any person,
however distinguished, other than the "thirty-nine" fathers who framed
the original Constitution; and, for the same reason, I have also
omitted whatever understanding may have been manifested by any of
the "thirty-nine" even, on any other phase of the general question of
slavery. If we should look into their acts and declarations on those
other phases, as the foreign slave-trade, and the morality and policy of
slavery generally, it would appear to us, that, on the direct question
of Federal control of slavery in Federal Territories, the sixteen,
if they had acted at all, would probably have acted just as the
twenty-three did. Among that sixteen were several of the most noted
antislavery men of those times,--as Dr. Franklin, Alexander Hamilton,
and Gouverneur Morris; while there was not one now known to have been
otherwise, unless it may be John Rutledge of South Carolina.

The sum of the whole is, that of our "thirty-nine" fathers who
framed the original Constitution, twenty-one--a clear majority of
the whole--certainly understood that no proper division of local from
Federal authority, nor any part of the Constitution, forbade the Federal
Government to control slavery in the Federal Territories; while all the
rest probably had the same understanding. Such, unquestionably, was the
understanding of our fathers who framed the original Constitution; and
the text affirms that they understood the question better than we.

But, so far, I have been considering the understanding of the question
manifested by the framers of the original Constitution. In and by the
original instrument, a mode was provided for amending it; and, as I
have already stated, the present frame of government under which we live
consists of that original, and twelve amendatory articles framed and
adopted since. Those who now insist that Federal control of slavery in
Federal Territories violates the Constitution point us to the provisions
which they suppose it thus violates; and, as I understand, they all fix
upon provisions in these amendatory articles, and not in the original
instrument. The Supreme Court, in the Dred-Scott case, plant themselves
upon the fifth amendment, which provides that "no person shall be
deprived of property without due process of law;" while Senator Douglas
and his peculiar adherents plant themselves upon the tenth amendment,
providing that "the powers not granted by the Constitution are reserved
to the States respectively and to the people."

Now, it so happens that these amendments were framed by the first
Congress which sat under the Constitution,--the identical Congress which
passed the act already mentioned, enforcing the prohibition of slavery
in the North-western Territory. Not only was it the same Congress, but
they were the identical, same individual men, who, at the same time
within the session, had under consideration, and in progress toward
maturity, these constitutional amendments, and this act prohibiting
slavery in all the territory the nation then owned. The constitutional
amendments were introduced before, and passed after, the act enforcing
the Ordinance of '87; so that, during the whole pendency of the act to
enforce the Ordinance, the constitutional amendments were also pending.

That Congress, consisting in all of seventy-six members, including
sixteen of the framers of the original Constitution, as before stated,
were preeminently our fathers who framed that part of the government
under which we live, which is now claimed as forbidding the Federal
Government to control slavery in the Federal Territories.

Is it not a little presumptuous in any one at this day to affirm that
the two things which that Congress deliberately framed, and earned to
maturity at the same time, are absolutely inconsistent with each other?
And does not such affirmation become impudently absurd when coupled with
the other affirmation, from the same mouth, that those who did the two
things alleged to be inconsistent understood whether they were really
inconsistent better than we,--better than he who affirms that they are
inconsistent?

It is surely safe to assume that the "thirty-nine" framers of the
original Constitution, and the seventy-six members of the Congress which
framed the amendments thereto, taken together, do certainly include
those who may be fairly called "our fathers who framed the government
under which we live." And so assuming, I defy any man to show that
any one of them ever, in his whole life, declared, that, in his
understanding, any proper division of local from Federal authority, or
any part of the Constitution, forbade the Federal Government to control
as to slavery in the Federal Territories. I go a step farther. I defy
any one to show that any living man in the whole world ever did, prior
to the beginning of the present century (and I might almost say prior to
the beginning of the last half of the present century), declare,
that, in his understanding, any proper division of local from Federal
authority, or any part of the Constitution, forbade the Federal
Government to control as to slavery in the Federal Territories. To
those who now so declare, I give, not only "our fathers, who framed
the government under which we live," but with them all other living men
within the century in which it was framed, among whom to search, and
they shall not be able to find the evidence of a single man agreeing
with them.

Now, and here, let me guard a little against being misunderstood. I
do not mean to say we are bound to follow implicitly in whatever our
fathers did. To do so would be to discard all the lights of current
experience,--to reject all progress,--all improvement. What I do say is,
that, if we would supplant the opinions and policy of our fathers in
any case, we should do so upon evidence so conclusive, and argument so
clear, that even their great authority, fairly considered and weighed,
cannot stand; and most surely not in a case whereof we ourselves declare
they understood the question better than we.

If any man, at this day, sincerely believes that a proper division of
local from Federal authority, or any part of the Constitution,
forbids the Federal Government to control as to slavery in the Federal
Territories, he is right to say so, and to enforce his position by all
truthful evidence and fair argument which he can. But he has no right
to mislead others, who have less access to history and less leisure
to study it, into the false belief that "our fathers, who framed
the government under which we live," were of the same opinion, thus
substituting falsehood and deception for truthful evidence and fair
argument. If any man at this day sincerely believes "our fathers, who
framed the government under which we live," used and applied principles,
in other cases, which ought to have led them to understand that a
proper division of local from Federal authority, or some part of the
Constitution, forbids the Federal Government to control as to slavery
in the Federal Territories, he is right to say so. But he should, at the
same time, brave the responsibility of declaring, that, in his opinion,
he understands their principles better than they did themselves; and
especially should he not shirk that responsibility by asserting that
they "understood the question just as well, and even better than we do
now."

But enough. Let all who believe that "our fathers, who framed the
government under which we live, understood this question just as well,
and even better than we do now," speak as they spoke, and act as they
acted upon it. This is all Republicans ask, all Republicans desire,
in relation to slavery. As those fathers marked it, so let it be again
marked, as an evil not to be extended, but to be tolerated and protected
only because of and so far as its actual presence among us makes that
toleration and protection a necessity. Let all the guaranties those
fathers gave it be, not grudgingly, but fully and fairly maintained. For
this Republicans contend, and with this, so far as I know or believe,
they will be content.

And now, if they would listen,--as I suppose they will not,--I would
address a few words to the Southern people.

I would say to them, You consider yourselves a reasonable and a just
people; and I consider, that, in the general qualities of reason and
justice, you are not inferior to any other people. Still, when you speak
of us Republicans, you do so only to denounce us as reptiles, or, at the
best, as no better than outlaws. You will grant a hearing to pirates
or murderers, but nothing like it to "Black Republicans." In all
your contentions with one another, each of you deems an unconditional
condemnation of "Black Republicanism" as the first thing to be attended
to. Indeed, such condemnation of us seems to be an indispensable
prerequisite--license, so to speak--among you to be admitted or
permitted to speak at all.

Now can you, or not, be prevailed upon to pause and to consider whether
this is quite just to us, or even to yourselves?

Bring forward your charges and specifications, and then be patient long
enough to hear us deny or justify.

You say we are sectional. We deny it. That makes an issue; and the
burden of proof is upon you. You produce your proof; and what is it?
Why, that our party has no existence in your section,--gets no votes
in your section. The fact is substantially true; but does it prove the
issue? If it does, then in case we should, without change of principle,
begin to get votes in your section, we should thereby cease to be
sectional. You cannot escape this conclusion; and yet are you willing to
abide by it? If you are, you will probably soon find that we have ceased
to be sectional, for we shall get votes in your section this very year.
You will then begin to discover, as the truth plainly is, that your
proof does not touch the issue. The fact that we get no votes in your
section is a fact of your making, and not of ours. And if there be fault
in that fact, that fault is primarily yours, and remains so until you
show that we repel you by some wrong principle or practice. If we do
repel you by any wrong principle or practice, the fault is ours; but
this brings us to where you ought to have started,--to a discussion of
the right or wrong of our principle. If our principle, put in practice,
would wrong your section for the benefit of ours, or for any other
object, then our principle, and we with it, are sectional, and are
justly opposed and denounced as such. Meet us, then, on the question of
whether our principle, put in practice, would wrong your section; and so
meet it as if it were possible that something may be said on our side.
Do you accept the challenge? No? Then you really believe that the
principle which our fathers, who framed the government under which we
live, thought so clearly right as to adopt it, and indorse it again and
again upon their official oaths, is, in fact, so clearly wrong as to
demand your condemnation without a moment's consideration.

Some of you delight to flaunt in our faces the warning against sectional
parties given by Washington in his Farewell Address. Less than eight
years before Washington gave that warning, he had, as President of the
United States, approved and signed an act of Congress enforcing the
prohibition of slavery in the North-western Territory, which act
embodied the policy of the Government upon that subject up to and at the
very moment he penned that warning; and about one year after he penned
it he wrote Lafayette that he considered that prohibition a wise
measure, expressing, in the same connection, his hope that we should
some time have a confederacy of Free States.

Bearing this in mind, and seeing that sectionalism has since arisen upon
this same subject, is that warning a weapon in your hands against us, or
in our hands against you? Could Washington himself speak, would he cast
the blame of that sectionalism upon us, who sustain his policy, or upon
you, who repudiate it? We respect that warning of Washington; and we
commend it to you, together with his example pointing to the right
application of it.

But you say you are conservative,--eminently conservative; while we
are revolutionary, destructive, or something of the sort. What is
conservatism? Is it not adherence to the old and tried against the new
and untried? We stick to, contend for, the identical old-policy on the
point in controversy which was adopted by our fathers who framed the
government under which we live; while you, with one accord, reject
and scout and spit upon that old policy, and insist upon substituting
something new. True, you disagree among yourselves as to what that
substitute shall be. You have considerable variety of new propositions
and plans; but you are unanimous in rejecting and denouncing the
old policy of the fathers. Some of you are for reviving the foreign
slave-trade; some for a Congressional Slave-code for the Territories;
some for Congress forbidding the Territories to prohibit slavery within
their limits; some for maintaining slavery in the Territories through
the judiciary; some for the "gur-reat pur-rinciple" that, "if one man
would enslave another, no third man should object," fantastically called
"popular sovereignty;" but never a man among you in favor of Federal
prohibition of slavery in Federal Territories, according to the practice
of our fathers, who framed the government under which we live. Not one
of all your various plans can show a precedent or an advocate in the
century within which our Government originated. Consider, then,
whether your claim of conservatism for yourselves, and your charge
of destructiveness against us, are based on the most clear and stable
foundations.

Again, you say we have made the slavery question more prominent than
it formerly was. We deny it. We admit that it is more prominent, but we
deny that we made it so. It was not we, but you, who discarded the old
policy of the fathers. We resisted, and still resist, your innovation;
and thence comes the greater prominence of the question. Would you have
that question reduced to its former proportions? Go back to that old
policy. What has been will be again, under the same conditions. If you
would have the peace of the old times, re-adopt the precepts and policy
of the old times.

You charge that we stir up insurrections among your slaves. We deny it.
And what is your proof? Harper's Ferry! John Brown! John Brown was no
Republican; and you have failed to implicate a single Republican in his
Harper's Ferry enterprise. If any member of our party is guilty in that
matter, you know it, or you do not know it. If you do know it, you are
inexcusable to not designate the man, and prove the fact. If you do not
know it, you are inexcusable to assert it, and especially to persist
in the assertion after you have tried and failed to make the proof. You
need not be told that persisting in a charge which one does not know to
be true is simply malicious slander.

Some of you admit that no Republican designedly aided or encouraged
the Harper's-Ferry affair, but still insist that our doctrines and
declarations necessarily lead to such results. We do not believe it. We
know we hold to no doctrine, and make no declarations, which were not
held to and made by our fathers, who framed the government under which
we live. You never deal fairly by us in relation to this affair. When it
occurred, some important State elections were near at hand; and you were
in evident glee with the belief, that, by charging the blame upon us,
you could get an advantage of us in those elections. The elections came;
and your expectations were not quite fulfilled. Every Republican man
knew, that, as to himself at least, your charge was a slander, and he
was not much inclined by it to cast his vote in your favor. Republican
doctrines and declarations are accompanied with a continual protest
against any interference whatever with your slaves, or with you about
your slaves. Surely this does not encourage them to revolt. True, we
do, in common with our fathers who framed the government under which we
live, declare our belief that slavery is wrong; but the slaves do not
hear us declare even this. For any thing we say or do, the slaves would
scarcely know there is a Republican party. I believe they would not, in
fact, generally know it but for your misrepresentations of us in their
hearing. In your political contest among yourselves, each faction
charges the other with sympathy with Black Republicanism; and then,
to give point to the charge, defines Black Republicanism to simply be
insurrection, blood, and thunder among the slaves.

Slave insurrections are no more common now than they were before
the Republican party was organized. What induced the Southampton
Insurrection, twenty-eight years ago, in which, at least, three times as
many lives were lost as at Harper's Ferry? You can scarcely stretch
your very elastic fancy to the conclusion that Southampton was got up
by Black Republicanism. In the present state of things in the United
States, I do not think a general, or even a very extensive slave
insurrection, is possible. The indispensable concert of action cannot
be attained. The slaves have no means of rapid communication; nor can
incendiary free men, black or white, supply it. The explosive materials
are everywhere in parcels; but there neither are, nor can be supplied,
the indispensable connecting trains.

Much is said by Southern people about the affection of slaves for their
masters and mistresses; and a part of it, at least, is true. A plot
for an uprising could scarcely be devised and communicated to twenty
individuals before some one of them, to save the life of a favorite
master or mistress, would divulge it. This is the rule; and the slave
revolution in Hayti was not an exception to it, but a case occurring
under peculiar circumstances. The gunpowder plot of British history,
though not connected with the slaves, was more in point. In that case,
only about twenty were admitted to the secret; and yet one of them, in
his anxiety to save a friend, betrayed the plot to that friend, and,
by consequence, averted the calamity. Occasional poisoning from the
kitchen, and open or stealthy assassinations in the field, and local
revolts extending to a score or so, will continue to occur as the
natural results of slavery; but no general insurrection of slaves, as I
think, can happen in this country for a long time. Whoever much fears,
or much hopes, for such an event will be alike disappointed.

In the language of Mr. Jefferson, uttered many years ago, "It is still
in our power to direct the process of emancipation and deportation
peaceably, and in such slow degrees, as that the evil will wear off
insensibly; and their places be, _pari passu_, filled up by free white
laborers. If, on the contrary, it is left to force itself on, human
nature must shudder at the prospect held up."

Mr. Jefferson did not mean to say, nor do I, that the power of
emancipation is in the Federal Government. He spoke of Virginia; and, as
to the power of emancipation, I speak of the slaveholding States only.

The Federal Government, however, as we insist, has the power of
restraining the extension of the institution,--the power to insure that
a slave insurrection shall never occur on any American soil which is now
free from slavery.

John Brown's effort was peculiar. It was not a slave insurrection. It
was an attempt by white men to get up a revolt among slaves, in which
the slaves refused to participate. In fact, it was so absurd that
the slaves, with all their ignorance, saw plainly enough it could not
succeed. 'That affair, in its philosophy, corresponds with the many
attempts, related in history, at the assassination of kings and
emperors. An enthusiast broods over the oppression of a people till he
fancies himself commissioned by Heaven to liberate them. He ventures the
attempt, which ends in little else than in 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 the one case, and on New England in the other,
does not disprove the sameness of the two things.

And how much would it avail you, if you could, by the use of John Brown,
Helper's book, and the like, break up the Republican organization?
Human action can be modified to some extent; but human nature cannot
be changed. There is a judgment and a feeling against slavery in this
nation, which cast at least a million and a half of votes. You cannot
destroy that judgment and feeling, that sentiment, by breaking up the
political organization which rallies around it. You can scarcely scatter
and disperse an army which has been formed into order in the face
of your heaviest fire; but, if you could, how much would you gain by
forcing the sentiment which created it out of the peaceful channel of
the ballot-box, into some other channel? What would that other channel
probably be? Would the number of John Browns be lessened or enlarged by
the operation?

But you will break up the Union rather than submit to a denial of your
constitutional rights.

That has a somewhat reckless sound; but it would be palliated, if not
fully justified, were we proposing by the mere force of numbers to
deprive you of some right plainly written down in the Constitution. But
we are proposing no such thing.

When you make these declarations, you have a specific and
well-under-stood allusion to an assumed constitutional right of yours
to take slaves into the Federal Territories, and hold them there as
property; but no such right is specifically written in the Constitution.
That instrument is literally silent about any such right. We, on the
contrary, deny that such a right has any existence in the Constitution,
even by implication.

Your purpose then, plainly stated, is, that you will destroy the
government, unless you be allowed to construe and enforce the
Constitution as you please on all points in dispute between you and us.
You will rule or ruin in all events.

This, plainly stated, is your language to us. Perhaps you will say the
Supreme Court has decided the disputed constitutional question in your
favor. Not quite so. But waiving the lawyer's distinction between dictum
and decision, the courts have decided the question for you in a sort of
way. The courts have substantially said, it is your constitutional right
to take slaves into the Federal Territories, and to hold them there as
property.

When I say the decision was made in a sort of way, I mean it was made
in a divided court by a bare majority of the judges, and they not quite
agreeing with one another in the reasons for making it; that it is so
made as that its avowed supporters disagree with one another about
its meaning, and that it was mainly based upon a mistaken statement of
fact,--the statement in the opinion that "the right of property in a
slave is distinctly and expressly affirmed in the Constitution."

An inspection of the Constitution will show that the right of property
in a slave is not distinctly and expressly affirmed in it. Bear in
mind, the judges do not pledge their judicial opinion that such right is
impliedly affirmed in the Constitution; but they pledge their veracity
that it is distinctly and expressly affirmed there,--"distinctly," that
is, not mingled with any thing else; "expressly," that is, in words
meaning just that, without the aid of any inference, and susceptible of
no other meaning.

If they had only pledged their judicial opinion that such right is
affirmed in the instrument by implication, it would be open to others to
show that neither the word "slave" nor "slavery" is to be found in
the Constitution, nor the word "property" even, in any connection with
language alluding to the things slave or slavery, and that, wherever in
that instrument the slave is alluded to, he is called a "person;" and
wherever his master's legal right in relation to him is alluded to, it
is spoken of as "service or labor due,"--as a "debt" payable in service
or labor. Also it would be open to show, by contemporaneous history,
that this mode of alluding to slaves and slavery, instead of speaking of
them, was employed on purpose to exclude from the Constitution the idea
that there could be property in man.

To show all this is easy and certain.

When this obvious mistake of the judges shall be brought to their
notice, is it not reasonable to expect that they will withdraw the
mistaken statement, and reconsider the conclusion based upon it?

And then it is to be remembered that "our fathers, who framed
the government under which we live,"--the men who made the
Constitution,--decided this same constitutional question in our favor
long ago,--decided it without a division among themselves, when making
the decision; without division among themselves about the meaning of it
after it was made, and, so far as any evidence is left, without basing
it upon any mistaken statement of facts.

Under all these circumstances, do you really feel yourselves justified
to break up this Government, unless such a court decision as yours
is shall be at once submitted to, as a conclusive and final rule of
political action?

But you will not abide the election of a Republican President. In that
supposed event, you say, you will destroy the Union; and then, you say,
the great crime of having destroyed it will be upon us!

That is cool. A highwayman holds a pistol to my ear, and mutters through
his teeth, "Stand and deliver, or I shall kill you; and then you will be
a murderer!"

To be sure, what the robber demanded of me--my money--was my own; and I
had a clear right to keep it; but it was no more my own than my vote
is my own; and threat of death to me to extort my money, and threat
of destruction to the Union to extort my vote, can scarcely be
distinguished in principle.

A few words now to Republicans. It is exceedingly desirable that all
parts of this great Confederacy shall be at peace, and in harmony, one
with another. Let us Republicans do our part to have it so. Even though
much provoked, let us do nothing through passion and ill-temper. Even
though the Southern people will not so much as listen to us, let us
calmly consider their demands, and yield to them if, in our deliberate
view of our duty, we possibly can. Judging by all they say and do,
and by the subject and nature of their controversy with us, let us
determine, if we can, what will satisfy them.

Will they be satisfied if the Territories be unconditionally surrendered
to them? We know they will not. In all their present complaints against
us, the Territories are scarcely mentioned. Invasions and insurrections
are the rage now. Will it satisfy them if, in the future, we have
nothing to do with invasions and insurrections? We know it will not. We
so know because we know we never had any thing to do with invasions and
insurrections; and yet this total abstaining does not exempt us from the
charge and the denunciation.

The question recurs, what will satisfy them? Simply this: We must not
only let them alone, but we must, somehow, convince them that we do let
them alone. This we know by experience is no easy task. We have been so
trying to convince them from the very beginning of our organization, but
with no success. In all our platforms and speeches we have constantly
protested our purpose to let them alone; but this has had no tendency to
convince them. Alike unavailing to convince them is the fact that they
have never detected a man of us in any attempt to disturb them.

These natural, and apparently adequate means all failing, what will
convince them? This, and this only: cease to call slavery _wrong_, and
join them in calling it _right_. And this must be done thoroughly,--done
in _acts_ as well as in _words_. Silence will not be tolerated: we must
place ourselves avowedly with them. Douglas's new sedition law must
be enacted and enforced, suppressing all declarations that slavery is
wrong, whether made in politics, in presses, in pulpits, or in private.
We must arrest and return their fugitive slaves with greedy pleasure. We
must pull down our Free-State Constitutions. The whole atmosphere must
be disinfected from all taint of opposition to slavery, before they will
cease to believe that all their troubles proceed from us.

I am quite aware they do not state their case precisely in this way.
Most of them would probably say to us, "Let us alone, do nothing to us,
and say what you please about slavery." But we do let them alone,
have never disturbed them; so that, after all, it is what we say which
dissatisfies them. They will continue to accuse us of doing until we
cease saying.

I am also aware they have not as yet, in terms, demanded the overthrow
of our Free-State constitutions. Yet those constitutions declare the
wrong of slavery with more solemn emphasis than do all other sayings
against it; and when all these other sayings shall have been silenced,
the overthrow of these constitutions will be demanded, and nothing be
left to resist the demand. It is nothing to the contrary, that they do
not demand the whole of this just now. Demanding what they do, and for
the reason they do, they can voluntarily stop nowhere short of this
consummation. Holding, as they do, that slavery is morally right,
and socially elevating, they cannot cease to demand a full national
recognition of it, as a legal right and a social blessing.

Nor can we justifiably withhold this on any ground, save our conviction
that slavery is wrong. 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. Thinking it right, as they do, they are not to blame for
desiring its full recognition, as being right; but thinking it wrong, as
we do, can we yield to them? Can we cast our votes with their view,
and against our own? In view of our moral, social, and political
responsibilities, can we do this?

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 these 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 Dis-unionists, 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.

The next morning "The Tribune" presented a report of the speech, but,
in doing so, said, "the tones, the gestures, the kindling eye, and the
mirth-provoking look defy the reporter's skill.... No man ever before
made such an impression on his first appeal to a New York audience."
"The Evening Post" said, "We have made room for Mr. Lincoln's speech,
notwithstanding the pressure of other matters; and our readers will see
that it was well worthy of the deep attention with which it was heard."
For the publication of such arguments the editor was "tempted to wish"
that his columns "were indefinitely elastic." And these are but fair
evidences of the general tone of the press.

Mr. Lincoln was much annoyed, after his return home, by the allegation
that he had sold a "political speech," and had been generally governed
by mercenary motives in his Eastern trip. Being asked to explain it, he
answered as follows:--

Springfield, April 6, 1860.

C. F. McNeill, Esq.

Dear Sir,--Reaching home yesterday, I found yours of the 23d March,
enclosing a slip from "The Middleport Press." It is not true that I ever
charged any thing for a political speech in my life; but this much is
true. Last October I was requested by letter to deliver some sort of
speech in Mr. Beecher's church in Brooklyn,--$200 being offered in the
first letter. I wrote that I could do it in February, provided they
would take a political speech if I could find time to get up no other.
They agreed; and subsequently I informed them the speech would have to
be a political one. When I reached New York, I, for the first, learned
that the place was changed to "Cooper Institute." I made the speech, and
left for New Hampshire, where I have a son at school, neither asking for
pay nor having any offered me. Three days after, a check for $200 was
sent to me at N.H.; and I took it, _and did not know it was wrong_. My
understanding now is, though I knew nothing of it at the time, that they
did charge for admittance at the Cooper Institute, and that they took in
more than twice $200.

I have made this explanation to you as a friend; 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.

When I returned through New York from New England, I was told by the
gentlemen who sent me the check, that a drunken vagabond in the club,
having learned something about the $200, made the exhibition out of
which "The Herald" manufactured the article quoted by "The Press" of
your town.

My judgment is, and therefore my request is, that you give no denial,
and no explanations.

Thanking you for your kind interest in the matter, I remain

Yours truly,

A. Lincoln.

From New York Mr. Lincoln travelled into New England, to visit his
son Robert, who was a student at Harvard; but he was overwhelmed with
invitations to address Republican meetings. In Connecticut he spoke at
Hartford, Norwich, New Haven, Meriden, and Bridgeport; in Rhode Island,
at Woonsocket; in New Hampshire, at Concord and Manchester. Everywhere
the people poured out in multitudes, and the press lavished encomiums.
Upon his speech at Manchester, "The Mirror," a neutral paper, passed the
following criticisms of his style of oratory,--criticisms familiar
enough to the people of his own State: "He spoke an hour and a half with
great fairness, great apparent candor, and with wonderful interest.
He did not abuse the South, the administration, or the Democrats,
or indulge in any personalities, with the exception of a few hits at
Douglas's notions. He is far from prepossessing in personal appearance,
and his voice is disagreeable; and yet he wins your attention and
good-will from the start.... He indulges in no flowers of rhetoric, no
eloquent passages. He is not a wit, a humorist, or a clown; yet so great
a vein of pleasantry and good-nature pervades what he says, gilding over
a deep current of practical argument, he keeps his hearers in a smiling
mood, with their mouths open ready to swallow all he says. His sense of
the ludicrous is very keen; and an exhibition of that is the clincher
of all his arguments,--not the ludicrous acts of persons, but ludicrous
ideas. Hence he is never offensive, and steals away willingly into his
train of belief persons who were opposed to him. For the first half-hour
his opponents would agree with every word he uttered; and from that
point he began to lead them off little by little, until it seemed as
if he had got them all into his fold. He displays more shrewdness, more
knowledge of the masses of mankind, than any public speaker we have
heard since Long Jim Wilson left for California."

On the morning after the Norwich speech, Mr. Lincoln was met, or is
said to have been met, in the cars by a preacher, one Gulliver,--a
name suggestive of fictions. Gulliver says he told Mr. Lincoln that
he thought his speech "the most remarkable one he ever heard." Lincoln
doubted his sincerity; but Gulliver persisted. "Indeed, sir," said he,
"I learned more of the art of public speaking last evening than I could
from a whole course of lectures on rhetoric." Lincoln found he had in
hand a clerical sycophant, and a little politician at that,--a class of
beings whom he most heartily despised. Whereupon he began to quiz the
fellow, and told him, for a most "remarkable circumstance," that the
professors of Yale College were running all around after him, taking
notes of his speeches, and lecturing about him to the classes. "Now,"
continued he, "I should like very much to know what it was in my speech
which you thought so remarkable, and which interested my friend the
professor so much?" Gulliver was equal to the occasion, and answered
with an opinion which Mr. Bunsby might have delivered, and died,
leaving to the world a reputation perfected by that single saying. "The
clearness of your statements," said Gulliver, "the unanswerable style
of your reasoning, and especially your illustrations, which were romance
and pathos, and fun and logic, all welded together." Gulliver closed the
interview with the cant peculiar to his kind. "Mr. Lincoln," said he,
"may I say one thing to you before we separate?"--"Certainly; any thing
you please," replied the good-natured old Abe. "You have just spoken,"
preached Gulliver, "of the tendency of political life in Washington
to debase the moral convictions of our representatives there by
the admixture of mere political expediency. You have become, by the
controversy with Mr. Douglas, one of our leaders in this great struggle
with slavery, which is undoubtedly the struggle of the nation and the
age. What I would like to say is this, and I say it with a full heart:
Be true to your principles; and we will be true to you, and God will be
true to us all." To which modest, pious, and original observation, Mr.
Lincoln responded, "I say Amen to that! Amen to that!"




CHAPTER XVIII

IT was not until May 9 and 10 that the Republican State Convention of
Illinois met at Decatur. Mr. Lincoln was present, and is said to have
been there as a mere "spectator." He had no special interest in the
proceedings, and appears to have had no notion that any business
relating to him was to be transacted that day. It was a very large and
spirited body, comprising an immense number of delegates, among whom
were the most brilliant, as well as the shrewdest men in the party. It
was evident that something of more than usual importance was expected to
transpire. A few moments after the convention organized, "Old Abe" was
seen squatting, or sitting on his heels, just within the door of the
Wigwam. Gov. Oglesby rose and said amid increasing silence, "I am
informed that a distinguished citizen of Illinois, and one whom Illinois
will ever delight to honor, is present; and I wish to move that this
body invite him to a seat on the stand." Here the governor paused, as if
to tease and dally, and work curiosity up to the highest point; but at
length he shouted the magic name "_Abraham Lincoln!_" Not a shout, but
a roar of applause, long and deep, shook every board and joist of the
Wigwam. The motion was seconded and passed. A rush was made for the hero
that sat on his heels. He was seized, and jerked to his feet. An effort
was made to "jam him through the crowd" to his place of honor on
the stage; but the crowd was too dense, and it failed. Then he was
"troosted,"--lifted up bodily,--and lay for a few seconds sprawling and
kicking upon the heads and shoulders of the great throng. In this
manner he was gradually pushed toward the stand, and finally reached
it, doubtless to his great relief, "in the arms of some half-dozen
gentlemen," who set him down in full view of his clamorous admirers.
"The cheering was like the roar of the sea. Hats were thrown up by the
Chicago delegation, as if hats were no longer useful." Mr. Lincoln rose,
bowed, smiled, blushed, and thanked the assembly as well as he could
in the midst of such a tumult. A gentleman who saw it all says, "I then
thought him one of the most diffident and worst-plagued men I ever saw."

At another stage of the proceedings, Gov. Oglesby rose again with
another provoking and mysterious speech. "There was," he said, "an
old Democrat outside who had something he wished to present to this
Convention."--"Receive it!" "Receive it!" cried some. "What is it?"
"What is it?" screamed some of the lower Egyptians, who had an idea the
old Democrat might want to blow them up with an infernal machine. But
the party for Oglesby and the old Democrat was the stronger, and carried
the vote with a tremendous hurrah. The door of the Wigwam opened; and
a fine, robust old fellow, with an open countenance and bronzed cheeks,
marched into the midst of the assemblage, bearing on his shoulder
"two small triangular heart rails," surmounted by a banner with this
inscription:--

TWO RAILS,

FROM A LOT MADE BY ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND JOHN HANKS, IN THE SANGAMON
BOTTOM, IN THE YEAR 1830.

[Illustration: Uncle John Hanks 489]

The sturdy bearer was old John Hanks himself, enjoying the great
field-day of his life. He was met with wild and tumultuous cheers,
prolonged through several minutes; and it was observed that the Chicago
and Central-Illinois men put up the loudest and longest. The whole scene
was for a time simply tempestuous and bewildering. But it ended at
last; and now the whole body, those in the secret and those out of it,
clamored like men beside themselves for a speech from Mr. Lincoln, who
in the mean time "blushed, but seemed to shake with inward laughter." In
response to the repeated appeals he rose and said,--

"Gentlemen, I suppose you want to know something about those things"
(pointing to old John and the rails). "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
makers" (laughing as he spoke). "But I do know this: I made rails then,
and I think I could make better ones than these now."

By this time the innocent Egyptians began to open their eyes: they saw
plainly enough now the admirable Presidential scheme unfolded to their
view. The result of it all was a resolution declaring that "Abraham
Lincoln _is the first choice of the Republican party of Illinois for the
Presidency, and instructing the delegates to the Chicago Convention to
use all honorable means to secure his nomination, and to cast the vote
of the State as a unit for him_."

The crowd at Decatur, delegates and private citizens, who took part in
these proceedings, was estimated at five thousand. Neither the numbers
nor the enthusiasm was a pleasant sight to the divided and demoralized
Democrats. They disliked to hear so much about "honest Old Abe," "the
rail-splitter," "the flat-boatman," "the pioneer." These cries had an
ominous sound in their ears. Leaving Decatur on the cars, an old man out
of Egypt, devoted to the great principles of Democracy, and excessively
annoyed by the demonstration in progress, approached Mr. Lincoln and
said, "So you're Abe Lincoln?"--"That's my name, sir," answered Mr.
Lincoln. "They say you're a self-made man," said the Democrat. "Well,
yes," said Mr. Lincoln, "what there is of me is self-made."--"Well, all
I've got to say," observed the old man, after a careful survey of the
statesman before him, "is, that it was a d--n bad job."

In the mean time Mr. Lincoln's claims had been attractively presented to
the politicians of other States. So early as 1858, Mr. Herndon had been
to Boston partly, if not entirely, on this mission; and latterly
Judge Davis, Leonard Swett, and others had visited Ohio, Indiana,
Pennsylvania, and Maryland in his behalf. Illinois was, of course,
overwhelmingly and vociferously for him.

On the 16th of May, the Republican Convention assembled at Chicago.
The city was literally crammed with delegates, alternates, "outside
workers," and spectators. No nominating convention had ever before
attracted such multitudes to the scene of its deliberations.

The first and second days were spent in securing a permanent
organization, and the adoption of a platform. The latter set out by
reciting the Declaration of Independence as to the equality of all men,
not forgetting the usual quotation about the right to "life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness." The third resolution denounced disunion
in any possible event; the fourth declared the right of each State to
"order and control its own domestic institutions according to its own
judgment exclusively;" the fifth denounced the administration and its
treatment of Kansas, as well as its general support of the supposed
rights of the South under the Constitution; the sixth favored "economy;"
the seventh denied the "new dogma, that the Constitution, of its own
force, carries slavery into any or all of the Territories of the United
States;" the eighth denied the "authority of Congress, of a Territorial
Legislature, or of any individuals, to give legal existence to slavery
in any Territory of the United States;" the ninth called the African
slave-trade a "burning shame;" the tenth denounced the governors of
Kansas and Nebraska for vetoing certain antislavery bills; the
eleventh favored the admission of Kansas; the twelfth was a high-tariff
manifesto, and a general stump speech to the mechanics; the thirteenth
lauded the Homestead policy; the fourteenth opposed any Federal or State
legislation "by which the rights of citizenship, hitherto accorded to
immigrants from foreign lands, shall be abridged or impaired," with
some pretty words, intended as a further bid for the foreign vote;
the fifteenth declared for "river and harbor improvements," and
the sixteenth for a "Pacific Railroad." It was a very comprehensive
"platform;" and, if all classes for whom planks were provided should
be kind enough to stand upon them, there could be no failure in the
election.

On the third day the balloting for a candidate was to begin. Up to the
evening of the second day, Mr. Seward's prospects were far the best. It
was certain that he would receive the largest vote on the first ballot;
and outside of the body itself the "crowd" for him was more numerous
and boisterous than for any other, except Mr. Lincoln. For Mr. Lincoln,
however, the "pressure" from the multitude, in the Wigwam, in the
streets, and in the hotels, was tremendous. It is sufficiently accounted
for by the fact that the "spot" was Chicago, and the State Illinois.
Besides the vast numbers who came there voluntarily to urge his claims,
and to cheer for him, as the exigency demanded, his adherents had
industriously "drummed up" their forces in the city and country, and
were now able to make infinitely more noise than all the other parties
put together. There was a large delegation of roughs there for Mr.
Seward, headed by Tom Hyer, the pugilist. These, and others like them,
filled the Wigwam toward the evening of the second day in expectation
that the voting would begin. The Lincoln party found it out, and
determined to call a check to that game. They spent the whole night in
mustering and organizing their "loose fellows" from far and near, and
at daylight the next morning "took charge" of the Wigwam, filling
every available space, and much that they had no business to fill. As a
result, the Seward men were unable to get in, and were forced to content
themselves with curbstone enthusiasm.

Mr. Lincoln seemed to be very sure, all along, that the contest would be
ultimately between him and Mr. Seward. The "Bates men" were supposed to
be conservative, that is, not Abolitionists; and the object of the move
in favor of Mr. Bates was to lower the fanatical tone of the party, and
save the votes of certain "Union men" who might otherwise be against
it. But a Seward man had telegraphed to St. Louis, to the friends of Mr.
Bates, to say that Lincoln was as bad as Seward, and to urge them to go
for Mr. Seward in case their own favorite should fail. The despatch was
printed in "The Missouri Democrat," but was not brought to Mr. Lincoln's
attention until the meeting of the Convention. He immediately caught up
the paper, and "wrote on its broad margin," "Lincoln agrees with Seward
in his irrepressible-conflict idea, and in <DW64> equality; but he is
opposed to Seward's Higher Law." With this he immediately despatched a
friend to Chicago, who handed it to Judge Davis or Judge Logan.

Simon Cameron of Pennsylvania was nominally a candidate; but, in the
language of Col. McClure, "it meant nothing:" it was a mere sham, got up
to enable Cameron to make a bargain with some real candidate, and thus
secure for himself and his friends the lion's share of the spoils in
the event of a victory at the polls. The genuine sentiment of the
Pennsylvania delegation was divided between Judge Bates and Judge
McLean. But Cameron was in a fine position to trade, and his friends
were anxious for business. On the evening of the second day, these
gentlemen were gratified. A deputation of them--Casey, Sanderson,
Reeder, and perhaps others--were invited to the Lincoln Head-quarters at
the Tremont House, where they were met by Messrs. Davis, Swett, Logan,
and Dole, on the part of Mr. Lincoln. An agreement was there made, that,
if the Cameron men would go for Lincoln, and he should be nominated
and elected, Cameron should have a seat in his Cabinet, _provided_ the
Pennsylvania delegation could be got to recommend him. The bargain
was fulfilled, but not without difficulty. Cameron's strength was
more apparent than real. There was, however, "a certain class of the
delegates under his immediate influence;" and these, with the aid of Mr.
Wilmot and his friends, who were honestly for Lincoln, managed to carry
the delegation by a very small majority,--"about six."

About the same time a similar bargain was made with the friends of Caleb
B. Smith of Indiana; and with these two contracts quietly ratified, the
Lincoln men felt strong and confident on the morning of the third day.

While the candidates were being named, and when the ballotings began,
every mention of Mr. Lincoln's name was received with thundering shouts
by the vast mass of his adherents by whom the building had been packed.
In the phrase of the day, the "outside pressure" was all in his favor.
On the first ballot, Mr. Seward had 173 1/2 votes; Mr. Lincoln, 102;
Mr. Cameron, 50 1/2; Mr. Chase, 49; Mr. Bates, 48; Mr. Dayton, 14; Mr.
McLean, 12; Mr. Collamer, 10; and 6 were scattered. Mr. Cameron's
name was withdrawn on the second ballot, according to the previous
understanding; Mr. Seward had 184 1/2; Mr. Lincoln, 181; Mr. Chase,
42 1/2; Mr. Bates, 35; Mr. Dayton, 10; Mr. McLean, 8; and the rest
scattered. It was clear that the nomination lay between Mr. Seward and
Mr. Lincoln, and the latter was receiving great accessions of strength.
The third ballot came, and Mr. Lincoln ran rapidly up to 231 1/2 votes;
233 being the number required to nominate. Hundreds of persons were
keeping the count; and it was well known, without any announcement, that
Mr. Lincoln lacked but a vote and a half to make him the nominee. At
this juncture, Mr. Cartter of Ohio rose, and changed four votes from
Mr. Chase to Mr. Lincoln. He was nominated. The Wigwam shook to its
foundation with the roaring cheers. The multitude in the streets
answered the multitude within, and in a moment more all the holiday
artillery of Chicago helped to swell the grand acclamation. After a
time, the business of the convention proceeded amid great excitement.
All the votes that had heretofore been cast against Mr. Lincoln were
cast for him before this ballot concluded; and, upon motion, the
nomination was made unanimous. The convention then adjourned for dinner,
and in the afternoon finished its work by the nomination of Hannibal
Hamlin of Maine for Vice-President.

All that day and all the day previous Mr. Lincoln was in Springfield,
trying to behave as usual, but watching the proceedings of the
Convention, as they were reported by telegraph, with nervous anxiety.
Mr. Baker, the friend who had taken "The Missouri Democrat" to Chicago
with Mr. Lincoln's pregnant indorsement upon it, returned on the night
of the 18th. Early in the morning, he and Mr. Lincoln went to the
balll-alley to play at "fives;" but the alley was pre-engaged. They went
to an "excellent and neat beer saloon" to play a game of billiards; but
the table was occupied. In this strait they contented themselves with a
glass of beer, and repaired to "The Journal" office for news.

C. P. Brown says that Lincoln played ball a great deal that day,
notwithstanding the disappointment when he went with Baker; and Mr. Zane
informs us that he was engaged in the same way the greater part of the
day previous. It is probable that he took this physical mode of working
off or keeping down the unnatural excitement that threatened to possess
him.

About nine o'clock in the morning, Mr. Lincoln came to the office of
Lincoln & Herndon. Mr. Zane was then conversing with a student, "Well,
boys," said Mr. Lincoln, "what do you know?"--"Mr. Rosette," answered
Zane, "who came from Chicago this morning, thinks your chances for the
nomination are good." Mr. Lincoln wished to know what Mr. Rosette's
opinion was founded upon; and, while Zane was explaining, Mr. Baker
entered with a telegram, "which said the names of the candidates for
nomination had been announced," and that Mr. Lincoln's had been received
with more applause than any other. Mr. Lincoln lay down on a sofa to
rest. Soon after, Mr. Brown entered; and Mr. Lincoln said to him, "Well,
Brown, do you know any thing?" Brown did not know much; and so Mr.
Lincoln, secretly nervous and impatient, rose and exclaimed, "Let's go
to the telegraph-office." After waiting some time at the office, the
result of the first ballot came over the wire. It was apparent to all
present that Mr. Lincoln thought it very favorable. He believed that if
Mr. Seward failed to get the nomination, or to "come very near it," on
the first ballot, he would fail altogether. Presently the news of the
second ballot arrived, and Mr. Lincoln showed by his manner that he
considered the contest no longer doubtful. "I've got him," said he. He
then went over to the office of "The Journal," where other friends were
awaiting decisive intelligence. The local editor of that paper, Mr.
Zane, and others, remained behind to receive the expected despatch. In
due time it came: the operator was intensely excited; at first he threw
down his pencil, but, seizing it again, wrote off the news that threw
Springfield into a frenzy of delight. The local editor picked it up, and
rushed to "The Journal" office. Upon entering the room, he called for
three cheers for the next President. They were given, and then the
despatch was read. Mr. Lincoln seemed to be calm, but a close observer
could detect in his countenance the indications of deep emotion. In the
mean time cheers for Lincoln swelled up from the streets, and began to
be heard throughout the town. Some one remarked, "Mr. Lincoln, I suppose
now we will soon have a book containing your life."--"There is not
much," he replied, "in my past life about which to write a book, as it
seems to me." Having received the hearty congratulations of the company
in the office, he descended to the street, where he was immediately
surrounded by "Irish and American citizens;" and, so long as he was
willing to receive it, there was great handshaking and felicitating.
"Gentlemen," said the great man with a happy twinkle in his eye, "you
had better come up and shake my hand while you can: honors elevate some
men, you know." But he soon bethought him of a person who was of more
importance to him than all this crowd. Looking toward his house, he
said, "Well, gentlemen, there is a little short woman at our house who
is probably more interested in this despatch than I am; and, if you will
excuse me, I will take it up and let her see it."

During the day a hundred guns were fired at Springfield; and in the
evening a great mass meeting "ratified" the nomination, and, after doing
so, adjourned to the house of the nominee. Mr. Lincoln appeared, made a
"model" speech, and invited into his house everybody that could get in.
To this the immense crowd responded that they would give him a larger
house the next year, and in the mean time beset the one he had until
after midnight.

On the following day the Committee of the Convention, with Mr. Ashmun,
the president, at its head, arrived at Springfield to notify Mr. Lincoln
of his nomination. Contrary to what might have been expected, he
seemed sad and dejected. The re-action from excessive joy to deep
despondency--a process peculiar to his constitution--had already set
in. To the formal address of the Committee, he responded with admirable
taste and feeling;--

"Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Committee,--I tender to you, and
through you to the Republican National Convention, and all the people
represented in it, my profoundest thanks for the high honor done me,
which you now formally announce. Deeply and even painfully sensible of
the great responsibility which is inseparable from this high honor,--a
responsibility which I could almost wish had fallen upon some one of the
far more eminent men and experienced statesmen whose distinguished names
were before the Convention, I shall, by your leave, consider more
fully the resolutions of the Convention, denominated the platform,
and, without unnecessary and unreasonable delay, respond to you, Mr.
Chairman, in writing, not doubting that the platform will be found
satisfactory, and the nomination gratefully accepted. And now I will not
longer defer the pleasure of taking you, and each of you, by the hand."

The Committee handed him a letter containing the official notice,
accompanied by the resolutions of the Convention; and to this he replied
on the 23d as follows:--

Springfield, Ill, May 23,1860.

Hon. George Ashmun, President of the Republican National Convention.

Sir,--I accept the nomination tendered me by the Convention over which
you presided, and of which I am formally apprised in the letter of
yourself and others, acting as a Committee of the Convention for that
purpose.

The declaration of principles and sentiments which accompanies your
letter meets my approval; and it shall be my care not to violate or
disregard it in any part.

Imploring the assistance of Divine Providence, and with due regard to
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,
harmony, and prosperity 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,

Abraham Lincoln.

In the mean time the National Democratic Convention had met at
Charleston, S.C., and split in twain. The South utterly repudiated Mr.
Douglas's new heresy; and Mr. Douglas insisted that the whole party
ought to become heretics with him, and, turning their backs on the
Dred-Scott Decision and the Cincinnati Platform, give up slavery in
the Territories to the tender mercies of "squatter sovereignty" and
"unfriendly legislation." Neither party to the controversy would be
satisfied with a simple re-affirmation of the Cincinnati Platform; for
under it Mr. Douglas could go to the North and say that it meant
"squatter sovereignty," and Mr. Breckinridge could go to the South and
say that it meant Congressional protection to slavery. In fact, it meant
neither, and said neither, but declared, in plain English words, that
Congress had no power to interfere with slavery in the Territories; and
that, when the Territories were about to become States, they had all
power to settle the question for themselves. Gen. B. F. Butler of
Massachusetts proposed to heal the ominous divisions in the Convention
by the re-adoption of that clear and emphatic provision; but his voice
was soon drowned in the clamors of the fiercer disputants. The
differences were irreconcilable. Mr. Douglas's friends had come there
determined to nominate him at any cost; and, in order to nominate him,
they dared not concede the platform to the South. A majority of the
Committee on Resolutions reported the Cincinnati Platform, with the
Southern interpretation of it; and the minority reported the same
platform with a recitation concerning the "differences of opinion" "in
the Democratic party," and a pledge to abide by the decision of the
Supreme Court "on the questions of constitutional law,"--a pledge
supposed to be of little value, since those who gave it were that moment
in the very act of repudiating the only decision the Court had ever
rendered. The minority report was adopted after a protracted and
acrimonious debate, by a vote of one hundred and sixty-five to one
hundred and thirty-eight. Thereupon the Southern delegates, most of them
under instructions from their State conventions, withdrew, and organized
themselves into a separate convention. The remaining delegates, called
"the rump" by their Democratic adversaries, proceeded to ballot for a
candidate for President, and voted fifty-seven times without effecting a
nomination. Mr. Douglas, of course, received the highest number of
votes; but, the old two-thirds rule being in force, he failed of a
nomination. Mr. Guthrie of Kentucky was his principal competitor; but at
one time and another Mr. Hunter of Virginia, Gen. Lane of Oregon, and
Mr. Johnson of Tennessee, received flattering and creditable votes.
After the fifty-seventh ballot, the Convention adjourned to meet at
Baltimore on the 18th of June.

The seceders met in another hall, adopted the majority platform, as the
adhering delegates had adopted the minority platform, and then adjourned
to meet at Richmond on the second Monday in June. Faint hopes of
accommodation were still entertained; and, when the seceders met at
Richmond, they adjourned again to Baltimore, and the 28th of June.

The Douglas Convention, assuming to be the regular one, had invited the
Southern States to fill up the vacant seats which belonged to them; but,
when the new delegates appeared, they were met with the apprehension
that their votes might not be perfectly secure for Mr. Douglas, and were
therefore, in many instances, lawlessly excluded. This was the signal
for another secession: the Border States withdrew; Mr. Butler and the
Massachusetts delegation withdrew; Mr. Cushing deserted the chair, and
took that of the rival Convention. The "regular" Convention, it was
said, was now "the rump of a rump."

On the first ballot for a candidate, Mr. Douglas had 173 1/2 votes; Mr.
Guthrie, 10; Mr. Breckinridge, 5; and 3 were scattered. On the second
ballot, Mr. Douglas had 181 1/2; Mr. Breckinridge, 5; and Mr. Guthrie, 5
1/2. It was plain that under the two-thirds rule no nomination could be
made here. Neither Mr. Douglas nor any one else could receive two-thirds
of a full convention. It was therefore resolved that Mr. Douglas,
"having received two-thirds of all the votes _given in this
Convention_," should be declared the nominee. Mr. Fitzpatrick of Alabama
was nominated for Vice-President, but declined to stand; and Mr. Johnson
of Georgia was substituted for him by the Douglas "National Committee."

In the seceders' Convention, twenty-one States were represented more
or less fully. It had no trouble in selecting a candidate. John C.
Breckinridge of Kentucky and Joseph Lane of Oregon were unanimously
nominated for the offices of President and Vice-President.

In the mean time another party--the "Constitutional Union party"--had
met in Baltimore on the 19th of May, and nominated John Bell of
Tennessee for President, and Edward Everett of Massachusetts for
Vice-President. Its platform was, in brief, "The Constitution of the
Country, the Union of the States, and the Enforcement of the Laws."
This body was composed for the most part of impenitent Know-Nothings and
respectable old-line Whigs.

The spring elections had given the democracy good reason to hope for
success in the fall. The commercial classes, the shipping classes, and
large numbers of the manufacturers, were thoroughly alarmed for the
safety of the great trade dependent upon a political connection with
the South. It seemed probable that a great re-action against antislavery
agitations might take place. But the division at Charleston, the
permanent organization of the two factions at Baltimore, and their
mutual and rancorous hostility, completely reversed the delusive
prospect. A majority of the whole people of the Union looked forward to
a Republican victory with dread, and a large part with actual terror;
and yet it was now clear that that majority was fatally bent upon
wasting its power in the bitter struggles of the factions which composed
it. Mr. Lincoln's election was assured; and for them there was nothing
left but to put the house in order for the great convulsion which
all our political fathers and prophets had predicted as the necessary
consequence of such an event.

On the 6th of November, Abraham Lincoln was elected President of the
United States. He received 1,857,610 votes; Mr. Douglas had 1,291,574;
Mr. Breckinridge, 850,082; Mr. Bell, 646,124. Against Mr. Lincoln there
was a majority of 980,170 of all the votes cast. Of the electoral
votes, Mr. Lincoln had 180; Mr. Breckinridge, 72; Mr. Bell, 30; and
Mr. Douglas, 12. It is more than likely that Mr. Lincoln owed this, his
crowning triumph, to the skill and adroitness with which he questioned
Mr. Douglas in the canvass of 1858, and drew out of him those fatal
opinions about "squatter sovereignty" and "unfriendly legislation" in
the Territories. But for Mr. Douglas's committal to those opinions, it
is not likely that. Mr. Lincoln would ever have been President.

The election over, Mr. Lincoln was sorely beset by office-seekers.
Individuals, deputations, "delegations," from all quarters, pressed
in upon him in a manner that might have killed a man of less robust
constitution. The hotels of Springfield were filled with gentlemen who
came with, light baggage and heavy schemes. The party had never been in
office: a "clean sweep" of the "ins" was expected; and all the "outs"
were patriotically anxious to take the vacant places. It was a party
that had never fed; and it was voraciously hungry. Mr. Lincoln and
Artemus Ward saw a great deal of fun in it; and in all human probability
it was the fun alone that enabled Mr. Lincoln to bear it.

Judge Davis says that Mr. Lincoln had determined to appoint "Democrats
and Republicans alike to office." Many things confirm this statement.
Mr. Lincoln felt deeply the responsibility of his great trust; and he
felt still more keenly the supposed impossibility of administering
the government for the sole benefit of an organization which had no
existence in one-half of the Union. He was therefore willing, not only
to appoint Democrats to office, but to appoint them to the very highest
offices within his gift. At this time he thought very highly of Mr.
Stephens of Georgia, and would gladly have taken him into his Cabinet
but for the fear that Georgia might secede, and take Mr. Stephens along
with her. He did actually authorize his friend, Mr. Speed, to offer the
Treasury Department to Mr. Guthrie of Kentucky; and Mr. Guthrie, for
good reasons of his own, declined it. The full significance of this act
of courageous magnanimity cannot be understood without reference to the
proceedings of the Charleston Convention, where Mr. Guthrie was one
of the foremost candidates. He considered the names of various other
gentlemen from the Border States, each of them with good proslavery
antecedents. He commissioned Thurlow Weed to place a seat in the Cabinet
at the disposal of Mr. Gilmore of North Carolina; but Mr. Gilmore,
finding that his State was likely to secede, was reluctantly compelled
to decline it. He was, in fact, sincerely and profoundly anxious that
the South should be honestly represented in his councils by men who had
an abiding-place in the hearts of her people. To accomplish that high
purpose, he was forced to go beyond the ranks of his own party; and
he had the manliness to do it. He felt that his strength lay in
conciliation at the outset: that was his ruling conviction during all
those months of preparation for the great task before him. It showed
itself, not only in the appointments which he sought to make, but in
those which he did make. Harboring no jealousies, entertaining no fears
concerning his personal interests in the future, he called around
him the most powerful of his late rivals,--Seward, Chase, Bates,--and
unhesitatingly gave into their hands powers which most presidents would
have shrunk from committing to their equals, and much more to their
superiors in the conduct of public affairs.

The cases of Cameron and Smith, however, were very distressing. He had
authorized no one to make such bargains for him as had been made with
the friends of these men. He would gladly have repudiated the contracts,
if it could have been done with honor and safety. For Smith he had great
regard, and believed that he had rendered important services in the late
elections. But his character was now grossly assailed; and it would have
saved Mr. Lincoln serious embarrassments if he had been able to put him
aside altogether, and select Mr. Lane or some other Indiana statesman
in his place. He wavered long, but finally made up his mind to keep the
pledge of his friends; and Smith was appointed.

In Cameron's case the contest was fierce and more protracted. At
Chicago, Cameron's agents had demanded that he should have the Treasury
Department; but that was too much; and the friends of Mr. Lincoln,
tried, pushed, and anxious as they were, declined to consider it. They
would say that he should be appointed to a Cabinet position, but no
more; and to secure this, he must get a majority of the Pennsylvania
delegation to recommend him. Mr. Cameron was disposed to exact the
penalty of his bond, hard as compliance might be on the part of Mr.
Lincoln. But Cameron had many and formidable enemies, who alleged that
he was a man notorious for his evil deeds, shameless in his rapacity
and corruption, and even more shameless in his mean ambition to occupy
exalted stations, for which he was utterly and hopelessly incompetent;
that he had never dared to offer himself as a candidate before the
people of Pennsylvania, but had more than once gotten high offices from
the Legislature by the worst means ever used by a politician; and that
it would be a disgrace, a shame, a standing offence to the country, if
Mr. Lincoln should consent to put him into his Cabinet. On the other
hand, Mr. Cameron had no lack of devoted friends to deny these charges,
and to say that his was as "white a soul" as ever yearned for political
preferment: they came out to Springfield in numbers,--Edgar Cowan, J. K.
Moorehead, Alexander Cummins, Mr. Sanderson, Mr. Casey, and many
others, besides Gen. Cameron himself. On the ground, of course, were the
powerful gentlemen who had made the original contract on the part of
Mr. Lincoln, and who, from first to last, strenuously insisted upon
its fulfilment. It required a hard struggle to overcome Mr. Lincoln's
scruples; and the whole force was necessarily mustered in order to
accomplish it. "All that I am in the world," said he,--"the Presidency
and all else,--I owe to that opinion of me which the people express
when they call me 'honest Old Abe.' Now, what will they think of
their _honest_ Abe, when he appoints Simon Cameron to be his familiar
adviser?"

In Pennsylvania it was supposed for a while that Cameron's audacity had
failed him, and that he would abandon the attempt. But about the 1st
of January Mr. Swett, one of the contracting parties, appeared at
Harrisburg, and immediately afterwards Cameron and some of his
friends took flight to Springfield. This circumstance put the vigilant
opposition on the alert, and aroused them to a clear sense of the
impending calamity. The sequel is a painful story; and it is, perhaps,
better to give it in the words of a distinguished actor,--Col. Alexander
K. McClure. "I do not know," says he, "that any went there to oppose
the appointment but myself. When I learned that Cameron had started
to Springfield, and that his visit related to the Cabinet, I at once
telegraphed Lincoln that such an appointment would be most unfortunate.
Until that time, no one outside a small circle of Cameron's friends
dreamed of Lincoln's calling him to the Cabinet. Lincoln's character for
honesty was considered a complete guaranty against such a suicidal act.
No efforts had therefore been made to guard against it.

"In reply to my telegram, Mr. Lincoln answered, requesting me to come to
Springfield at once. I hastily got letters from Gov. Curtin, Secretary
Slifer, Mr. Wilmot, Mr. Dayton, Mr. Stevens, and started. I took no
affidavits with me, nor were any specific charges made against him by
me, or by any of the letters I bore; but they all sustained me in the
allegation, that the appointment would disgrace the administration
and the country, because of the notorious incompetency and public and
private villany of the candidate. I spent four hours with Mr. Lincoln
alone; and the matter was discussed very fully and frankly. Although he
had previously decided to appoint Cameron, he closed our interview by
a reconsideration of his purpose, and the assurance that within
twenty-four hours he would write me definitely on the subject. He wrote
me, as he promised, and stated, that, if I would make specific charges
against Mr. Cameron, and produce the proof, he would dismiss the
subject. I answered, declining to do so for reasons I thought should be
obvious to every one. I believe that affidavits were sent to him, but I
had no hand in it.

"Subsequently Cameron regarded his appointment as impossible, and he
proposed to Stevens to join in pressing him. Stevens wrote me of the
fact; and I procured strong letters from the State administration in his
favor. A few days after Stevens wrote me a most bitter letter, saying
that Cameron had deceived him, and was then attempting to enforce his
own appointment. The bond was demanded of Lincoln; and that decided the
matter."1

1 As this was one of the few public acts which Mr. Lincoln performed
with a bad conscience, the reader ought to know the consequences of it;
and, because it may not be convenient to revert to them in detail at
another place, we give them here, still retaining the language of the
eye-witness, Col. McClure:--

"I saw Cameron the night of the day that Lincoln removed him. We met in
the room of a mutual friend, and he was very violent against Lincoln for
removing him without consultation or notice. His denunciation against
the President was extremely bitter, for attempting, as he said, his
'personal as well as his political destruction.' He exhibited the
letter, which was all in Mr. Lincoln's handwriting, and was literally as
follows. I quote from carefully-treasured recollection:--

"'Hon. Simon Cameron, Secretary of War.

"Dear Sir,--I have this day nominated Hon. Edwin M. Stanton to be
Secretary of War, and you to be Minister Plenipotentiary to Russia.

"I am sure there is no material error in my quotation of the letter.

"Cameron's chief complaint was, that he had no knowledge or intimation
of the change until Chase delivered the letter. We were then, as ever
before and since, and as we ever shall be, not in political sympathy,
but our personal relations were ever kind. Had he been entirely
collected, he would probably not have said and done what I heard and
witnessed; but he wept like a child, and appealed to me to aid in
protecting him against the President's attempt at personal degradation,
assuring me that under like circumstances he would defend me. In my
presence the proposition was made and determined upon to ask Lincoln
to allow a letter of resignation to be antedated, and to write a kind
acceptance of the same in reply. The effort was made, in which Mr. Chase
joined, although perhaps ignorant of all the circumstances of the
case; and it succeeded. The record shows that Mr. Cameron voluntarily
resigned; while, in point of fact, he was summarily removed without
notice.

"In many subsequent conversations with Mr. Lincoln, he did not attempt
to conceal the great misfortune of Cameron's appointment and the painful
necessity of his removal."

Very truly,

A. LINCOLN.'

As a slight relief to the miseries of his high position, and the doleful
tales of the office-hunters, who assailed him morning, noon, and night,
Mr. Lincoln ran off to Chicago, where he met with the same annoyances,
and a splendid reception besides. Here, however, he enjoyed the great
satisfaction of a long private conference with his old friend Speed; and
it was then that he authorized him to invite Mr. Guthrie to the Cabinet.

And now he began to think very tenderly of his friends and relatives in
Coles County, especially of his good stepmother and her daughters. By
the first of February, he concluded that he could not leave his home to
assume the vast responsibilities that awaited him without paying them a
visit. Accordingly, he left Springfield on the first day of that month,
and went straight to Charleston, where Col. Chapman and family resided.
He was accompanied by Mr. Marshall, the State Senator from that
district, and was entertained at his house. The people crowded by
hundreds to see him; and he was serenaded by "both the string and
brass bands of the town, but declined making a speech." Early the next
morning, he repaired "to his cousin, Dennis Hanks;" and our Jolly old
friend Dennis had the satisfaction of seeing a grand levee under his own
roof. It was all very pleasant to Mr. Lincoln to see such multitudes
of familiar faces smiling upon his wonderful successes. But the chief
object of his solicitude was not here; Mrs. Lincoln lived in the
southern part of the county, and he was all impatience to see her. As
soon, therefore, as he had taken a frugal breakfast with Dennis, he and
Col. Chapman started off in a "two-horse buggy" toward Farmington, where
his step-mother was living with her daughter, Mrs. Moore. They had much
difficulty in crossing "the Kickapoo" River, which was running full of
ice; but they finally made the dangerous passage, and arrived at
Farmington in safety. The meeting between him and the old lady was of a
most affectionate and tender character. She fondled him as her own
"Abe," and he her as his own mother. It was soon arranged that she
should return with him to Charleston, so that they might enjoy by the
way the unrestricted and uninterrupted intercourse which they both
desired above all things, but which they were not likely to have where
the people could get at him. Then Mr. Lincoln and Col. Chapman drove to
the house of John Hall, who lived "on the old Lincoln farm," where Abe
split the celebrated rails, and fenced in the little clearing in 1830.
Thence they went to the spot where old Tom Lincoln was buried. The grave
was unmarked and utterly neglected. Mr. Lincoln said he wanted to "have
it enclosed, and a suitable tombstone erected." He told Col. Chapman to
go to a "marble-dealer," ascertain the cost of the work proposed, and
write him in full. He would then send Dennis Hanks the money, and an
inscription for the stone; and Dennis would do the rest. (Col. Chapman
performed his part of the business, but Mr. Lincoln noticed it no
further; and the grave remains in the same condition to this day.)

"We then returned," says Col. Chapman, "to Farmington, where we found
a large crowd of citizens--nearly all old acquaintances--waiting to see
him. His reception was very enthusiastic, and appeared to gratify him
very much. After taking dinner at his step-sister's (Mrs. Moore), we
returned to Charleston, his step-mother coming with us.

"Our conversation during the trip was mostly concerning family affairs.
Mr. Lincoln spoke to me on the way down to Farmington of his step-mother
in the most affectionate manner; said she had been his best friend in
the world, and that no son could love a mother more than he loved her.
He also told me of the condition of his father's family at the time he
married his step-mother, and of the change she made in the family, and
of the encouragement he (Abe) received from her.... He spoke of his
father, and related some amusing incidents of the old man; of the
bull-dogs' biting the old man on his return from New Orleans; of the
old man's escape, when a boy, from an Indian who was shot by his uncle
Mordecai. He spoke of his uncle Mordecai as being a man of very great
natural gifts, and spoke of his step-brother, John

D. Johnston, who had died a short time previous, in the most
affectionate manner.

"Arriving at Charleston on our return from Farmington, we proceeded to
my residence. Again the house was crowded by persons wishing to see him.
The crowd finally became so great, that he authorized me to announce
that he would hold a public reception at the Town Hall that evening at
seven o'clock; but that, until then, he wished to be left with relations
and friends. After supper he proceeded to the Town Hall, where large
numbers from the town and surrounding country, irrespective of party,
called to see him.

"He left this place Wednesday morning at four o'clock to return to
Springfield.... Mr. Lincoln appeared to enjoy his visit here remarkably
well. His reception by his old acquaintances appeared to be very
gratifying to him. They all appeared so glad to see him, irrespective
of party, and all appeared so anxious that his administration might be
a success, and that he might have a pleasant and honorable career as
President."

The parting between Mr. Lincoln and his mother was very touching. She
embraced him with deep emotion, and said she was sure she would never
behold him again, for she felt that his enemies would assassinate him.
He replied, "No, no, mamma: they will not do that. Trust in the Lord,
and all will be well: we will see each other again." Inexpressibly
affected by this new evidence of her tender attachment and deep concern
for his safety, he gradually and reluctantly withdrew himself from the
arms of the only mother he had ever known, feeling still more oppressed
by the heavy cares which time and events were rapidly augmenting.

The fear that Mr. Lincoln would be assassinated was not peculiar to his
step-mother. It was shared by very many of his neighbors at Springfield;
and the friendly warnings he received were as numerous as they were
silly and gratuitous. Every conceivable precaution was suggested. Some
thought the cars might be thrown from the track; some thought he would
be surrounded and stabbed in some great crowd; others thought he
might be shot from a house-top as he rode up Pennsylvania Avenue on
inauguration day; while others still were sure he would be quietly
poisoned long before the 4th of March. One gentleman insisted that
he ought, in common prudence, to take his cook with him from
Springfield,--one from "among his own female friends."

Mingled with the thousands who came to see him were many of his old
New-Salem and Petersburg friends and constituents; and among these was
Hannah Armstrong, the wife of Jack and the mother of William. Hannah
had been to see him once or twice before, and had thought there was
something mysterious in his conduct. He never invited her to his house,
or introduced her to his wife; and this circumstance led Hannah to
suspect that "there was something wrong between him and her." On one
occasion she attempted a sort of surreptitious entrance to his house
by the kitchen door; but it ended very ludicrously, and poor Hannah was
very much discouraged. On this occasion she made no effort to get upon
an intimate footing with his family, but went straight to the State
House, where he received the common run of strangers. He talked to her
as he would have done in the days when he ran for the Legislature, and
Jack was an "influential citizen." Hannah was perfectly charmed, and
nearly beside herself with pride and pleasure. She, too, was filled with
the dread of some fatal termination to all his glory. "Well," says she,
"I talked to him some time, and was about to bid him good-by; had told
him that it was the last time I should ever see him: something told me
that I should never see him; they would kill him. He smiled, and said
jokingly, 'Hannah, if they do kill me, I shall never die another death.'
I then bade him good-by."




CHAPTER XIX.

IT was now but a few weeks until Mr. Lincoln was to become the
constitutional ruler of one of the great nations of the earth, and to
begin to expend appropriations, to wield armies, to apportion patronage,
powers, offices, and honors, such as few sovereigns have ever had at
command. The eyes of all mankind were bent upon him to see how he would
solve a problem in statesmanship to which the philosophy of Burke and
the magnanimity of Wellington might have been unequal. In the midst of
a political canvass in his own State but a few years before, impressed
with the gravity of the great issues which then loomed but just above
the political horizon, he had been the first to announce, amid the
objections and protestations of his friends and political associates,
the great truth, that "a house divided against itself cannot stand;"
that the perpetuity of the Union depended upon its becoming devoted
either to the interests of freedom or slavery. And now, by a turn of
fortune unparalleled in history, he had been chosen to preside over the
interests of the nation; while, as yet unseen to him, the question that
perplexed the founders of the government, which ever since had been a
disturbing element in the national life, and had at last arrayed section
against section, was destined to reach its final settlement through
the fierce struggle of civil war. In many respects his situation was
exceptionally trying. He was the first President of the United States
elected by a strictly sectional vote. The party which elected him, and
the parties which had been defeated, were inflamed by the heat of the
canvass. The former, with faith in their principles, and a natural
eagerness for the prizes now within their reach, were not disposed to
compromise their first success by any lowering of their standard or any
concession to the beaten; while many of the latter saw in the success
of the triumphant party an attack on their most cherished rights, and
refused in consequence to abide by the result of the contest. To meet so
grave an exigency, Mr. Lincoln had neither precedents nor experience
to guide him, nor could he turn elsewhere for greater wisdom than he
possessed. The leaders of the new party were as yet untried in the great
responsibilities which had fallen upon him and them. There were men
among them who had earned great reputation as leaders of an opposition;
but their eloquence had been expended upon a single subject of national
concern. They knew how to depict the wrongs of a subject race, and also
how to set forth the baleful effects of an institution like slavery on
national character. But was it certain that they were equally able to
govern with wisdom and prudence the mighty people whose affairs were now
given to their keeping?

Until the day of his overthrow at Chicago, Mr. Seward had been the
recognized chief of the party; had, like Mr. Lincoln, taught the
existence of an irrepressible conflict between the North and the South,
and had also inculcated the idea of a law higher than the Constitution,
which was of more binding force than any human enactment, until many of
his followers had come to regard the Constitution with little respect.
It was this Constitution which Mr. Lincoln, having sworn to preserve,
protect, and defend, was to attempt to administer to the satisfaction
of the minority which had elected him, and which was alone expected
to support him. To moderate the passions of his own partisans, to
conciliate his opponents in the North, and divide and weaken his enemies
in the South, was a task which no mere politician was likely to perform,
yet one which none but the most expert of politicians and wisest
of statesmen was fitted to undertake. It required moral as well as
intellectual qualities of the highest order. William of Orange, with a
like duty and similar difficulties, was ready at one time and another
to give up the effort in despair, although aided by "the divinity that
hedges round a king." Few men believed that Mr. Lincoln possessed a
single qualification for his great office. His friends had indicated
what they considered his chief merit, when they insisted that he was
a very common, ordinary man, just like the rest of "the people,"--"Old
Abe," a rail-splitter and a story-teller. They said he was good and
honest and well-meaning; but they took care not to pretend that he was
great. He was thoroughly convinced that there was too much truth in this
view of his character. He felt deeply and keenly his lack of experience
in the conduct of public affairs. He spoke then and afterwards about the
duties of the Presidency with much diffidence, and said, with a story
about a justice of the peace in Illinois, that they constituted his
"great first case misunderstood." He had never been a ministerial or an
executive officer. His most intimate friends feared that he possessed
no administrative ability; and in this opinion he seems to have shared
himself, at least in his calmer and more melancholy moments.

Having put his house in order, arranged all his private business, made
over his interest in the practice of Lincoln & Herndon to Mr. Herndon,
and requested "Billy," as a last favor, to leave his name on the old
sign for four years at least, Mr. Lincoln was ready for the final
departure from home and all familiar things. And this period of
transition from private to public life--a period of waiting and
preparing for the vast responsibilities that were to bow down his
shoulders during the years to come--affords us a favorable opportunity
to turn back and look at him again as his neighbors saw him from 1837 to
1861.

Mr. Lincoln was about six feet four inches high,--the length of his legs
being out of all proportion to that of his body. When he sat down on a
chair, he seemed no taller than an average man, measuring from the chair
to the crown of his head; but his knees rose high in front, and a marble
placed on the cap of one of them would roll down a steep descent to
the hip. He weighed about a hundred and eighty pounds; but he was thin
through the breast, narrow across the shoulders, and had the general
appearance of a consumptive subject. Standing up, he stooped slightly
forward; sitting down, he usually crossed his long legs, or threw them
over the arms of the chair, as the most convenient mode of disposing of
them. His "head was long, and tall from the base of the brain and the
eyebrow;" his forehead high and narrow, but inclining backward as
it rose. The diameter of his head from ear to ear was six and a half
inches, and from front to back eight inches. The size of his hat
was seven and an eighth. His ears were large, standing out almost at
right-angles from his head; his cheek-bones high and prominent; his
eyebrows heavy, and jutting forward over small, sunken blue eyes; his
nose long, large, and blunt, the tip of it rather ruddy, and slightly
awry toward the right-hand side; his chin, projecting far and sharp,
curved upward to meet a thick, material, lower lip, which hung downward;
his cheeks were flabby, and the loose skin fell in wrinkles, or folds;
there was a large mole on his right cheek, and an uncommonly prominent
Adam's apple on his throat; his hair was dark brown in color, stiff,
unkempt, and as yet showing little or no sign of advancing age or
trouble; his complexion was very dark, his skin yellow, shrivelled,
and "leathery." In short, to use the language of Mr. Herndon, "he was a
thin, tall, wiry, sinewy, grizzly, raw-boned man," "looking woe-struck."
His countenance was haggard and careworn, exhibiting all the marks of
deep and protracted suffering. Every feature of the man--the hollow
eyes, with the dark rings beneath; the long, sallow, cadaverous face,
intersected by those peculiar deep lines; his whole air; his walk; his
long, silent reveries, broken at long intervals by sudden and startling
exclamations, as if to confound an observer who might suspect the nature
of his thoughts--showed he was a man of sorrows,--not sorrows of to-day
or yesterday, but long-treasured and deep,--bearing with him a continual
sense of weariness and pain.

He was a plain, homely, sad, weary-looking man, to whom one's heart
warmed involuntarily, because he seemed at once miserable and kind.

On a winter's morning, this man could be seen wending his way to the
market, with a basket on his arm, and a little boy at his side, whose
small feet rattled and pattered over the ice-bound pavement, attempting
to make up by the number of his short steps for the long strides of his
father. The little fellow jerked at the bony hand which held his, and
prattled and questioned, begged and grew petulant, in a vain effort to
make his father talk to him. But the latter was probably unconscious of
the other's existence, and stalked on, absorbed in his own reflections.
He wore on such occasions an old gray shawl, rolled into a coil, and
wrapped like a rope around his neck. The rest of his clothes were in
keeping. "He did not walk cunningly,--Indian-like,--but cautiously and
firmly." His tread was even and strong. He was a little pigeon-toed; and
this, with another peculiarity, made his walk very singular. He set his
whole foot flat on the ground, and in turn lifted it all at once,--not
resting momentarily upon the toe as the foot rose, nor upon the heel as
it fell. He never wore his shoes out at the heel and the toe more,
as most men do, than at the middle of the sole; yet his gait was not
altogether awkward, and there was manifest physical power in his step.
As he moved along thus silent, abstracted, his thoughts dimly reflected
in his sharp face, men turned to look after him as an object of sympathy
as well as curiosity: "his melancholy," in the words of Mr. Herndon,
"dripped from him as he walked." If, however, he met a friend in the
street, and was roused by a loud, hearty "Good-morning, Lincoln!" he
would grasp the friend's hand with one or both of his own, and, with his
usual expression of "Howdy, howdy," would detain him to hear a story:
something reminded him of it; it happened in Indiana, and it must be
told, for it was wonderfully pertinent.

After his breakfast-hour, he would appear at his office, and go about
the labors of the day with all his might, displaying prodigious industry
and capacity for continuous application, although he never was a fast
worker. Sometimes it happened that he came without his breakfast; and
then he would have in his hands a piece of cheese, or Bologna sausage,
and a few crackers, bought by the way. At such times he did not speak
to his partner or his friends, if any happened to be present: the tears
were, perhaps, struggling into his eyes, while his pride was struggling
to keep them back. Mr. Herndon knew the whole story at a glance: there
was no speech between them; but neither wished the visitors to the
office to witness the scene; and, therefore, Mr. Lincoln retired to the
back office, while Mr. Herndon locked the front one, and walked away
with the key in his pocket. In an hour or more the latter would return,
and perhaps find Mr. Lincoln calm and collected; otherwise he went out
again, and waited until he was so. Then the office was opened, and every
thing went on as usual.

When Mr. Lincoln had a speech to write, which happened very often,
he would put down each thought, as it struck him, on a small strip of
paper, and, having accumulated a number of these, generally carried them
in his hat or his pockets until he had the whole speech composed in this
odd way, when he would sit down at his table, connect the fragments,
and then write out the whole speech on consecutive sheets in a plain,
legible handwriting.

His house was an ordinary two-story frame-building, with a stable and a
yard: it was a bare, cheerless sort of a place. He planted no fruit or
shade trees, no shrubbery or flowers. He did on one occasion set out a
few rose-bushes in front of his house; but they speedily perished, or
became unsightly for want of attention. Mrs. Wallace, Mrs. Lincoln's
sister, undertook "to hide the nakedness" of the place by planting some
flowers; but they soon withered and died. He cultivated a small garden
for a single year, working in it himself; but it did not seem to
prosper, and that enterprise also was abandoned. He had a horse and a
cow: the one was fed and curried, and the other fed and milked, by his
own hand. When at home, he chopped and sawed all the wood that was used
in his house. Late one night he returned home, after an absence of a
week or so. His neighbor, Webber, was in bed; but, hearing an axe in use
at that unusual hour, he rose to see what it meant. The moon was high;
and by its light he looked down into Lincoln's yard, and there saw him
in his shirt-sleeves "cutting wood to cook his supper with." Webber
turned to his watch, and saw that it was one o'clock. Besides this house
and lot, and a small sum of money, Mr. Lincoln had no property, except
some wild land in Iowa, entered for him under warrants, received for his
service in the Black Hawk War.

Mrs. Wallace thinks "Mr. Lincoln was a domestic man by nature." He was
not fond of other people's children, but was extremely fond of his own:
he was patient, indulgent, and generous with them to a fault. On Sundays
he often took those that were large enough, and walked with them into
the country, and, giving himself up entirely to them, rambled through
the green fields or the cool woods, amusing and instructing them for a
whole day at a time. His method of reading is thus quaintly described.
"He would read, generally aloud (couldn't read otherwise),--would read
with great warmth, all funny or humorous things; read Shakspeare that
way. He was a sad man, an abstracted man. He would lean back, his
head against the top of a rocking-chair; sit abstracted that way for
minutes,--twenty, thirty minutes,--and all at once would burst out into
a joke."

Mrs. Col. Chapman, daughter of Dennis Hanks, and therefore a relative
of Mr. Lincoln, made him a long visit previous to her marriage. "You
ask me," says she, "how Mr. Lincoln acted at home. I can say, and that
truly, he was all that a husband, father, and neighbor should be,--kind
and affectionate to his wife and child ('Bob' being the only one they
had when I was with them), and very pleasant to all around him. Never
did I hear him utter an unkind word. For instance: one day he undertook
to correct his child, and his wife was determined that he should not,
and attempted to take it from him; but in this she failed. She then
tried tongue-lashing, but met with the same fate; for Mr. Lincoln
corrected his child as a father ought to do, in the face of his wife's
anger, and that, too, without even changing his countenance or making
any reply to his wife.

"His favorite way of reading, when at home, was lying down on the floor.
I fancy I see him now, lying full-length in the hall of his old house
reading. When not engaged reading law-books, he would read literary
works, and was very fond of reading poetry, and often, when he would
be, or appear to be, in deep study, commence and repeat aloud some piece
that he had taken a fancy to, such as the one you already have in print,
and 'The Burial of Sir John Moore,' and so on. He often told laughable
jokes and stories when he thought we were looking gloomy."

[Illustration: Mr. Lincoln's Home in Springfield, Ill. 519]

Mr. Lincoln was not supremely happy in his domestic relations: the
circumstances of his courtship and marriage alone made that impossible.
His engagement to Miss Todd was one of the great misfortunes of his life
and of hers. He realized the mistake too late; and when he was brought
face to face with the lie he was about to enact, and the wrong he was
about to do, both to himself and an innocent woman, he recoiled with
horror and remorse. For weeks together, he was sick, deranged, and on
the verge of suicide,--a heavy care to his friends, and a source of
bitter mortification to the unfortunate lady, whose good fame depended,
in a great part, upon his constancy. The wedding garments and the
marriage feast were prepared, the very hour had come when the solemn
ceremony was to be performed; and the groom failed to appear! He was
no longer a free agent: he was restrained, carefully guarded, and soon
after removed to a distant place, where the exciting causes of his
disease would be less constant and active in their operation. He
recovered slowly, and at length returned to Springfield. He spoke out
his feelings frankly and truly to the one person most interested in
them. But he had been, from the beginning, except in the case of Ann
Rutledge, singularly inconstant and unstable in his relations with
the few refined and cultivated women who had been the objects of his
attention. He loved Miss Rutledge passionately, and the next year
importuned Miss Owens to be his wife. Failing in his suit, he wrote an
unfeeling letter about her, apparently with no earthly object but to
display his levity and make them both ridiculous. He courted Miss
Todd, and at the moment of success fell in love with her relative, and,
between the two, went crazy, and thought of ending all his woes with a
razor or a pocket-knife. It is not impossible that the feelings of such
a man might have undergone another and more sudden change. Perhaps they
did. At all events, he was conscientious and honorable and just. There
was but one way of repairing the injury he had done Miss Todd, and
he adopted it. They were married; but they understood each other, and
suffered the inevitable consequences, as other people do under similar
circumstances. But such troubles seldom fail to find a tongue; and it is
not strange, that, in this case, neighbors and friends, and ultimately
the whole country, came to know the state of things in that house. Mr.
Lincoln scarcely attempted to conceal it, but talked of it with little
or no reserve to his wife's relatives, as well as his own friends. Yet
the gentleness and patience with which he bore this affliction from day
to day, and from year to year, was enough to move the shade of Socrates.
It touched his acquaintances deeply, and they gave it the widest
publicity. They made no pause to inquire, to investigate, and to
apportion the blame between the parties, according to their deserts.
Almost ever since Mr. Lincoln's death, a portion of the press has never
tired of heaping brutal reproaches upon his wife and widow; whilst a
certain class of his friends thought they were honoring his memory by
multiplying outrages and indignities upon her, at the very moment when
she was broken by want and sorrow, defamed, defenceless, in the hands of
thieves, and at the mercy of spies. If ever a woman grievously expiated
an offence not her own, this woman did. In the Herndon manuscripts,
there is a mass of particulars under this head; but Mr. Herndon sums
them all up in a single sentence, in a letter to one of Mr. Lincoln's
biographers: "All that I know ennobles both."

It would be very difficult to recite all the causes of Mr. Lincoln's
melancholy disposition. That it was partly owing to physical causes
there can be no doubt. Mr. Stuart says, that in some respects he was
totally unlike other people, and was, in fact, a "mystery." Blue-pills
were the medicinal remedy which he affected most. But whatever the
history or the cause,--whether physical reasons, the absence of domestic
concord, a series of painful recollections of his mother, of his father
and master, of early sorrows, blows, and hardships, of Ann Rutledge and
fruitless hopes, or all these combined, Mr. Lincoln was the saddest and
gloomiest man of his time. "I do not think that he knew what happiness
was for twenty years," says Mr. Herndon. "Terrible" is the word which
all his friends use to describe him in the black mood. "It was terrible!
It was terrible!" says one and another.

His mind was filled with gloomy forebodings and strong apprehensions of
impending evil, mingled with extravagant visions of personal grandeur
and power. His imagination painted a scene just beyond the veil of the
immediate future, gilded with glory yet tarnished with blood. It was his
"destiny,"--splendid but dreadful, fascinating but terrible. His case
bore little resemblance to those of religious enthusiasts like Bunyan,
Cowper, and others. His was more like the delusion of the fatalist,
conscious of his star. At all events, he never doubted for a moment but
that he was formed for "some great or miserable end." He talked about
it frequently and sometimes calmly. Mr. Herndon remembers many of these
conversations in their office at Springfield, and in their rides around
the circuit. Mr. Lincoln said the impression had grown in him "all
his life;" but Mr. Herndon thinks it was about 1840 that it took the
character of a "religious conviction." He had then suffered much, and,
considering his opportunities, achieved great things. He was already a
leader among men, and a most brilliant career had been promised him
by the prophetic enthusiasm of many friends. Thus encouraged and
stimulated, and feeling himself growing gradually stronger and stronger,
in the estimation of "the plain people," whose voice was more potent
than all the Warwicks, his ambition painted the rainbow of glory in
the sky, while his morbid melancholy supplied the clouds that were to
overcast and obliterate it with the wrath and ruin of the tempest. To
him it was fate, and there was no escape or defence. The presentiment
never deserted him: it was as clear, as perfect, as certain, as any
image conveyed by the senses. He had now entertained it so long, that it
was as much a part of his nature as the consciousness of identity. All
doubts had faded away, and he submitted humbly to a power which he could
neither comprehend nor resist. He was to fall,--fall from a lofty place,
and in the performance of a great work. The star under which he was
born was at once brilliant and malignant: the horoscope was cast, fixed,
irreversible; and he had no more power to alter or defeat it in the
minutest particular than he had to reverse the law of gravitation.

After the election, he conceived that he would not "last" through his
term of office, but had at length reached the point where the sacrifice
would take place. All precautions against assassination he considered
worse than useless. "If they want to kill me," said he, "there is
nothing to prevent." He complained to Mr. Gillespie of the small
body-guard which his counsellors had forced upon him, insisting that
they were a needless encumbrance. When Mr. Gillespie urged the ease and
impunity with which he might be killed, and the value of his life to
the country, he said, "What is the use of putting up the _gap_ when the
fence is down all around?"

"It was just after my election in 1860," said Mr. Lincoln to his
secretary, John Hay, "when the news had been coming in thick and fast
all day, and there had been a great 'hurrah boys!' so that I was well
tired out, and went home to rest, throwing myself upon a lounge in my
chamber.

"Opposite to where I lay was a bureau with a swinging glass upon it; and,
in looking in that glass, I saw myself reflected nearly at full length;
but my face, I noticed, had two separate and distinct images, the tip
of the nose of one being about three inches from the tip of the other.
I was a little bothered, perhaps startled, and got up and looked in the
glass; but the illusion vanished. On lying down again, I saw it a second
time,--plainer, if possible, than before; and then I noticed that one of
the faces was a little paler--say five shades--than the other. I got up,
and the thing melted away; and I went off, and in the excitement of the
hour forgot all about it,--nearly, but not quite, for the thing would
once in a while come up, and give me a little pang, as though something
uncomfortable had happened. When I went home, I told my wife about it:
and a few days after I tried the experiment again, when, sure enough,
the thing came back again; but I never succeeded in bringing the ghost
back after that, though I once tried very industriously to show it to
my wife, who was worried about it somewhat. She thought it was 'a
sign' that I was to be elected to a second term of office, and that
the paleness of one of the faces was an omen that I should not see life
through the last term."

In this morbid and dreamy state of mind, Mr. Lincoln passed the greater
part of his life. But his "sadness, despair, gloom," Mr. Herndon says,
"were not of the kind that leads a badly-balanced mind into misanthropy
and universal hate and scorn. His humor would assert itself from the
hell of misanthropy: it would assert its independence every third hour
or day or week. His abstractedness, his continuity of thought, his
despair, made him, twice in his life, for two weeks at a time, walk that
narrow line that divides sanity from insanity.... This peculiarity of
his nature, his humor, his wit, kept him alive in his mind.... It was
those good sides of his nature that made, to him, his life bearable. Mr.
Lincoln was a weak man and a strong man by turns."

Some of Mr. Lincoln's literary tastes indicated strongly his prevailing
gloominess of mind. He read Byron extensively, especially "Childe
Harold," "The Dream," and "Don Juan." Burns was one of his earliest
favorites, although there is no evidence that he appreciated highly the
best efforts of Burns. On the contrary, "Holy Willie's Prayer" was the
only one of his poems which Mr. Lincoln took the trouble to memorize. He
was fond of Shakspeare, especially "King Lear," and "The Merry Wives of
Windsor." But whatever was suggestive of death, the grave, the sorrows
of man's days on earth, charmed his disconsolate spirit, and captivated
his sympathetic heart. Solemn-sounding rhymes, with no merit but the sad
music of their numbers, were more enchanting to him than the loftiest
songs of the masters. Of these were, "Why should the Spirit of Mortal be
Proud?" and a pretty commonplace little piece, entitled "The Inquiry."
One verse of Holmes's "Last Leaf" he thought was "inexpressibly
touching." This verse we give the reader:--

     "The mossy marbles rest
     On the lips that he has pressed
     In their bloom;
     And the names he loved to hear
     Have been carved for many a year On the tomb."

Mr. Lincoln frequently said that he lived by his humor, and would have
died without it. His manner of telling a story was irresistibly comical,
the fun of it dancing in his eyes and playing over every feature. His
face changed in an instant: the hard lines faded out of it, and the
mirth seemed to diffuse itself all over him, like a spontaneous tickle.
You could see it coming long before he opened his mouth, and he began
to enjoy the "point" before his eager auditors could catch the faintest
glimpse of it. Telling and hearing ridiculous stories was one of his
ruling passions. He would go a long way out of his road to tell a grave,
sedate fellow a broad story, or to propound to him a conundrum that was
not particularly remarkable for its delicacy. If he happened to hear of
a man who was known to have something fresh in this line, he would hunt
him up, and "swap jokes" with him. Nobody remembers the time when
his fund of anecdotes was not apparently inexhaustible. It was so
in Indiana; it was so in New Salem, in the Black-Hawk War, in the
Legislature, in Congress, on the circuit, on the stump,--everywhere.
The most trifling incident "reminded" him of a story, and that story
reminded him of another, until everybody marvelled "that one small head
could carry all he knew." The "good things" he said were repeated at
second-hand, all over the counties through which he chanced to travel;
and many, of a questionable flavor, were attributed to him, not because
they were his in fact, but because they were like his. Judges, lawyers,
jurors, and suitors carried home with them select budgets of his
stories, to be retailed to itching ears as "Old Abe's last." When the
court adjourned from village to village, the taverns and the groceries
left behind were filled with the sorry echoes of his "best." He
generally located his little narratives with great precision,--in
Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois; and if he was not personally "knowing" to
the facts himself, he was intimately acquainted with a gentleman who
was.

Mr. Lincoln used his stories variously,--to illustrate or convey
an argument; to make his opinions clear to another, or conceal them
altogether; to cut off a disagreeable conversation, or to end an
unprofitable discussion; to cheer his own heart, or simply to amuse
his friends. But most frequently he had a practical object in view, and
employed them simply "as labor-saving contrivances."

It was Judge Davis's opinion, that Mr. Lincoln's hilarity was mainly
simulated, and that "his stories and jokes were intended to whistle
off sadness." "The groundwork of his social nature was sad," says Judge
Scott; "but for the fact that he studiously cultivated the humorous, it
would have been very sad indeed. His mirth to me always seemed to be
put on, and did not properly belong there. Like a plant produced in the
hot-bed, it had an unnatural and luxuriant growth."

Although Mr. Lincoln's walk among men was remarkably pure, the same
cannot be said of his conversation. He was endowed by nature with a
keen sense of humor, and he found great delight in indulging it. But his
humor was not of a delicate quality; it was chiefly exercised in
hearing and telling stories of the grosser sort. In this tendency he was
restrained by no presence and no occasion. It was his opinion that the
finest wit and humor, the best jokes and anecdotes, emanated from the
lower orders of the country people. It was from this source that he
had acquired his peculiar tastes and his store of materials. The
associations which began with the early days of Dennis Hanks continued
through his life at New Salem and his career at the Illinois Bar,
and did not desert him when, later in life, he arrived at the highest
dignities.

Mr. Lincoln indulged in no sensual excesses: he ate moderately, and
drank temperately when he drank at all. For many years he was an ardent
agitator against the use of intoxicating beverages, and made speeches,
far and near, in favor of total abstinence. Some of them were printed;
and of one he was not a little proud. He abstained himself, not so much
upon principle, as because of a total lack of appetite. He had no taste
for spirituous liquors; and, when he took them, it was a punishment to
him, not an indulgence. But he disliked sumptuary laws, and would
not prescribe by statute what other men should eat or drink. When the
temperance men ran to the Legislature to invoke the power of the State,
his voice--the most eloquent among them--was silent. He did not oppose
them, but quietly withdrew from the cause, and left others to manage it.
In 1854 he was induced to join the order called Sons of Temperance, but
never attended a single meeting after the one at which he was initiated.

Morbid, moody, meditative, thinking much of himself and the things
pertaining to himself, regarding other men as instruments furnished to
his hand for the accomplishment of views which he knew were important to
him, and, therefore, considered important to the public, Mr. Lincoln
was a man apart from the rest of his kind, unsocial, cold,
impassive,--neither a "good hater" nor a fond friend. He unbent in the
society of those who gave him new ideas, who listened to and admired
him, whose attachment might be useful, or whose conversation amused him.
He seemed to make boon-companions of the coarsest men on the list of
his acquaintances,--"low, vulgar, unfortunate creatures;" but, as Judge
Davis has it, "he used such men as tools,--things to satisfy him, to
feed his desires." He felt sorry for them, enjoyed them, extracted from
them whatever service they were capable of rendering, discarded and
forgot them. If one of them, presuming upon the past, followed him to
Washington with a view to personal profit, Mr. Lincoln would probably
take him to his private room, lock the doors, revel in reminiscences
of Illinois, new stories and old, through an entire evening, and then
dismiss his enchanted crony with nothing more substantial than his
blessing. It was said that "he had no heart;" that is, no personal
attachments warm and strong enough to govern his actions. It was seldom
that he praised anybody; and, when he did, it was not a rival or an
equal in the struggle for popularity and power. His encomiums were
more likely to be satirical than sincere, and sometimes were artfully
contrived as mere stratagems to catch the applause he pretended to
bestow, or at least to share it in equal parts. No one knew better how
to "damn with faint praise," or to divide the glory of another by being
the first and frankest to acknowledge it. Fully alive to the fact that
no qualities of a public man are so charming to the people as simplicity
and candor, he made simplicity and candor the mask of deep feelings
carefully concealed, and subtle plans studiously veiled from all eyes
but one. He had no reverence for great men, followed no leader with
blind devotion, and yielded no opinion to mere authority. He felt that
he was as great as anybody, and could do what another did. It was,
however, the supreme desire of his heart to be right, and to do justice
in all the relations of life. Although some of his strongest passions
conflicted more or less directly with this desire, he was conscious of
them, and strove to regulate them by self-imposed restraints. He was
not avaricious, never appropriated a cent wrongfully, and did not think
money for its own sake a fit object of any man's ambition. But he knew
its value, its power, and liked to keep it when he had it. He gave
occasionally to individual mendicants, or relieved a case of great
destitution at his very door; but his alms-giving was neither profuse
nor systematic. He never made donations to be distributed to the poor
who were not of his acquaintance and very near at hand. There were few
entertainments at his house. People were seldom asked to dine with him.
To many he seemed inhospitable; and there was something about his house,
an indescribable air of exclusiveness, which forbade the entering guest.
It is not meant to be said that this came from mere economy. It was not
at home that he wished to see company. He preferred to meet his friends
abroad,--on a street-corner, in an office, at the Court House, or
sitting on nail-kegs in a country store.

Mr. Lincoln took no part in the promotion of local enterprises,
railroads, schools, churches, asylums. The benefits he proposed for his
fellow-men were to be accomplished by political means alone. Politics
were his world,--a world filled with hopeful enchantments. Ordinarily
he disliked to discuss any other subject. "In his office," says Mr.
Herndon, "he sat down, or spilt himself, on his lounge, read aloud,
told stories, talked politics,--never science, art, literature, railroad
gatherings, colleges, asylums, hospitals, commerce, education, progress,
nothing that interested the world generally," except politics. He seldom
took an active part in local or minor elections, or wasted his power to
advance a friend. He did nothing out of mere gratitude, and forgot the
devotion of his warmest partisans as soon as the occasion for their
services had passed. What they did for him was quietly appropriated
as the reward of superior merit, calling for no return in kind. He was
always ready to do battle for a principle, after a discreet fashion,
but never permitted himself to be strongly influenced by the claims of
individual men. When he was a candidate himself, he thought the whole
canvass and all the preliminaries ought to be conducted with reference
to his success. He would say to a man, "Your continuance in the field
injures me" and be quite sure that he had given a perfect reason for his
withdrawal. He would have no "obstacles" in his way; coveted honors,
was eager for power, and impatient of any interference that delayed or
obstructed his progress. He worked hard enough at general elections,
when he could make speeches, have them printed, and "fill the speaking
trump of fame" with his achievements; but in the little affairs about
home, where it was all work and no glory, his zeal was much less
conspicuous. Intensely secretive and cautious, he shared his secrets
with no man, and revealed just enough of his plans to allure support,
and not enough to expose their personal application. After Speed left,
he had no intimates to whom he opened his whole mind. This is the
unanimous testimony of all who knew him. Feeling himself perfectly
competent to manage his own affairs, he listened with deceptive patience
to the views of others, and then dismissed the advice with the adviser.
Judge Davis was supposed to have great influence over him; but he
declares that he had literally none. "Once or twice," says he, "he asked
my advice about the almighty dollar, but never about any thing else."

Notwithstanding his overweening ambition, and the breathless eagerness
with which he pursued the objects of it, he had not a particle of
sympathy with the great mass of his fellow-citizens who were engaged in
similar scrambles for place. "If ever," said he, "American society and
the United States Government are demoralized and overthrown, it will
come from the voracious desire of office,--this wriggle to live without
toil, work, and labor, from which I am not free myself." Mr. Lincoln was
not a demagogue or a trimmer. He never deserted a party in disaster, or
joined one in triumph. Nearly the whole of his public life was spent in
the service of a party which struggled against hopeless odds, which met
with many reverses and few victories. It is true, that about the time
he began as a politician, the Whigs in his immediate locality, at first
united with the moderate Democrats, and afterwards by themselves, were
strong enough to help him to the Legislature as often as he chose to go.
But, if the fact had been otherwise, it is not likely that he would have
changed sides, or even altered his position in any essential particular,
to catch the popular favor. Subsequently he suffered many defeats,--for
Congress, for Commissioner of the Land Office, and twice for Senator;
but on this account he never faltered in devotion to the general
principles of the party, or sought to better his fortune by an alliance
with the common enemy. It cannot be denied, that, when he was first a
candidate for the Legislature, his views of public policy were a little
cloudy, and that his addresses to the people were calculated to make
fair weather with men of various opinions; nor that, when first a
candidate for United States Senator, he was willing to make a secret
bargain with the extreme Abolitionists, and, when last a candidate, to
make some sacrifice of opinion to further his own aspirations for the
Presidency. The pledge to Lovejoy and the "House-divided Speech" were
made under the influence of personal considerations, without reference
to the views or the success of those who had chosen and trusted him as a
leader for a far different purpose. But this was merely steering between
sections of his own party, where the differences were slight and easily
reconciled,--manoeuvring for the strength of one faction today and
another to-morrow, with intent to unite them and lead them to a victory,
the benefits of which would inure to all. He was not one to be last in
the fight and first at the feast, nor yet one to be first in the fight
and last at the feast. He would do his whole duty in the field, but
had not the slightest objection to sitting down at the head of the
table,--an act which he would perform with a modest, homely air, that
disarmed envy, and silenced the master when he would say, "Friend, go
down lower." His "master" was the "plain people." To be popular was to
him the greatest good in life. He had known what it was to be without
popularity, and he had known what it was to enjoy it. To gain it or
to keep it, he considered no labor too great, no artifice misused
or misapplied. His ambition was strong; yet it existed in strict
subordination to his sense of party fidelity, and could by no chance or
possibility lure him into downright social or political treasons. His
path may have been a little devious, winding hither and thither, in
search of greater convenience of travel, or the security of a larger
company; but it always went forward in the same general direction, and
never ran off at right-angles toward a hostile camp. The great body of
men who acted with him in the beginning acted with him at the last.

On the whole, he was an honest, although a shrewd, and by no means an
unselfish politician. He

   ................."Foresaw
     Which way the world began to draw,"

and instinctively drew with it. He had convictions, but preferred to
choose his time to speak. He was not so much of a Whig that he could not
receive the support of the "nominal" Jackson men, until party lines were
drawn so tight that he was compelled to be one thing or the other. He
was not so much of a Whig that he could not make a small diversion
for White in 1836, nor so much of a White man that he could not lead
Harrison's friends in the Legislature during the same winter. He was a
firm believer in the good policy of high "protective tariffs;" but, when
importuned to say so in a public letter, he declined on the ground that
it would do him no good. He detested Know-Nothingism with all his heart;
but, when Know-Nothingism swept the country, he was so far from being
obtrusive with his views, that many believed he belonged to the order.
He was an anti-slavery man from the beginning of his service in the
Legislature; but he was so cautious and moderate in the expression of
his sentiments, that, when the anti-Nebraska party disintegrated, the
ultra-Republicans were any thing but sure of his adherence; and even
after the Bloomington Convention he continued to pick his way to the
front with wary steps, and did not take his place among the boldest of
the agitators until 1858, when he uttered the "House-divided Speech,"
just in time to take Mr. Seward's place on the Presidential ticket of
1860.

Any analysis of Mr. Lincoln's character would be defective that did not
include his religious opinions. On such matters he thought deeply; and
his opinions were positive. But perhaps no phase of his character has
been more persistently misrepresented and variously misunderstood, than
this of his religious belief. Not that the conclusive testimony of many
of his intimate associates relative to his frequent expressions on such
subjects has ever been wanting; but his great prominence in the world's
history, and his identification with some of the great questions of our
time, which, by their moral import, were held to be eminently religious
in their character, have led many good people to trace in his motives
and actions similar convictions to those held by themselves. His
extremely general expressions of religious faith called forth by the
grave exigencies of his public life, or indulged in on occasions of
private condolence, have too often been distorted out of relation to
their real significance or meaning to suit the opinions or tickle the
fancies of individuals or parties.

Mr. Lincoln was never a member of any church, nor did he believe in the
divinity of Christ, or the inspiration of the Scriptures in the sense
understood by evangelical Christians. His theological opinions were
substantially those expounded by Theodore Parker. Overwhelming testimony
out of many mouths, and none stronger than that out of his own, place
these facts beyond controversy.

When a boy, he showed no sign of that piety which his many biographers
ascribe to his manhood. His stepmother--herself a Christian, and longing
for the least sign of faith in him--could remember no circumstance that
supported her hope. On the contrary, she recollected very well that he
never went off into a corner, as has been said, to ponder the sacred
writings, and to wet the page with his tears of penitence. He was fond
of music; but Dennis Hanks is clear to the point that it was songs of a
very questionable character that cheered his lonely pilgrimage through
the woods of Indiana. When he went to church at all, he went to mock,
and came away to mimic. Indeed, it is more than probable that the
sort of "religion" which prevailed among the associates of his boyhood
impressed him with a very poor opinion of the value of the article. On
the whole, he thought, perhaps, a person had better be without it.

When he came to New Salem, he consorted with freethinkers, joined with
them in deriding the gospel history of Jesus, read Volney and Paine,
and then wrote a deliberate and labored essay, wherein he reached
conclusions similar to theirs. The essay was burnt, but he never denied
or regretted its composition. On the contrary, he made it the subject
of free and frequent conversations with his friends at Springfield, and
stated, with much particularity and precision, the origin, arguments,
and objects of the work.

It was not until after Mr. Lincoln's death, that his alleged orthodoxy
became the principal topic of his eulogists; but since then the effort
on the part of some political writers and speakers to impress the
public mind erroneously seems to have been general and systematic. It is
important that the question should be finally determined; and, in order
to do so, the names of some of his nearest friends are given below,
followed by clear and decisive statements, for which they are separately
responsible. Some of them are gentlemen of distinction, and all of
them men of high character, who enjoyed the best opportunities to form
correct opinions.

James H. Matheny says in a letter to Mr. Herndon:--

"I knew Mr. Lincoln as early as 1834-7; know he was an infidel. He and
W. D. Herndon used to talk infidelity in the clerk's office in this
city, about the years 1837-40. Lincoln attacked the Bible and the
New Testament on two grounds: first, from the inherent or apparent
contradictions under its lids; second, from the grounds of reason.
Sometimes he ridiculed the Bible and New Testament, sometimes seemed
to scoff it, though I shall not use that word in its full and literal
sense. I never heard that Lincoln changed his views, though his personal
and political friend from 1834 to 1860. Sometimes Lincoln bordered on
atheism. He went far that way, and often shocked me. I was then a young
man, and believed what my good mother told me. Stuart & Lincoln's office
was in what was called Hoffman's Row, on North Fifth Street, near the
public square. It was in the same building as the clerk's office, and on
the same floor. Lincoln would come into the clerk's office, where I and
some young men--Evan Butler, Newton Francis, and others--were writing or
staying, and would bring the Bible with him; would read a chapter; argue
against it. Lincoln then had a smattering of geology, if I recollect it.
Lincoln often, if not wholly, was an atheist; at least, bordered on it.
Lincoln was enthusiastic in his infidelity. As he grew older, he grew
more discreet, didn't talk much before strangers about his religion; but
to friends, close and bosom ones, he was always open and avowed, fair
and honest; but to strangers, he held them off from policy. Lincoln used
to quote Burns. Burns helped Lincoln to be an infidel, as I think; at
least, he found in Burns a like thinker and feeler. Lincoln quoted 'Tam
O'Skanter.' 'What! send one to heaven, and ten to hell!' &c.

"From what I know of Mr. Lincoln and his views of Christianity, and from
what I know as honest and well-founded rumor; from what I have heard his
best friends say and regret for years; from what he never denied when
accused, and from what Lincoln has hinted and intimated, to say no
more,--he did write a little book on infidelity at or near New Salem, in
Menard County, about the year 1834 or 1835. I have, stated these things
to you often. Judge Logan, John T. Stuart, yourself, know what I know,
and some of you more.

"Mr. Herndon, you insist on knowing something which you know I possess,
and got as a secret, and that is, about Lincoln's little book on
infidelity. Mr. Lincoln did tell me that he did write a little book
on infidelity. This statement I have avoided heretofore; but, as you
strongly insist upon it,--probably to defend yourself against charges of
misrepresentations,--I give it you as I got it from Lincoln's mouth."

From Hon. John T. Stuart:--

"I knew Mr. Lincoln when he first came here, and for years afterwards.
He was an avowed and open infidel, sometimes bordered on atheism. I
have often and often heard Lincoln and one W. D. Herndon, who was
a freethinker, talk over this subject. Lincoln went further against
Christian beliefs and doctrines and principles than any man I ever
heard: he shocked me. I don't remember the exact line of his argument:
suppose it was against the inherent defects, so called, of the Bible,
and on grounds of reason. Lincoln always denied that Jesus was the
Christ of God,--denied that Jesus was the Son of God, as understood
and maintained by the Christian Church. The Rev. Dr. Smith, who wrote
a letter, tried to convert Lincoln from infidelity so late as 1858, and
couldn't do it."

William H. Herndon, Esq.:--

"As to Mr. Lincoln's religious views, he was, in short, an infidel,... a
theist. He did not believe that Jesus was God, nor the Son of God,--was
a fatalist, denied the freedom of the will. Mr. Lincoln told me a
thousand times, that he did not believe the Bible was the revelation of
God, as the Christian world contends. The points that Mr. Lincoln tried
to demonstrate (in his book) were: First, That the Bible was not God's
revelation; and, Second, That Jesus was not the Son of God. I assert
this on my own knowledge, and on my veracity. Judge Logan, John T.
Stuart, James H. Matheny, and others, will tell you the truth. I say
they will confirm what I say, with this exception,--they all make it
blacker than I remember it. Joshua F. Speed of Louisville, I think, will
tell you the same thing."

Hon. David Davis:--

"I do not know any thing about Lincoln's religion, and do not think
anybody knew. The idea that Lincoln talked to a stranger about his
religion or religious views, or made such speeches, remarks, &c., about
it as are published, is to me absurd. I knew the man so well: he was
the most reticent, secretive man I ever saw, or expect to see. He had
no faith, in the Christian sense of the term,--had faith in laws,
principles, causes, and effects--philosophically: you [Herndon] know
more about his religion than any man. You ought to know it, of course."

William H. Hannah, Esq.:--

"Since 1856 Mr. Lincoln told me that he was a kind of immortalist; that
he never could bring himself to believe in eternal punishment; that
man lived but a little while here; and that, if eternal punishment were
man's doom, he should spend that little life in vigilant and ceaseless
preparation by never-ending prayer."

Mrs. Lincoln:--

"Mr. Lincoln had no hope and no faith in the usual acceptance of those
words."

Dr. C. H. Ray:--

"I do not know how I can aid you. You [Herndon] knew Mr. Lincoln far
better than I did, though I knew him well; and you have served up his
leading characteristics in a way that I should despair of doing, if
I should try. I have only one thing to ask: that you do not give
Calvinistic theology a chance to claim him as one of its saints and
martyrs. He went to the Old-School Church; but, in spite of that outward
assent to the horrible dogmas of the sect, _I have reason from, himself_
to know that his 'vital purity' if that means belief in the impossible,
was of a negative sort."

I. W. Keys, Esq.:--

"In my intercourse with Mr. Lincoln, I learned that he believed in a
Creator of all things, who had neither beginning nor end, and possessing
all power and wisdom, established a principle, in obedience to which
worlds move, and are upheld, and animal and vegetable life come into
existence. A reason he gave for his belief was, that, in view of the
order and harmony of all nature which we behold, it would have been more
miraculous to have come about by chance than to have been created and
arranged by some great thinking power. As to the Christian theory, that
Christ is God, or equal to the Creator, he said that it had better be
taken for granted; for, by the test of reason, we might become infidels
on that subject, for evidence of Christ's divinity came to us in a
somewhat doubtful shape; but that the system of Christianity was an
ingenious one at least, and perhaps was calculated to do good."

Mr. Jesse W. Fell of Illinois, who had the best opportunities of knowing
Mr. Lincoln intimately, makes the following statement of his religious
opinions, derived from repeated conversations with him on the subject:--

"Though every thing relating to the character and history of this
extraordinary personage is of interest, and should be fairly stated to
the world, I enter upon the performance of this duty--for so I regard
it--with some reluctance, arising from the fact, that, in stating
my convictions on the subject, I must necessarily place myself in
opposition to quite a number who have written on this topic before me,
and whose views largely pre-occupy the public mind. This latter fact,
whilst contributing to my embarrassment on this subject, is, perhaps,
the strongest reason, however, why the truth in this matter should be
fully disclosed; and I therefore yield to your request. If there were
any traits of character that stood out in bold relief in the person
of Mr. Lincoln, they were those of truth and candor. He was utterly
incapable of insincerity, or professing views on this or any other
subject he did not entertain. Knowing such to be his true character,
that insincerity, much more duplicity, were traits wholly foreign to his
nature, many of his old friends were not a little surprised at finding,
in some of the biographies of this great man, statements concerning his
religious opinions so utterly at variance with his known sentiments.
True, he may have changed or modified those sentiments after his removal
from among us, though this is hardly reconcilable with the history
of the man, and his entire devotion to public matters during his four
years' residence at the national capital. It is possible, however, that
this may be the proper solution of this conflict of opinions; or, it may
be, that, with no intention on the part of any one to mislead the
public mind, those who have represented him as believing in the
popular theological views of the times may have misapprehended him, as
experience shows to be quite common where no special effort has been
made to attain critical accuracy on a subject of this nature. This is
the more probable from the well-known fact, that Mr. Lincoln seldom
communicated to any one his views on this subject. But, be this as it
may, I have no hesitation whatever in saying, that, whilst he held many
opinions in common with the great mass of Christian believers, _he did
not believe_ in what are regarded as the orthodox or evangelical views
of Christianity.

"On the innate depravity of man, the character and office of the great
Head of the Church, the atonement, the infallibility of the written
revelation, the performance of miracles, the nature and design of
present and future rewards and punishments (as they are popularly
called), and many other subjects, he held opinions utterly at variance
with what are usually taught in the Church. I should say that his
expressed views on these and kindred topics were such as, in the
estimation of most believers, would place him entirely outside the
Christian pale. Yet, to my mind, such was not the true position, since
his principles and practices and the spirit of his whole life were of
the very kind we universally agree to call Christian; and I think this
conclusion is in no wise affected by the circumstance that he never
attached himself to any religious society whatever.

"His religious views were eminently practical, and are summed up, as
I think, in these two propositions: 'the Fatherhood of God, and
the brotherhood of man.' He fully believed in a superintending and
overruling Providence, that guides and controls the operations of the
world, but maintained that law and order, and not their violation
or suspension, are the appointed means by which this providence is
exercised.

"I will not attempt any specification of either his belief or disbelief
on various religious topics, as derived from conversations with him
at different times during a considerable period; but, as conveying a
general view of his religious or theological opinions, will state
the following facts. Some eight or ten years prior to his death, in
conversing with him upon this subject, the writer took occasion to
refer, in terms of approbation, to the sermons and writings generally of
Dr. W. E. Channing; and, finding he was considerably interested in the
statement I made of the opinions held by that author, I proposed to
present him (Lincoln) a copy of Channing's entire works, which I soon
after did. Subsequently, the contents of these volumes, together with
the writings of Theodore Parker, furnished him, as he informed me, by
his friend and law-partner, Mr. Herndon, became naturally the topics of
conversation with us; and though far from believing there was an entire
harmony of views on his part with either of those authors, yet they were
generally much admired and approved by him.

"No religious views with him seemed to find any favor, except of the
practical and rationalistic order; and if, from my recollections on
this subject, I was called upon to designate an author whose views
most nearly represented Mr. Lincoln's on this subject, I would say that
author was Theodore Parker.

"As you have asked from me a candid statement of my recollections on
this topic, I have thus briefly given them, with the hope that they may
be of some service in rightly settling a question about which--as I have
good reason to believe--the public mind has been greatly misled.

"Not doubting that they will accord, substantially, with your own
recollections, and that of his other intimate and confidential friends,
and with the popular verdict after this matter shall have been properly
canvassed, I submit them."

John G. Nicolay, his private secretary at the White House:--

"Mr. Lincoln did not, to my knowledge, in any way change his religious
views, opinions, or beliefs, from the time he left Springfield to the
day of his death. I do not know just what they were, never having
heard him explain them in detail; but I am very sure he gave no outward
indication of his mind having undergone any change in that regard while
here."

The following letter from Mr. Herndon was, about the time of its date,
extensively published throughout the United States, and met with no
contradiction from any responsible source.

Springfield, Feb. 18, 1870.

Mr. Abbott,---Some time since I promised you that I would send a letter
in relation to Mr. Lincoln's religion. I do so now. Before entering on
that question, one or two preliminary remarks will help us to understand
why he disagreed with the Christian world in its principles, as well
as in its theology. In the first place, Mr. Lincoln's mind was a purely
logical mind; secondly, Mr. Lincoln was purely a practical man. He
had no fancy or imagination, and not much emotion. He was a realist
as opposed to an idealist. As a general rule, it is true that a purely
logical mind has not much hope, if it ever has _faith in the unseen and
unknown_. Mr. Lincoln had not much hope and no faith in things that
lie outside of the domain of demonstration: he was so constituted, so
organized, that he could believe nothing unless his senses or logic
could reach it. I have often read to him a law point, a decision, or
something I fancied: he could not understand it until he took the
book out of my hand, and read the thing for himself. He was terribly,
vexatiously sceptical. He could scarcely understand any thing, unless he
had time and place fixed in his mind.

I became acquainted with Mr. Lincoln in 1834, and I think I knew him
well to the day of his death. His mind, when a boy in Kentucky, showed a
certain gloom, an unsocial nature, a peculiar abstractedness, a bold and
daring scepticism. In Indiana, from 1817 to 1830, it manifested the same
qualities or attributes as in Kentucky: it only intensified, developed
itself, along those lines, in Indiana. He came to Illinois in 1830, and,
after some little roving, settled in New Salem, now in Menard County and
State of Illinois. This village lies about twenty miles north-west of
this city. It was here that Mr. Lincoln became acquainted with a class
of men the world never saw the like of before or since. They were large
men,--large in body and large in mind; hard to whip, and never to be
fooled. They were a bold, daring, and reckless sort of men; they were
men of their own minds,--believed what was demonstrable; were men of
great common sense. With these men Mr. Lincoln was thrown; with them
he lived, and with them he moved, and almost had his being. They were
sceptics all,--scoffers some. These scoffers were good men, and their
scoffs were protests against theology,--loud protests against the
follies of Christianity: they had never heard of theism and the
newer and better religious thoughts of this age. Hence, being natural
sceptics, and being bold, brave men, they uttered their thoughts freely:
they declared that Jesus was an illegitimate child.... They were on all
occasions, when opportunity offered, debating the various questions of
Christianity among themselves: they took their stand on common sense and
on their own souls; and, though their arguments were rude and rough, no
man could overthrow their homely logic. They riddled all divines, and
not unfrequently made them sceptics,--disbelievers as bad as themselves.
They were a jovial, healthful, generous, social, true, and manly set of
people.

It was here, and among these people, that Mr. Lincoln was thrown. About
the year 1834, he chanced to come across Volney's "Ruins," and some
of Paine's theological works. He at once seized hold of them, and
assimilated them into his own being. Volney and Paine became a part of
Mr. Lincoln from 1834 to the end of his life. In 1835 he wrote out a
small work on "Infidelity," and intended to have it published. The book
was an attack upon the whole grounds of Christianity, and especially
was it an attack upon the idea that Jesus was the Christ, the true and
only-begotten Son of God, as the Christian world contends. Mr. Lincoln
was at that time in New Salem, keeping store for Mr. Samuel Hill,
a merchant and postmaster of that place. Lincoln and Hill were very
friendly. Hill, I think, was a sceptic at that time. Lincoln, one day
after the book was finished, read it to Mr. Hill, his good friend. Hill
tried to persuade him not to make it public, not to publish it. Hill
at that time saw in Mr. Lincoln a rising man, and wished him success.
Lincoln refused to destroy it, said it should be published. Hill
swore it should never see light of day. He had an eye, to Lincoln's
popularity,--his present and future success; and believing, that if the
book were published, it would kill Lincoln forever, he snatched it from
Lincoln's hand, when Lincoln was not expecting it, and ran it into
an old-fashioned tin-plate stove, heated as hot as a furnace; and so
Lincoln's book went up to the clouds in smoke. It is confessed by all
who heard parts of it, that it was at once able and eloquent; and, if I
may judge of it from Mr. Lincoln's subsequent ideas and opinions, often
expressed to me and to others in my presence, it was able, strong,
plain, and fair. His argument was grounded on the internal mistakes of
the Old and New Testaments, and on reason, and on the experiences and
observations of men. The criticisms from internal defects were sharp,
strong, and manly.

Mr. Lincoln moved to this city in 1837, and here became acquainted
with various men of his own way of thinking. At that time they called
themselves _free-thinkers, or free-thinking men_. I remember all these
things distinctly; for I was with them, heard them, and was one of them.
Mr. Lincoln here found other works,--Hume, Gibbon, and others,--and
drank them in: he made no secret of his views, no concealment of his
religion. He boldly avowed himself an infidel. When Mr. Lincoln was a
candidate for our Legislature, he was accused of being an infidel, and
of having said that Jesus Christ was an illegitimate child: he never
denied his opinions, nor flinched from his religious views; he was a
true man, and yet it may be truthfully said, that in 1837 his religion
was low indeed. In his moments of gloom he would _doubt, if he did
not sometimes deny, God_. He made me once erase the name of God from a
speech which I was about to make in 1854; and he did this in the city
of Washington to one of his friends. I cannot now name the man, nor the
place he occupied in Washington: it will be known sometime. I have the
evidence, and intend to keep it.

Mr. Lincoln ran for Congress, against the Rev. Peter Cartwright, in the
year 1847 or 1848. In that contest he was accused of being an infidel,
if not an atheist; he never denied the charge; would not; "_would die
first_:" in the first place, because he knew it could and would be
proved on him; and in the second place he was too true to his own
convictions, to his own soul, to deny it. From what I know of Mr.
Lincoln, and from what I have heard and verily believe, I can say,
First, That he _did not believe in a special creation, his idea being
that all creation was an evolution under law_; Secondly, That he did
not believe that the Bible was a special revelation from God, as the
Christian world contends; Thirdly, He did not believe in miracles, as
understood by the Christian world; Fourthly, He believed in universal
inspiration and miracles under law; Fifthly, He did not believe that
Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God, as the Christian world contends;
Sixthly, He believed that all things, both matter and mind, were
governed by laws, universal, absolute, and eternal. All his speeches and
remarks in Washington conclusively prove this. _Law was to Lincoln every
thing, and special interferences shams and delusions_. I know whereof I
speak. I used to loan him Theodore Parker's works: I loaned him Emerson
sometimes, and other writers; and he would sometimes read, and sometimes
would not, as I suppose,--nay, know.

When Mr. Lincoln left this city for Washington, I know he had undergone
no change in his religious opinions or views. He held many of the
Christian ideas in abhorrence, and among them there was this one;
namely, that God would forgive the sinner for a violation of his laws.
_Lincoln maintained that God could not forgive; that punishment has to
follow the sin; that Christianity was wrong in teaching forgiveness_;
that it tended to make man sin in the hope that God would excuse, and
so forth. Lincoln contended that the minister should teach that God has
affixed punishment to sin, and that _no repentance could bribe him to
remit it_. In one sense of the word, Mr. Lincoln was a Universalist,
and in another sense he was a Unitarian; but he was a theist, as we now
understand that word: he was so fully, freely, unequivocally, boldly,
and openly, when asked for his views. Mr. Lincoln was supposed, by many
people in this city, to be an atheist; and some still believe it. I can
put that supposition at rest forever. I hold a letter of Mr. Lincoln in
my hand, addressed to his step-brother, John D. Johnston, and dated
the twelfth day of January, 1851. He had heard from Johnston that his
father, Thomas Lincoln, was sick, and that no hopes of his recovery were
entertained. Mr. Lincoln wrote back to Mr. Johnston these words:--

"I sincerely hope that father may yet recover his health; but, at all
events, tell him to remember to call upon and confide in One 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 many loved ones gone before,
and where the rest of us, through the help of God, hope ere long to join
them.

"A. Lincoln."

So it seems that Mr. Lincoln believed in God and immortality as well as
heaven,--a place. He believed in no hell and no punishment in the future
world. It has been said to me that Mr. Lincoln wrote the above letter
to an old man simply to cheer him up in his last moments, and that the
writer did not believe what he said. The question is, Was Mr. Lincoln
an honest and truthful man? If he was, he wrote that letter honestly,
believing it. It has to me the sound, the ring, of an honest utterance.
I admit that Mr. Lincoln, in his moments of melancholy and
terrible gloom, was living on the borderland between theism and
atheism,--sometimes quite wholly dwelling in atheism. In his happier
moments he would swing back to theism, and dwell lovingly there. It is
possible that Mr. Lincoln was not always responsible for what he said
or thought, so deep, so intense, so terrible, was his melancholy. I send
you a lecture of mine which will help you to see what I mean. I maintain
that Mr. Lincoln was a deeply-religious man at all times and places, in
spite of his transient doubts.

Soon after Mr. Lincoln was assassinated, Mr. Holland came into my
office, and made some inquiries about him, stating to me his purpose
of writing his life. I freely told him what he asked, and much more. He
then asked me what I thought about Mr. Lincoln's religion, meaning
his views of Christianity. I replied, "The less said, the better."
Mr. Holland has recorded my expression to him (see Holland's "Life of
Lincoln," p. 241). I cannot say what Mr. Holland said to me, as that
was private. It appears that he went and saw Mr. Newton Bateman,
Superintendent of Public Instruction in this State. It appears that Mr.
Bateman told Mr. Holland many things, if he is correctly represented in
Holland's "Life of Lincoln" (pp. 236-241, inclusive). I doubt whether
Mr. Bateman said in full what is recorded there: I doubt a great deal
of it. I know the whole story is untrue,--untrue in substance, untrue
in fact and spirit. As soon as the "Life of Lincoln" was out, on reading
that part here referred to, I instantly sought Mr. Bateman, and found
him in his office. I spoke to him politely and kindly, and he spoke to
me in the same manner. I said substantially to him that Mr. Holland, in
order to make Mr. Lincoln a technical Christian, made him a hypocrite;
and so his "Life of Lincoln" quite plainly says. I loved Mr. Lincoln,
and was mortified, if not angry, to see him made a hypocrite. I cannot
now detail what Mr. Bateman said, as it was a private conversation, and
I am forbidden to make use of it in public. If some good gentleman can
only get the seal of secrecy removed, I can show what was said and done.
On my word, the world may take it for granted that Holland is wrong,
that he does not state Mr. Lincoln's views correctly. Mr. Bateman, if
correctly represented in Holland's "Life of Lincoln," is the only man,
the sole and only man, who dare say that Mr. Lincoln believed in Jesus
as the Christ of God, as the Christian world represents. This is not
a pleasant situation for Mr. Bateman. I have notes and dates of our
conversation; and the world will sometime know who is truthful, and
who is otherwise. I doubt whether Bateman is correctly represented
by Holland. My notes bear date Dec. 3, 12, and 28, 1866. Some of our
conversations were in the spring of 1866 and the fall of 1865.

I do not remember ever seeing the words Jesus or Christ in print, as
uttered by Mr. Lincoln. If he has used these words, they can be found.
He uses the word God but seldom. I never heard him use the name of
Christ or Jesus but to confute the idea that he was the Christ, the only
and truly begotten Son of God, as the Christian world understands it.
The idea that Mr. Lincoln carried the New Testament or Bible in his
bosom or boots, to draw on his opponent in debate, is ridiculous.

My dear sir, I now have given you my knowledge, speaking from my own
experience, of Mr. Lincoln's religious views. I speak likewise from the
evidences, carefully gathered, of his religious opinions. I likewise
speak from the ears and mouths of many in this city; and, after all
careful examination, I declare to your numerous readers, that Mr.
Lincoln is correctly represented here, so far as I know what truth is,
and how it should be investigated.

If ever there was a moment when Mr. Lincoln might have been expected to
express his faith in the atonement, his trust in the merits of a living
Redeemer, it was when he undertook to send a composing and comforting
message to a dying man. He knew, moreover, that his father had been
"converted" time and again, and that no exhortation would so effectually
console his weak spirit in the hour of dismay and dissolution as one
which depicted, in the strongest terms, the perfect sufficiency of Jesus
to save the perishing soul. But he omitted it wholly: he did not even
mention the name of Jesus, or intimate the most distant suspicion of
the existence of a Christ. On the contrary, he is singularly careful to
employ the word "One" to qualify the word "Maker." It is the Maker, and
not the Saviour, to whom he directs the attention of a sinner in the
agony of death.

While it is very clear that Mr. Lincoln was at all times an infidel in
the orthodox meaning of the term, it is also very clear that he was not
at all times equally willing that everybody should know it. He never
offered to purge or recant; but he was a wily politician, and did not
disdain to regulate his religious manifestations with some reference to
his political interests. As he grew older, he grew more cautious; and
as his New Salem associates, and the aggressive deists with whom he
originally united at Springfield, gradually dispersed, or fell away from
his side, he appreciated more and more keenly the violence and extent of
the religious prejudices which freedom in discussion from his standpoint
would be sure to arouse against him. He saw the immense and augmenting
power of the churches, and in times past had practically felt it. The
imputation of infidelity had seriously injured him in several of his
earlier political contests; and, sobered by age and experience, he was
resolved that that same imputation should injure him no more. Aspiring
to lead religious communities, he foresaw that he must not appear as an
enemy within their gates; aspiring to public honors under the auspices
of a political party which persistently summoned religious people to
assist in the extirpation of that which is denounced as the "nation's
sin," he foresaw that he could not ask their suffrages whilst aspersing
their faith. He perceived no reason for changing his convictions, but he
did perceive many good and cogent reasons for not making them public.

Col. Matheny alleges, that, from 1854 to 1860, Mr. Lincoln "played a
sharp game" upon the Christians of Springfield, "treading their toes,"
and saying, "Come and convert me." Mr. Herndon is inclined to coincide
with Matheny; and both give the obvious explanation of such conduct;
that is to say, his morbid ambition; coupled with a mortal fear that his
popularity would suffer by an open avowal of his deistic convictions.
At any rate, Mr. Lincoln permitted himself to be misunderstood and
misrepresented by some enthusiastic ministers and exhorters with whom he
came in contact. Among these was the Rev. Mr. Smith, then pastor of
the First Presbyterian Church of Springfield, and afterwards Consul at
Dundee, in Scotland, under Mr. Lincoln's appointment. The abilities of
this gentleman to discuss such a topic to the edification of a man
like Mr. Lincoln seem to have been rather slender; but the chance of
converting so distinguished a person inspired him with a zeal which he
might not have felt for the salvation of an obscurer soul. Mr. Lincoln
listened to his exhortations in silence, apparently respectful, and
occasionally sat out his sermons in church with as much patience as
other people. Finding these oral appeals unavailing, Mr. Smith composed
a heavy tract out of his own head to suit the particular case. "The
preparation of that work," says he, "cost me long and arduous labor;"
but it does not appear to have been read. Mr. Lincoln took the "work" to
his office, laid it down without writing his name on it, and never took
it up again to the knowledge of a man who inhabited that office with
him, and who saw it lying on the same spot every day for months.
Subsequently Mr. Smith drew from Mr. Lincoln an acknowledgment that
his argument was unanswerable,--not a very high compliment under the
circumstances, but one to which Mr. Smith often referred afterwards
with great delight. He never asserted, as some have supposed, that Mr.
Lincoln was converted from the error of his ways; that he abandoned his
infidel opinions, or that he united himself with any Christian church.
On the contrary, when specially interrogated on these points by Mr.
Herndon, he refused to answer, on the ground that Mr. Herndon
was not a proper person to receive such a communication from
Mr. Newton Bateman is reported to have said that a few days before the
Presidential election of 1860, Mr. Lincoln came into his office, closed
the door against intrusion, and proposed to examine a book which had
been furnished him, at his own request, "containing a careful canvass of
the city of Springfield, showing the candidate for whom each citizen
had declared his intention to vote at the approaching election.
He ascertained that only three ministers of the gospel, out of
twenty-three, would vote for him, and that, of the prominent
church-members, a very large majority were against him." Mr. Bateman
does not say so directly, but the inference is plain that Mr. Lincoln
had not previously known what were the sentiments of the Christian
people who lived with him in Springfield: he had never before taken
the trouble to inquire whether they were for him or against him. At
all events, when he made the discovery out of the book, he wept, and
declared that he "did not understand it at all." He drew from his bosom
a pocket New Testament, and, "with a trembling voice and his cheeks wet
with tears," quoted it against his political opponents generally, and
especially against Douglas. He professed to believe that the opinions
adopted by him and his party were derived from the teachings of Christ;
averred that Christ was God; and, speaking of the Testament which
he carried in his bosom, called it "this rock, on which him
I stand." When Mr. Bateman expressed surprise, and told him that his
friends generally were ignorant that he entertained such sentiments,
he gave this answer quickly: "I know they are: I am obliged to appear
different to them." Mr. Bateman is a respectable citizen, whose general
reputation for truth and veracity is not to be impeached; but his story,
as reported in Holland's Life, is so inconsistent with Mr. Lincoln's
whole character, that it must be rejected as altogether incredible.
From the time of the Democratic split in the Baltimore Convention, Mr.
Lincoln, as well as every other politician of the smallest sagacity,
knew that his success was as certain as any future event could be. At
the end of October, most of the States had clearly voted in a way which
left no lingering doubts of the final result of November. If there ever
was a time in his life when ambition charmed his whole heart,--if it
could ever be said of him that "hope elevated and joy brightened his
crest," it was on the eve of that election which he saw was to lift him
at last to the high place for which he had sighed and struggled so long.
It was not then that he would mourn and weep because he was in danger
of not getting the votes of the ministers and members of the churches he
had known during many years for his steadfast opponents: he did not need
them, and had not expected them. Those who understood him best are very
sure that he never, under any circumstances, could have fallen into
such weakness--not even when his fortunes were at the lowest point
of depression--as to play the part of a hypocrite for their support.
Neither is it possible that he was at any loss about the reasons which
religious men had for refusing him their support; and, if he said that
he could not understand it at all, he must have spoken falsely. But the
worst part of the tale is Mr. Lincoln's acknowledgment that his "friends
generally were deceived concerning his religious sentiments, and that he
was obliged to appear different to them."

According to this version, which has had considerable currency, he
carried a Testament in his bosom, carefully hidden from his intimate
associates: he believed that Christ was God; yet his friends understood
him to deny the verity of the gospel: he based his political doctrines
on the teachings of the Bible; yet before all men, except Mr. Bateman,
he habitually acted the part of an unbeliever and reprobate, because he
was "obliged to appear different to them." How obliged? What compulsion
required him to deny that Christ was God if he really believed him to be
divine? Or did he put his political necessities above the obligations
of truth, and oppose Christianity against his convictions, that he
might win the favor of its enemies? It may be that his mere silence
was sometimes misunderstood; but he never made an express avowal of
any religious opinion which he did not entertain. He did not "appear
different" at one time from what he was at another, and certainly
he never put on infidelity as a mere mask to conceal his Christian
character from the world. There is no dealing with Mr. Bateman, except
by a flat contradiction. Perhaps his memory was treacherous, or his
imagination led him astray, or, peradventure, he thought a fraud no
harm if it gratified the strong desire of the public for proofs of Mr.
Lincoln's orthodoxy. It is nothing to the purpose that Mr. Lincoln said
once or twice that he thought this or that portion of the Scripture was
the product of divine inspiration; for he was one of the class who hold
that all truth is inspired, and that every human being with a mind and a
conscience is a prophet. He would have agreed much more readily with one
who taught that Newton's discoveries, or Bacon's philosophy, or one of
his own speeches, were the works of men divinely inspired above their
fellows.1

     1 "As we have bodily senses to lay hold on matter, and
     supply bodily wants, through which we obtain, naturally, all
     needed material things; so we have spiritual faculties to
     lay hold on God and supply spiritual wants: through them we
     obtain all needed spiritual things. As we observe the
     conditions of the body, we have nature on our side: as we
     observe the law of the soul, we have God on our side. He
     imparts truth to all men who observe these conditions: we
     have direct access to him through reason, conscience, and
     the religious faculty, just as we have direct access to
     nature through the eye, the ear, or the hand. Through these
     channels, and by means of a law, certain, regular, and
     universal as gravitation, God inspires men, makes revelation
     of truth; for is not truth as much a phenomenon of God as
     motion of matter? Therefore, if God be omnipresent and
     omniactive, this inspiration is no miracle, but a regular
     mode of God's action on conscious spirit, as gravitation on
     unconscious matter. It is not a rare condescension of God,
     but a universal uplifting of man. To obtain a knowledge of
     duty, a man is not sent away, outside of himself, to ancient
     documents: for the only rule of faith and practice, the
     Word, is very nigh him, even in his heart, and by this Word
     he is to try all documents whatsoever. Inspiration, like
     God's omnipresence, is not limited to the few writers
     claimed by the Jews, Christians, or Mohammedans, but is co-
     extensive with the race. As God fills all space, so all
     spirit; as he influences and constrains unconscious and
     necessitated matter, so he inspires and helps free,
     unconscious man.

     "This theory does not make God limited, partial, or
     capricious: it exalts man. While it honors the excellence of
     a religious genius of a Moses or a Jesus, it does not
     pronounce their character monstrous, as the supernatural,
     nor fanatical, as the rationalistic theory; but natural,
     human, and beautiful, revealing the possibility of mankind.
     Prayer--whether voluntative or spontaneous, a word or a
     feeling, felt in gratitude, or penitence, or joy, or
     resignation--is not a soliloquy of the man, not a
     physiological function, nor an address to a deceased man,
     but a sally into the infinite spiritual world, whence we
     bring back light and truth. There are windows towards God,
     as towards the world. There is no intercessor, angel,
     mediator, between man and God; for man can speak, and God
     hear, each for himself. He requires no advocate to plead for
     men, who need not pray by attorney. Each man stands close to
     the omnipresent God; may feel his beautiful presence, and
     have familiar access to the All-Father; get truth at first
     hand from its Author. Wisdom, righteousness, and love are
     the Spirit of God in the soul of man: wherever these are,
     and just in proportion to their power, there is inspiration
     from God. Thus God is not the author of confusion, but
     concord. Faith and knowledge and revelation and reason tell
     the same tale, and so legitimate and confirm each one
     another.

     "God's action on matter and on man is, perhaps, the same
     thing to him, though it appear differently modified to us.
     But it is plain, from the nature of things, that there can
     be but one kind of inspiration, as of truth, faith, or love:
     it is the direct and intuitive perception of some truth,
     either of thought or of sentiment. There can be but one mode
     of inspiration: it is the action of the Highest within the
     soul, the divine presence imparting light; this presence, as
     truth, justice, holiness, love, infusing itself into the
     soul, giving it new life; the breathing-in of the Deity; the
     in-come of God to the soul, in the form of truth through the
     reason, of right through the conscience, of love and faith
     through the affections and religious element. Is inspiration
     confined to theological matter alone? Most certainly not."--
     --Parker's Discourse pertaining to Religion.

But he never told any one that he accepted Jesus as the Christ, or
performed a single one of the acts which necessarily follow upon such
a conviction. At Springfield and at Washington he was beset on the one
hand by political priests, and on the other by honest and prayerful
Christians. He despised the former, respected the latter, and had use
for both. He said with characteristic irreverence, that he would not
undertake to "run the churches by military authority;" but he was,
nevertheless, alive to the importance of letting the churches "run"
themselves in the interest of his party. Indefinite expressions about
"Divine Providence," the "justice of God," "the favor of the Most High,"
were easy, and not inconsistent with his religious notions. In this,
accordingly, he indulged freely; but never in all that time did he let
fall from his lips or his pen an expression which remotely implied the
slightest faith in Jesus as the Son of God and the Saviour of men.

The effect of Mr. Lincoln's unbelief did not affect his constitutional
love of justice. Though he rejected the New Testament as a book of
divine authority, he accepted the practical part of its precepts as
binding upon him by virtue of the natural law. The benevolence of his
impulses served to keep him, for the most part, within the limits to
which a Christian is confined by the fear of God. It is also true
beyond doubt that he was greatly influenced by the reflected force of
Christianity. If he did not believe it, the masses of the "plain people"
did; and no one ever was more anxious to do "whatsoever was of good
report among men." To qualify himself as a witness or an officer it was
frequently necessary that he should take oaths; and he always appealed
to the Christian's God either by laying his hand upon the Gospels, or
by some other form of invocation common among believers. Of course the
ceremony was superfluous, for it imposed no religious obligation upon
him; but his strong innate sense of right was sufficient to make him
truthful without that high and awful sanction which faith in divine
revelation would have carried with it.

Mr. Lincoln was by no means free from a kind of belief in the
supernatural. While he rejected the great facts of Christianity,
as wanting the support of authentic evidence, his mind was readily
impressed with the most absurd superstitions.1 He lived constantly in
the serious conviction that he was himself the subject of a special
decree, made by some unknown and mysterious power, for which he had
no name. The birth and death of Christ, his wonderful works, and his
resurrection as "the first-fruits of them that slept," Mr. Lincoln
denied, because they seemed naturally improbable, or inconsistent with
his "philosophy so called;" but his perverted credulity terrified him
when he saw two images of himself in a mirror.

     1 "He had great faith in the strong sense of country people;
     and he gave them credit for greater intelligence than most
     men do. If he found an idea prevailing generally amongst
     them, he believed there was something in it, although it
     might not harmonize with science.

     "He had great faith in the virtues of the 'mad-stone'
     although he could give no reason for it, and confessed that
     it looked like superstition. But, he said, he found the
     people in the neighborhood of these stones fully impressed
     with a belief in their virtues from actual experiment; and
     that was about as much as we could ever know of the
     properties of medicines."--Gillespie.

     "When his son 'Bob' was supposed to have been bitten by a
     rabid dog, Mr. Lincoln took him to Terre Haute, La., where
     there was a mad-stone, with the intention of having it
     applied, and, it is presumed, did so."--Mrs. Wallace.

It is very probable that much of Mr. Lincoln's unhappiness, the
melancholy that "dripped from him as he walked," was due to his want
of religious faith. When the black fit was on him, he suffered as
much mental misery as Bunyan or Cowper in the deepest anguish of their
conflicts with the evil one. But the unfortunate conviction fastened
upon him by his early associations, that there was no truth in the
Bible, made all consolation impossible, and penitence useless. To a
man of his temperament, predisposed as it was to depression of spirits,
there could be no chance of happiness, if doomed to live without hope
and without God in the world. He might force himself to be merry with
his chosen comrades; he might "banish sadness" in mirthful conversation,
or find relief in a jest; gratified ambition might elevate his feelings,
and give him ease for a time: but solid comfort and permanent peace
could come to him only through "a correspondence fixed with heaven." The
fatal misfortune of his life, looking at it only as it affected him
in this world, was the influence at New Salem and Springfield which
enlisted him on the side of unbelief. He paid the bitter penalty in a
life of misery.

     "It was a grievous sin in Caesar;
     And grievously hath Caesar answered it."

Very truly,

W. H. Herndon.




CHAPTER XX

ON the 11th of February, 1861, the arrangements for Mr. Lincoln's
departure from Springfield were completed. It was intended to occupy the
time remaining between that date and the 4th of March with a grand tour
from State to State and city to city. One Mr. Wood, "recommended by
Senator Seward," was the chief manager. He provided special trains to be
preceded by pilot engines all the way through.

It was a gloomy day: heavy clouds floated overhead, and a cold rain was
falling. Long before eight o'clock, a great mass of people had collected
at the station of the Great Western Railway to witness the event of the
day. At precisely five minutes before eight, Mr. Lincoln, preceded by
Mr. Wood, emerged from a private room in the depot building, and passed
slowly to the car, the people falling back respectfully on either side,
and as many as possible shaking his hands. Having finally reached the
train, he ascended the rear platform, and, facing about to the throng
which had closed around him, drew himself up to his full height, removed
his hat, and stood for several seconds in profound silence. His eye
roved sadly over that sea of upturned faces; and he thought he read in
them again the sympathy and friendship which he had often tried, and
which he never needed more than he did then. There was an unusual quiver
in his lip, and a still more unusual tear on his shrivelled cheek. His
solemn manner, his long silence, were as full of melancholy eloquence
as any words he could have uttered. What did he think of? Of the mighty
changes which had lifted him from the lowest to the highest estate on
earth? Of the weary road which had brought him to this lofty summit?
Of his poor mother lying beneath the tangled underbrush in a distant
forest? Of that other grave in the quiet Concord cemetery? Whatever
the particular character of his thoughts, it is evident that they were
retrospective and painful. To those who were anxiously waiting to catch
words upon which the fate of the nation might hang, it seemed long until
he had mastered his feelings sufficiently to speak. At length he began
in a husky tone of voice, and slowly and impressively delivered his
farewell to his neighbors. Imitating his example, every man in the crowd
stood with his head uncovered in the fast-falling rain.

"Friends,--No one who has never been placed in a like position can
understand my feelings at this hour, nor the oppressive sadness I feel
at this parting. For more than a quarter of a century I have lived among
you, and during all that time I have received nothing but kindness at
your hands. Here I have lived from my youth, until now I am an old man.
Here the most sacred ties of earth were assumed. Here all my children
were born; and here one of them lies buried. To you, dear friends, I owe
all that I have, all that I am. All the strange, checkered past seems to
crowd now upon my mind. To-day I leave you. I go to assume a task more
difficult than that which devolved upon Washington. Unless the great
God, who assisted him, shall be with and aid me, I must fail; but if the
same omniscient mind and almighty arm that directed and protected him
shall guide and support me, I shall not fail,--I shall succeed. Let us
all pray that the God of our fathers may not forsake us now. To him I
commend you all. Permit me to ask, that, with equal security and faith,
you will invoke his wisdom and guidance for me. With these few words I
must leave you: for how long I know not. Friends, one and all, I must
now bid you an affectionate farewell."

"It was a most impressive scene," said the editor of "The Journal." "We
have known Mr. Lincoln for many years; we have heard him speak upon
a hundred different occasions; but we never saw him so profoundly
affected, nor did he ever utter an address which seemed to us so full
of simple and touching eloquence, so exactly adapted to the occasion, so
worthy of the man and the hour."

At eight o'clock the train rolled out of Springfield amid the cheers of
the populace. Four years later a funeral train, covered with the emblems
of splendid mourning, rolled into the same city, bearing a discolored
corpse, whose obsequies were being celebrated in every part of the
civilized world.

Along with Mr. Lincoln's family in the special car were Gov. Yates,
Ex-Gov. Moore, Dr. Wallace (Mr. Lincoln's brother-in-law), Mr. Judd,
Mr. Browning, Judge Davis, Col. Ellsworth, Col. Lamon, and private
secretaries Nicolay and Hay.

It has been asserted that an attempt was made to throw the train off the
track between Springfield and Indianapolis, and also that a hand-grenade
was found on board at Cincinnati, but no evidence of the fact is given
in either case, and none of the Presidential party ever heard of these
murderous doings until they read of them in some of the more imaginative
reports of their trip.

Full accounts of this journey were spread broadcast over the country
at the time, and have been collected and printed in various books. But,
except for the speeches of the President elect, those accounts possess
no particular interest at this day; and of the speeches we shall present
here only such extracts as express his thoughts and feelings about the
impending civil war.

In the heat of the late canvass, he had written the following private
letter:--

Springfield, Ill., Aug. 15, 1860.

John B. Fry, Esq.

My dear Sir,--Yours of the 9th, enclosing the letter of Hon. John M.
Botts, was duly received. The latter is herewith returned, according to
your request. It contains one of the many assurances I receive from
the South, that in no probable event will there be any very formidable
effort to break up the Union. The people of the South have too much of
good sense and good temper to attempt the ruin of the government, rather
than see it administered as it was administered by the men who made it.
At least, so I hope and believe.

I thank you both for your own letter and a sight of that of Mr. Botts.

Yours very truly,

A. Lincoln.

The opinion expressed in the letter as to the probability of war does
not appear to have undergone any material change or modification during
the eventful months which had intervened; for he expressed it in much
stronger terms at almost every stage of his progress to Washington.

At Toledo he said,--

"I am leaving you on an errand of national importance, attended, as you
are aware, with considerable difficulties. Let us believe, as some poet
has expressed it, 'Behind the cloud the sun is shining still.'"

At Indianapolis:--

"I am here to thank you for this magnificent welcome, and still more for
the very generous support given by your State to that political cause,
which, I think, is the true and just cause of the whole country, and the
whole world. Solomon says, 'There is a time to keep silence;' and when
men wrangle by the mouth, with no certainty that they mean the same
thing while using the same words, it perhaps were as well if they would
keep silence.

"The words 'coercion' and 'invasion' are much used in these days, and
often with some temper and hot blood. Let us make sure, if we can, that
we do not misunderstand the meaning of those who use them. Let us get
the exact definitions of these words, not from dictionaries, but from
the men themselves, who certainly deprecate the things they would
represent by the use of the words.

"What, then, is coercion? What is invasion? Would the marching of an
army into South Carolina, without the consent of her people, and with
hostile intent toward them, be invasion? I certainly think it would;
and it would be coercion also, if the South Carolinians were forced to
submit. But if the United States should merely hold and retake its
own forts and other property, and collect the duties on foreign
importations, or even withhold the mails from places where they were'
habitually violated, would any or all of these things be invasion or
coercion? Do our professed lovers of the Union, who spitefully resolve
that they will resist coercion and invasion, understand that such
things as these, on the part of the United States, would be coercion or
invasion of a State? If so, their idea of means to preserve the object
of their great affection would seem to be exceedingly thin and airy. If
sick, the little pills of the homoeopathist would be much too large for
them to swallow. In their view, the Union, as a family relation,
would seem to be no regular marriage, but rather a sort of 'free-love'
arrangement, to be maintained on passional attraction."

At Columbus:--

"Allusion has been made to the interest felt in relation to the policy
of the new administration. In this, I have received from some a degree
of credit for having kept silence, from others some depreciation. I
still think I was right. In the varying and repeatedly-shifting scenes
of the present, _without a precedent which could enable me to judge
for the past_, it has seemed fitting, that, before speaking upon the
difficulties of the country, I should have gained a view of the whole
field. To be sure, after all, I would be at liberty to modify and change
the course of policy as future events might make a change necessary.

"I have not maintained silence from any want of real anxiety. _It is
a good thing that there is no more than anxiety, for there is nothing
going wrong. It is a consoling circumstance, that when we look out there
is nothing that really hurts anybody. We entertain different views upon
political questions; but nobody is suffering any thing. This is a most
consoling circumstance, and from it I judge that all we want is time
and patience, and a reliance on that God who has never forsaken this
people_."

At Pittsburg:--

"Notwithstanding the troubles across the river, _there is really no
crisis springing from any thing in the Government itself. In plain
words, there is really no crisis, except an artificial one._ What is
there now to warrant the condition of affairs presented by our friends
'over the river'? Take even their own view of the questions involved,
and there is nothing to justify the course which they are pursuing. _I
repeat it, then, there is no crisis, except such a one as may be gotten
up at any time by turbulent men, aided by designing politicians_. My
advice, then, under such circumstances, is _to keep cool. If the great
American people will only keep their temper on both sides of the line,
the trouble will come to an end, and the question which now distracts
the country will be settled just as surely as all other difficulties
of like character which have originated in this Government have been
adjusted. Let the people on both sides keep their self-possession, and,
just as other clouds have cleared away in due time, so will this; and
this great nation shall continue to prosper as heretofore_."

At Cleveland:--

"Frequent allusion is made to the excitement at present existing in our
national politics, and it is as well that I should also allude to it
here. _I think that there is no occasion for any excitement. The crisis,
as it is called, is altogether an artificial crisis.... As I said
before, this crisis is all artificial! It has no foundation in fact. It
was not 'argued up,' as the saying is, and cannot be argued down. Let it
alone, and it will go down itself_."

Before the Legislature of New York:--

"When the time comes, according to the custom of the Government, I shall
speak, and speak as well as I am able for the good of the present and of
the future of this country,--for the good of the North and of the South,
for the good of one and of the other, and of all sections of it. In the
mean time, _if we have patience, if we maintain our equanimity, though
some may allow themselves to run off in a burst of passion_, I still
have confidence that the Almighty Ruler of the Universe, through the
instrumentality of this great and intelligent people, can and will bring
us through this difficulty, as he has heretofore brought us through
all preceding difficulties of the country. Relying upon this, and
again thanking you, as I forever shall, in my heart, for this generous
reception you have given me, I bid you farewell."

In response to the Mayor of New York City, who had said, "To you,
therefore, chosen under the forms of the Constitution, as the head
of the Confederacy, we look for a restoration of fraternal relations
between the States,--only to be accomplished by peaceful and
conciliatory means, aided by the wisdom of Almighty God," Mr. Lincoln
said,--

"In regard to the difficulties that confront us at this time, and of
which you have seen fit to speak so becomingly and so justly, I can only
say that I agree with the sentiments expressed."

At Trenton:--

"I shall endeavor to take the ground I deem most just to the North, the
East, the West, the South, and the whole country. I take it, I hope, in
good temper,--certainly with no malice towards any section. _I shall do
all that may be in my power to promote a peaceful settlement of all our
difficulties. The man does not live who is more devoted to peace than
I am,--none who would do more to preserve it. But it maybe necessary to
put the foot down firmly_. And if I do my duty, and do right, you
will sustain me: will you not? Received, as I am, by the members of
a legislature, the majority of whom do not agree with me in political
sentiments, I trust that I may have their assistance in piloting the
Ship of State through this voyage, surrounded by perils as it is; for,
if it should suffer shipwreck now, there will be no pilot ever needed
for another voyage."

At Philadelphia:--

"It is true, as your worthy mayor has said, that there is anxiety
among the citizens of the United States at this time. I deem it a happy
circumstance that this dissatisfied portion of our fellow-citizens do
not point us to any thing in which they are being injured, or are about
to be injured; _for which reason I have felt all the while justified in
concluding that the crisis, the panic, the anxiety, of the country at
this time is artificial._ If there be those who differ with me upon
this subject, they have not pointed out the substantial difficulty
that exists. I do not mean to say that an artificial panic may not do
considerable harm: that it has done such I do not deny. The hope that
has been expressed by your mayor, that I may be able to restore peace,
harmony, and prosperity to the country, is most worthy of him; and happy
indeed will I be if I shall be able to verify and fulfil that hope. I
promise you, in all sincerity, that I bring to the work a sincere heart.
Whether I will bring a head equal to that heart, will be for future
times to determine. It were useless for me to speak of details or plans
now: I shall speak officially next Monday week, if ever. If I should not
speak then, it were useless for me to do so now."

At Philadelphia again:--

"Now, in my view of the present aspect of affairs, there need be no
bloodshed or 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 blood
shed unless it be forced upon the Government; and then it will be
compelled to act in self-defence._"

At Harrisburg:--

"I recur for a moment but to repeat some words uttered at the hotel
in regard to what has been said about the military support which the
General Government may expect from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania in a
proper emergency. _To guard against any possible mistake, do I recur
to this. It is not with any pleasure that I contemplate the possibility
that a necessity may arise in this country for the use of the military
arm_. While I am exceedingly gratified to see the manifestation upon
your streets of your military force here, and exceedingly gratified at
your promise here to use that force upon a proper emergency; while I
make these acknowledgments, I desire to repeat, in order to _preclude
any possible misconstruction, that I do most sincerely hope that we
shall have no use for them; that it will never become their duty to
shed Hood, and most especially never to shed fraternal blood_. I promise
that, so far as I have wisdom to direct, if so painful a result shall in
any wise be brought about, it shall be through no fault of mine."

Whilst Mr. Lincoln, in the midst of his suite and attendants, was being
borne in triumph through the streets of Philadelphia, and a countless
multitude of people were shouting themselves hoarse, and jostling
and crushing each other around his carriage-wheels, Mr. Felton, the
President of the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore Railway, was
engaged with a private detective discussing the details of an alleged
conspiracy to murder him at Baltimore. Some months before, Mr. Felton,
apprehending danger to the bridges along his line, had taken this man
into his pay, and sent him to Baltimore to spy out and report any plot
that might be found for their destruction. Taking with him a couple of
other men and a woman, the detective went about his business with the
zeal which necessarily marks his peculiar profession. He set up as a
stock-broker, under an assumed name, opened an office, and became
a vehement Secessionist. His agents were instructed to act with the
duplicity which such men generally use, to be rabid on the subject of
"Southern rights," to suggest all manner of crimes in vindication of
them; and if, by these arts, corresponding sentiments should be elicited
from their victims, the "job" might be considered as prospering. Of
course they readily found out what everybody else knew,--that Maryland
was in a state of great alarm; that her people were forming military
associations, and that Gov. Hicks was doing his utmost to furnish them
with arms, on condition that the arms, in case of need, should be turned
against the Federal Government. Whether they detected any plan to burn
bridges or not, the chief detective does not relate; but it appears
that he soon deserted that inquiry, and got, or pretended to get, upon a
scent that promised a heavier reward. Being intensely ambitious to
shine in the professional way, and something of a politician besides,
it struck him that it would be a particularly fine thing to discover a
dreadful plot to assassinate the President elect; and he discovered it
accordingly. It was easy to get that far: to furnish tangible proofs of
an imaginary conspiracy was a more difficult matter. But Baltimore was
seething with political excitement; numerous strangers from the far
South crowded its hotels and boarding-houses; great numbers of mechanics
and laborers out of employment encumbered its streets; and everywhere
politicians, merchants, mechanics, laborers, and loafers were engaged
in heated discussions about the anticipated war, and the probability of
Northern troops being marched through Maryland to slaughter and pillage
beyond the Potomac. It would seem like an easy thing to beguile a few
individuals of this angry and excited multitude into the expression of
some criminal desire; and the opportunity was not wholly lost, although
the limited success of the detective under such favorable circumstances
is absolutely wonderful. He put his "shadows" upon several persons, whom
it suited his pleasure to suspect; and the "shadows" pursued their work
with the keen zest and the cool treachery of their kind. They reported
daily to their chief in writing, as he reported in turn to his employer.
These documents are neither edifying nor useful: they prove nothing
but the baseness of the vocation which gave them existence. They were
furnished to Mr. Herndon in full, under the impression that partisan
feeling had extinguished in him the love of truth, and the obligations
of candor, as it had in many writers who preceded him on the same
subject-matter. They have been carefully and thoroughly read, analyzed,
examined, and Compared, with an earnest and conscientious desire to
discover the truth, if, perchance, any trace of truth might be in them.
The process of investigation began with a strong bias in favor of the
conclusion at which the detective had arrived. For ten years the author
implicitly believed in the reality of the atrocious plot which these
spies were supposed to have detected and thwarted; and for ten years he
had pleased himself with the reflection that he also had done something
to defeat the bloody purpose of the assassins. It was a conviction which
could scarcely have been overthrown by evidence less powerful than the
detective's weak and contradictory account of his own case. In that
account there is literally nothing to sustain the accusation, and much
to rebut it. It is perfectly manifest that there was no conspiracy,--no
conspiracy of a hundred, of fifty, of twenty, of three; no definite
purpose in the heart of even one man to murder Mr. Lincoln at Baltimore.

The reports are all in the form of personal narratives, and for the most
relate when the spies went to bed, when they rose, where they ate, what
saloons and brothels they visited, and what blackguards they met and
"drinked" with. One of them "shadowed" a loud-mouthed, drinking fellow,
named Luckett, and another, a poor scapegrace and braggart, named
Hilliard. These wretches "drinked" and talked a great deal, hung about
bars, haunted disreputable houses, were constantly half-drunk, and
easily excited to use big and threatening words by the faithless
protestations and cunning management of the spies. Thus Hilliard was
made to say that he thought a man who should act the part of Brutus in
these times would deserve well of his country; and Luckett was induced
to declare that he knew a man who would kill Lincoln. At length the
great arch-conspirator--the Brutus, the Orsini, of the New World, to
whom Luckett and Hilliard, the "national volunteers," and all such, were
as mere puppets--condescended to reveal himself in the most obliging and
confiding manner. He made no mystery of his cruel and desperate scheme.
He did not guard it as a dangerous secret, or choose his confidants with
the circumspection which political criminals, and especially assassins,
have generally thought proper to observe. Very many persons knew what
he was about, and levied on their friends for small sums--five, ten, and
twenty dollars--to further the "captain's" plan. Even Luckett was deep
enough in the awful plot to raise money for it; and when he took one of
the spies to a public bar-room, and introduced him to the "captain," the
latter sat down and talked it all over without the slightest reserve.
When was there ever before such a loud-mouthed conspirator, such a
trustful and innocent assassin! His name was Ferrandina, his occupation
that of a barber, his place of business beneath Barnum's Hotel, where
the sign of the bloodthirsty villain still invites the unsuspecting
public to come in for a shave.

"Mr. Luckett," so the spy relates, "said that he was not going home this
evening; and if I would meet him at Barr's saloon, on South Street, he
would introduce me to Ferrandina.

"This was unexpected to me; but I determined to take the chances, and
agreed to meet Mr. Luckett at the place named at 7, p.m. Mr. Luckett
left about 2.30, p.m.; and I went to dinner.

"I was at the office in the afternoon in hopes that Mr. Felton might
call, but he did not; and at 6.15, p.m., I went to supper. After
supper, I went to Barr's saloon, and found Mr. Luckett and several
other gentlemen there. He asked me to drink, and introduced me to Capt.
Ferrandina and Capt. Turner. He eulogized me very highly as a neighbor
of his, and told Ferrandina that I was the gentleman who had given the
twenty-five dollars he (Luckett) had given to Ferrandina.

"The conversation at once got into politics; and Ferrandina, who is
a fine-looking, intelligent-appearing person, became very excited.
He shows the Italian in, I think, a very marked degree; and, although
excited, yet was cooler than what I had believed was the general
characteristic of Italians. He has lived South for many years, and is
thoroughly imbued with the idea that the South must rule; that they
(Southerners) have been outraged in their rights by the election of
Lincoln, and freely justified resorting to any means to prevent Lincoln
from taking his seat; and, as he spoke, his eyes fairly glared and
glistened, and his whole frame quivered, but he was fully conscious
of all he was doing. He is a man well calculated for controlling and
directing the ardent-minded: he is an enthusiast, and believes, that, to
use his own words, 'murder of any kind is justifiable and right to
save the rights of the Southern people.' In all his views he was ably
seconded by Capt. Turner.

"Capt. Turner is an American; but although very much of a gentleman, and
possessing warm Southern feelings, he is not by any means so dangerous a
man as Ferrandina, as his ability for exciting others is less powerful;
but that he is a bold and proud man there is no doubt, as also that he
is entirely under the control of Ferrandina. In fact, it could not be
otherwise: for even I myself felt the influence of this man's strange
power; and, wrong though I knew him to be, I felt strangely unable to
keep my mind balanced against him.

"Ferrandina said, 'Never, never, shall Lincoln be President. His life
(Ferrandina's) was of no consequence: he was willing to give it up for
Lincoln's; he would sell it for that Abolitionist's; and as Orsini had
given his life for Italy, so was he (Ferrandina) ready to die for his
country, and the rights of the South; and, said Ferrandina, turning to
Capt. Turner, 'We shall all die together: we shall show the North that
we fear them not. Every man, captain,' said he, 'will on that day prove
himself a hero. The first shot fired, the main traitor (Lincoln) dead,
and all Maryland will be with us, and the South shall be free; and the
North must then be ours.'--'Mr. Hutchins,' said Ferrandina, 'if I alone
must do it, I shall: Lincoln shall die in this city.'

"Whilst we were thus talking, we (Mr. Luckett, Turner, Ferrandina, and
myself) were alone in one corner of the barroom; and, while talking,
two strangers had got pretty near us. Mr. Luckett called Ferrandina's
attention to this, and intimated that they were listening; and we went
up to the bar, drinked again at my expense, and again retired to another
part of the room, at Ferrandina's request, to see if the strangers would
again follow us: whether by accident or design, they again got near
us; but of course we were not talking of any matter of consequence.
Ferrandina said he suspected they were spies, and suggested that he had
to attend a secret meeting, and was apprehensive that the two strangers
might follow him; and, at Mr. Luckett's request, I remained with him
(Luckett) to watch the movements of the strangers. I assured Ferrandina,
that, if they would attempt to follow him, that we would whip them.

"Ferrandina and Turner left to attend the meeting; and, anxious as I was
to follow them myself, I was obliged to remain with Mr. Luckett to watch
the strangers, which we did for about fifteen minutes, when Mr. Luckett
said that he should go to a friend's to stay over night, and I left for
my hotel, arriving there at about 9, p.m., and soon retired."

It is in a secret communication between hireling spies and paid
informers that these ferocious sentiments are attributed to the poor
knight of the soap-pot. No disinterested person would believe the
story upon such evidence; and it will appear hereafter, that even the
detective felt that it was too weak to mention among his strong points
at that decisive moment, when he revealed all he knew to the President
and his friends. It is probably a mere fiction. If it had had any
foundation in fact, we are inclined to believe that the sprightly and
eloquent barber would have dangled at a rope's end long since. He would
hardly have been left to shave and plot in peace, while the members of
the Legislature, the police-marshal, and numerous private gentlemen,
were locked up in Federal prisons. When Mr. Lincoln was actually slain,
four years later, and the cupidity of the detectives was excited
by enormous rewards, Ferrandina was totally unmolested. But even if
Ferrandina really said all that is here imputed to him, he did no more
than many others around him were doing at the same time. He drank and
talked, and made swelling speeches; but he never took, nor seriously
thought of taking, the first step toward the frightful tragedy he is
said to have contemplated.

The detectives are cautious not to include in the supposed plot to
murder any person of eminence, power, or influence. Their game is all
of the smaller sort, and, as they conceived, easily taken,--witless
vagabonds like Hilliard and Luckett, and a barber, whose calling
indicates his character and associations. They had no fault to find with
the governor of the State: he was rather a lively trimmer, to be sure,
and very anxious to turn up at last on the winning side; but it was
manifestly impossible that one in such exalted station could meditate
murder. Yet, if they had pushed their inquiries with an honest desire to
get at the truth, they might have found much stronger evidence against
the governor than that which they pretend to have found against the
barber. In the governor's case the evidence is documentary, written,
authentic,--over his own hand, clear and conclusive as pen and ink could
make it. As early as the previous November, Gov. Hicks had written the
following letter; and, notwithstanding its treasonable and murderous
import, the writer became conspicuously loyal before spring, and lived
to reap splendid rewards and high honors under the auspices of the
Federal Government, as the most patriotic and devoted Union man in
Maryland. The person to whom the letter was addressed was equally
fortunate; and, instead of drawing out his comrades in the field to
"kill Lincoln and his men," he was sent to Congress by power exerted
from Washington at a time when the administration selected the
representatives of Maryland, and performed all his duties right loyally
and acceptably. Shall one be taken, and another left? Shall Hicks go to
the Senate, and Webster to Congress, while the poor barber is held to
the silly words which he is alleged to have sputtered out between drinks
in a low groggery, under the blandishments and encouragements of an
eager spy, itching for his reward?

State of Maryland, Executive Chamber, Annapolis, Nov. 9, 1860.

Hon. E. H. Webster.

My dear Sir,--I have pleasure in acknowledging receipt of your favor
introducing a very clever gentleman to my acquaintance (though a
Demo'). I regret to say that we have, at this time, no arms on hand to
distribute, but assure you at the earliest possible moment your company
shall have arms: they have complied with all required on their part. We
have some delay, in consequence of contracts with Georgia and Alabama,
ahead of us: we expect at an early day an additional supply, and of
first received your people shall be furnished. Will they be good men to
send out to kill Lincoln and his men? if not, suppose the arms would be
better sent South.

How does late election sit with you? 'Tis too bad. Harford, nothing to
reproach herself for.

Your obedient servant,

Thos. H. Hicks.

With the Presidential party was Hon. Norman B. Judd: he was supposed
to exercise unbounded influence over the new President; and with him,
therefore, the detective opened communications. At various places along
the route, Mr. Judd was given vague hints of the impending danger,
accompanied by the usual assurances of the skill and activity of the
patriots who were perilling their lives in a rebel city to save that of
the Chief Magistrate. When he reached New York, he was met by the woman
who had originally gone with the other spies to Baltimore. She had
urgent messages from her chief,--messages that disturbed Mr. Judd
exceedingly. The detective was anxious to meet Mr. Judd and the
President; and a meeting was accordingly arranged to take place at
Philadelphia.

Mr. Lincoln reached Philadelphia on the afternoon of the 21st. The
detective had arrived in the morning, and improved the interval to
impress and enlist Mr. Felton. In the evening he got Mr. Judd and Mr.
Felton into his room at the St. Louis Hotel, and told them all he
had learned. He dwelt at large on the fierce temper of the Baltimore
Secessionists; on the loose talk he had heard about "fire-balls or
hand-grenades;" on a "privateer" said to be moored somewhere in the
bay; on the organization called National Volunteers; on the fact, that,
eaves-dropping at Barnum's Hotel, he had overheard Marshal Kane intimate
that he would not supply a police-force on some undefined occasion, but
what the occasion was he did not know. He made much of his miserable
victim, Hilliard, whom he held up as a perfect type of the class from
which danger was to be apprehended; but, concerning "Captain" Ferrandina
and his threats, he said, according to his own account, not a single
word. He had opened his case, his whole case, and stated it as strongly
as he could. Mr. Judd was very much startled, and was sure that it would
be extremely imprudent for Mr. Lincoln to pass through Baltimore in
open daylight, according to the published programme. But he thought the
detective ought to see the President himself; and, as it was wearing
toward nine o'clock, there was no time to lose. It was agreed that the
part taken by the detective and Mr. Felton should be kept secret from
every one but the President. Mr. Sanford, President of the American
Telegraph Company, had also been co-operating in the business; and the
same stipulation was made with regard to him.

Mr. Judd went to his own room at the Continental, and the detective
followed. The crowd in the hotel was very dense, and it took some time
to get a message to Mr. Lincoln. But it finally reached him, and he
responded in person. Mr. Judd introduced the detective; and the latter
told his story over again, with a single variation: this time he
mentioned the name of Ferrandina along with Hilliard's, but gave no more
prominence to one than to the other.

Mr. Judd and the detective wanted Lincoln to leave for Washington that
night. This he flatly refused to do. He had engagements with the people,
he said,--to raise a flag over Independence Hall in the morning, and to
exhibit himself at Harrisburg in the afternoon; and these engagements
he would not break in any event. But he would raise the flag, go to
Harrisburg, "get away quietly" in the evening, and permit himself to be
carried to Washington in the way they thought best. Even this, however,
he conceded with great reluctance. He condescended to cross-examine the
detective on some parts of his narrative, but at no time did he seem in
the least degree alarmed. He was earnestly requested not to communicate
the change of plan to any member of his party, except Mr. Judd, nor
permit even a suspicion of it to cross the mind of another. To this
he replied, that he would be compelled to tell Mrs. Lincoln; "and he
thought it likely that she would insist upon W. H. Lamon going with him;
but, aside from that, no one should know."

In the mean time, Mr. Seward had also discovered the conspiracy. He
despatched his son to Philadelphia to warn the President elect of the
terrible plot into whose meshes he was about to run. Mr. Lincoln turned
him over to Judd, and Judd told him they already knew all about it.
He went away with just enough information to enable his father to
anticipate the exact moment of Mr. Lincoln's surreptitious arrival in
Washington.

Early on the morning of the 22d, Mr. Lincoln raised the flag over
Independence Hall, and departed for Harrisburg. On the way, Mr. Judd
"gave him a full and precise detail of the arrangements that had been
made" the previous night. After the conference with the detective, Mr.
Sanford, Col. Scott, Mr. Felton, railroad and telegraph officials, had
been sent for, and came to Mr. Judd's room. They occupied nearly the
whole of the night in perfecting the plan. It was finally understood
that about six o'clock the next evening Mr. Lincoln should slip away
from the Jones Hotel, at Harrisburg, in company with a single member
of his party. A special car and engine would be provided for him on
the track outside the depot. All other trains on the road would be
"sidetracked" until this one had passed. Mr. Sanford would forward
skilled "telegraph-climbers," and see that all the wires leading out
of Harrisburg were cut at six o'clock, and kept down until it was known
that Mr. Lincoln had reached Washington in safety. The detective would
meet Mr. Lincoln at the West Philadelphia depot with a carriage, and
conduct him by a circuitous route to the Philadelphia, Wilmington,
and Baltimore depot. Berths for four would be pre-engaged in the
sleeping-car attached to the regular midnight train for Baltimore. This
train Mr. Felton would cause to be detained until the conductor should
receive a package, containing important "government despatches,"
addressed to "E. J. Allen, Willard's Hotel, Washington." This package
was made up of old newspapers, carefully wrapped and sealed, and
delivered to the detective to be used as soon as Mr. Lincoln was
lodged in the car. Mr. Lincoln approved of the plan, and signified his
readiness to acquiesce. Then Mr. Judd, forgetting the secrecy which the
spy had so impressively enjoined, told Mr. Lincoln that the step he was
about to take was one of such transcendent importance, that he thought
"it should be communicated to the other gentlemen of the party." Mr.
Lincoln said, "You can do as you like about that." Mr. Judd now changed
his seat; and Mr. Nicolay, whose suspicions seem to have been aroused by
this mysterious conference, sat down beside him, and said, "Judd,
there is something up. What is it, if it is proper that I should
know?"--"George," answered Judd, "there is no necessity for your knowing
it. One man can keep a matter better than two."

Arrived at Harrisburg, and the public ceremonies and speech-making over,
Mr. Lincoln retired to a private parlor in the Jones House; and Mr. Judd
summoned to meet him Judge Davis, Col. Lamon, Col. Sumner, Major Hunter,
and Capt. Pope. The three latter were officers of the regular army,
and had joined the party after it had left Springfield. Judd began the
conference by stating the alleged fact of the Baltimore conspiracy,
how it was detected, and how it was proposed to thwart it by a midnight
expedition to Washington by way of Philadelphia. It was a great surprise
to most of those assembled. Col. Sumner was the first to break silence.
"That proceeding," said he, "will be a damned piece of cowardice." Mr.
Judd considered this a "pointed hit," but replied that "that view of
the case had already been presented to Mr. Lincoln." Then there was a
general interchange of opinions, which Sumner interrupted by saying,
"I'll get a squad of cavalry, sir, and _cut_ our way to Washington,
sir!"--"Probably before that day comes," said Mr. Judd, "the
inauguration day will have passed. It is important that Mr. Lincoln
should be in Washington that day." Thus far Judge Davis had expressed no
opinion, but "had put various questions to test the truthfulness of the
story." He now turned to Mr. Lincoln, and said, "You personally heard
the detective's story. You have heard this discussion. What is your
judgment in the matter?"--"I have listened," answered Mr. Lincoln,
"to this discussion with interest. I see no reason, no good reason, to
change the programme; and I am for carrying it out as arranged by Judd."
There was no longer any dissent as to the plan itself; but one question
still remained to be disposed of. Who should accompany the President on
his perilous ride? Mr. Judd again took the lead, declaring that he and
Mr. Lincoln had previously determined that but one man ought to go, and
that Col. Lamon had been selected as the proper person. To this Sumner
violently demurred. "_I_ have undertaken," he exclaimed, "to see Mr.
Lincoln to Washington."

Mr. Lincoln was hastily dining when a close carriage was brought to the
side-door of the hotel. He was called, hurried to his room, changed his
coat and hat, and passed rapidly through the hall and out of the door.
As he was stepping into the carriage, it became manifest that Sumner was
determined to get in also. "Hurry with him," whispered Judd to Lamon,
and at the same time, placing his hand on Sumner's shoulder, said aloud,
"One moment, colonel!" Sumner turned around; and, in that moment, the
carriage drove rapidly away. "A madder man," says Mr. Judd, "you never
saw."

Mr. Lincoln and Col. Lamon got on board the car without discovery or
mishap. Besides themselves, there was no one in or about the car but Mr.
Lewis, general superintendent of the Pennsylvania Central Railroad,
and Mr. Franciscus, superintendent of the division over which they were
about to pass. As Mr. Lincoln's dress on this occasion has been much
discussed, it may be as well to state that he wore a soft, light felt
hat, drawn down over his face when it seemed necessary or convenient,
and a shawl thrown over his shoulders, and pulled up to assist in
disguising his features when passing to and from the carriage. This was
all there was of the "Scotch cap and cloak," so widely celebrated in the
political literature of the day.

At ten o'clock they reached Philadelphia, and were met by the detective,
and one Mr. Kinney, an under-official of the Philadelphia, Wilmington,
and Baltimore Railroad. Lewis and Franciscus bade Mr. Lincoln adieu. Mr.
Lincoln, Col. Lamon, and the detective seated themselves in a carriage,
which stood in waiting, and Mr. Kinney got upon the box with the driver.
It was a full hour and a half before the Baltimore train was to start;
and Mr. Kinney found it necessary "to consume the time by driving
northward in search of some imaginary person."

On the way through Philadelphia, Mr. Lincoln told his companions about
the message he had received from Mr. Seward. This new discovery was
infinitely more appalling than the other. Mr. Seward had been informed
"that about _fifteen thousand men_ were organized to prevent his
(Lincoln's) passage through Baltimore, and that arrangements were made
by these parties _to blow up the railroad track, fire the train._" &c.
In view of these unpleasant circumstances, Mr. Seward recommended a
change of route. Here was a plot big enough to swallow up the little
one, which we are to regard as the peculiar property of Mr. Felton's
detective. Hilliard, Ferrandina, and Luckett disappear among the
"fifteen thousand;" and their maudlin and impotent twaddle about the
"abolition tyrant" looks very insignificant beside the bloody massacre,
conflagration, and explosion now foreshadowed.

As the moment for the departure of the Baltimore train drew near, the
carriage paused in the dark shadows of the depot building. It was not
considered prudent to approach the entrance. The spy passed in first,
and was followed by Mr. Lincoln and Col. Lamon. An agent of the former
directed them to the sleeping-car, which they entered by the rear door.
Mr. Kinney ran forward, and delivered to the conductor the "important
package" prepared for the purpose; and in three minutes the train was
in motion. The tickets for the whole party had been procured beforehand.
Their berths were ready, but had only been preserved from invasion
by the statement, that they were retained for a sick man and his
attendants. The business had been managed very adroitly by the female
spy, who had accompanied her employer from Baltimore to Philadelphia to
assist him in this the most delicate and important affair of his life.
Mr. Lincoln got into his bed immediately; and the curtains were drawn
together. When the conductor came around, the detective handed him the
"sick man's" ticket; and the rest of the party lay down also. None of
"our party appeared to be sleepy," says the detective; "but we all
lay quiet, and nothing of importance transpired." "Mr. Lincoln is very
homely," said the woman in her "report," "and so very tall, that he
could not lay straight in his berth." During the night Mr. Lincoln
indulged in a joke or two, in an undertone; but, with that exception,
the "two sections" occupied by them were perfectly silent. The detective
said he had men stationed at various places along the road to let
him know "if all was right;" and he rose and went to the platform
occasionally to observe their signals, but returned each time with a
favorable report.

At thirty minutes after three, the train reached Baltimore. One of the
spy's assistants came on board, and informed him "in a whisper that all
was right." The woman got out of the car. Mr. Lincoln lay close in his
berth; and in a few moments the car was being slowly drawn through the
quiet streets of the city toward the Washington depot. There again there
was another pause, but no sound more alarming than the noise of shifting
cars and engines. The passengers, tucked away on their narrow shelves,
dozed on as peacefully as if Mr. Lincoln had never been born, until
they were awakened by the loud strokes of a huge club against a
night-watchman's box, which stood within the depot and close to the
track. It was an Irishman, trying to arouse a sleepy ticket-agent,
comfortably ensconced within. For twenty minutes the Irishman pounded
the box with ever-increasing vigor, and, at each report of his blows,
shouted at the top of his voice, "Captain! it's four o'clock! it's four
o'clock!" The Irishman seemed to think that time had ceased to run at
four o'clock, and, making no allowance for the period consumed by his
futile exercises, repeated to the last his original statement that it
was four o'clock. The passengers were intensely amused; and their jokes
and laughter at the Irishman's expense were not lost upon the occupants
of the "two sections" in the rear. "Mr. Lincoln," says the detective,
appeared "to enjoy it very much, and made several witty remarks, showing
that he was as full of fun as ever."

In due time the train sped out of the suburbs of Baltimore; and the
apprehensions of the President and his friends diminished with each
welcome revolution of the wheels. At six o'clock the dome of the Capitol
came in sight; and a moment later they rolled into the long, unsightly
building, which forms the Washington depot. They passed out of the car
unobserved, and pushed along with the living stream of men and women
toward the outer door. One man alone in the great crowd seemed to watch
Mr. Lincoln with special attention. Standing a little on one side, he
"looked very sharp at him," and, as he passed, seized hold of his hand,
and said in a loud tone of voice, "Abe, you can't play that on me." The
detective and Col. Lamon were instantly alarmed. One of them raised his
fist to strike the stranger; but Mr. Lincoln caught his arm, and said,
"Don't strike him! don't strike him! It is Washburne. Don't you know
him?" Mr. Seward had given to Mr. Washburne a hint of the information
received through his son; and Mr. Washburne knew its value as well as
another. For the present, the detective admonished him to keep quiet;
and they passed on together. Taking a hack, they drove towards Willard's
Hotel. Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Washburne, and the detectives got out in the
street, and approached the ladies' entrance; while Col. Lamon drove on
to the main entrance, and sent the proprietor to meet his distinguished
guest at the side door. A few minutes later Mr. Seward arrived, and
was introduced to the company by Mr. Washburne. He spoke in very strong
terms of the great danger which Mr. Lincoln had so narrowly escaped, and
most heartily applauded the wisdom of the "secret passage." "I informed
Gov. Seward of the nature of the information I had," says the detective,
"and that I had no information of any large organization in Baltimore;
but the Governor reiterated that he had conclusive evidence of this."

It soon became apparent that Mr. Lincoln wished to be left alone.
He said he was "rather tired;" and, upon this intimation, the party
separated. The detective went to the telegraph-office, and loaded the
wires with despatches, containing the pleasing intelligence that "Plums"
had brought "Nuts" through in safety. In the spy's cipher the President
elect was reduced to the undignified title of "Nuts."

That same day Mr. Lincoln's family and suite passed through Baltimore on
the special train intended for him. They saw no sign of any disposition
to burn them alive, or to blow them up with gunpowder, but went their
way unmolested and very happy.

Mr. Lincoln soon learned to regret the midnight ride. His friends
reproached him, his enemies taunted him. He was convinced that he
had committed a grave mistake in yielding to the solicitations of a
professional spy and of friends too easily alarmed. He saw that he
had fled from a danger purely imaginary, and felt the shame and
mortification natural to a brave man under such circumstances. But
he was not disposed to take all the responsibility to himself, and
frequently upbraided the writer for having aided and assisted him to
demean himself at the very moment in all his life when his behavior
should have exhibited the utmost dignity and composure.

The news of his surreptitious entry into Washington occasioned much and
varied comment throughout the country; but important events followed it
in such rapid succession, that its real significance was soon lost sight
of. Enough that Mr. Lincoln was safely at the capital, and in a few days
would in all probability assume the power confided to his hands.

If before leaving Springfield he had become weary of the pressure upon
him for office, he found no respite on his arrival at the focus of
political intrigue and corruption. The intervening days before his
inauguration were principally occupied in arranging the construction
of his Cabinet. He was pretty well determined on this subject before he
reached Washington; but in the minds of the public, beyond the generally
accepted fact, that Mr. Seward was to be the Premier of the new
administration, all was speculation and conjecture. From the
circumstances of the case, he was compelled to give patient ear to
the representations which were made him in favor of or against various
persons or parties, and to hold his final decisions till the last
moment, in order that he might decide with a full view of the
requirements of public policy and party fealty.

The close of this volume is not the place to enter into a detailed
history of the circumstances which attended the inauguration of Mr.
Lincoln's administration, nor of the events which signalized the close
of Mr. Buchanan's. The history of the former cannot be understood
without tracing its relation to that of the latter, and both demand more
impartial consideration than either has yet received.

The 4th of March, 1861, at last arrived; and at noon on that day the
administration of James Buchanan was to come to a close, and that of
Abraham Lincoln was to take its place. Mr. Lincoln's feelings, as the
hour approached which was to invest him with greater responsibilities
than had fallen upon any of his predecessors, may readily be imagined by
the readers of the foregoing pages. If he saw in his elevation another
step towards the fulfilment of that destiny which at times he believed
awaited him, the thought served but to tinge with a peculiar, almost
poetic sadness, the manner in which he addressed himself to the solemn
duties of the hour.

[Illustration: Norman B. Judd 579]

The morning opened pleasantly. At an early hour he gave his inaugural
address its final revision. Extensive preparations had been made to
render the occasion as impressive as possible. By nine o'clock the
procession had begun to form, and at eleven o'clock it commenced to move
toward Willard's Hotel. Mr. Buchanan was still at the Capitol, signing
bills till the official term of his office expired. At half-past twelve
he called for Mr. Lincoln; and, after a delay of a few moments, both
descended, and entered the open barouche in waiting for them. Shortly
after, the procession took up its line of march for the Capitol.

Apprehensions existed, that possibly some attempt might be made to
assassinate Mr. Lincoln; and accordingly his carriage was carefully
surrounded by the military and the Committee of Arrangements. By order
of Gen. Scott, troops were placed at various points about the city,
as well as on the tops of some of the houses along the route of the
procession.

The Senate remained in session till twelve o'clock, when Mr.
Breckinridge, in a few well-chosen words, bade the senators farewell,
and then conducted his successor, Mr. Hamlin, to the chair. At this
moment, members and members elect of the House of Representatives, and
the Diplomatic Corps, entered the chamber. At thirteen minutes to one,
the Judges of the Supreme Court were announced; and on their entrance,
headed by the venerable Chief-Justice Taney, all on the floor arose,
while they moved slowly to the seats assigned them at the right of
the Vice-President, bowing to that officer as they passed. At fifteen
minutes past one, the Marshal-in-Chief entered the chamber ushering in
the President and President elect. Mr. Lincoln looked pale, and wan, and
anxious. In a few moments, the Marshal led the way to the platform at
the eastern portico of the Capitol, where preparations had been made
for the inauguration ceremony; and he was followed by the Judges of
the Supreme Court, Sergeant-at-Arms of the Senate, the Committee
of Arrangements, the President and President elect, Vice-President,
Secretary of the Senate, Senators, Diplomatic Corps, Heads of
Departments, and others in the chamber.

On arriving at the platform, Mr. Lincoln was introduced to the assembly,
by the Hon. E. D. Baker, United States Senator from Oregon. Stepping
forward, in a manner deliberate and impressive, he read in a clear,
penetrating voice, the following


INAUGURAL ADDRESS.

Fellow-Citizens of the United States:--

In compliance with a custom as old as the Government itself, I appear
before you to address you briefly, and to take, in your presence, the
oath prescribed by the Constitution of the United States to be taken by
the President before he enters on the execution of his office.

I do not consider it necessary, at present, for me to discuss those
matters of administration about which there is no special anxiety or
excitement. Apprehension seems to exist among the people of the Southern
States, that, by the accession of a Republican administration, their
property and their peace and personal security are to be endangered.
There has never been any reasonable cause for such apprehension. Indeed,
the most ample evidence to the contrary has all the while existed, and
been open to their inspection. It is found in nearly all the published
speeches of him who now addresses you. I do but quote from one of
those speeches, when I declare, that "I have no purpose, directly or
indirectly, to interfere with the institution of slavery in the States
where it exists." I believe I have no lawful right to do so; and I have
no inclination to do so. Those who nominated and elected me did so with
the full knowledge that I had made this and many similar declarations,
and had never recanted them. And, more than this, they placed in the
platform, for my acceptance, and as a law to themselves and to me, the
clear and emphatic resolution which I now read:--

"Resolved, That the maintenance inviolate of the rights of the States,
and especially the right of each State to order and control its own
domestic institutions according to its own judgment exclusively, is
essential to that balance of power on which the perfection and endurance
of our political fabric depend; and we denounce the lawless invasion by
armed force of the soil of any State or Territory, no matter under what
pretext, as among the gravest of crimes."

I now reiterate these sentiments; and, in doing so, I only press upon
the public attention the most conclusive evidence of which the case is
susceptible, that the property, peace, and security of no section are to
be in any wise endangered by the now incoming administration.

I add, too, that all the protection which, consistently with the
Constitution and the laws, can be given, will be cheerfully given to all
the States, when lawfully demanded, for whatever cause, as cheerfully to
one section as to another.

There is much controversy about the delivering up of fugitives from
service or labor. The clause I now read is as plainly written in the
Constitution as any other of its provisions:--

"No person held to service or labor in one State under the laws thereof,
escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation
therein, be discharged from such service or labor, but shall be
delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be
due."

It is scarcely questioned that this provision was intended by those
who made it for the reclaiming of what we call fugitive slaves; and the
intention of the lawgiver is the law.

All members of Congress swear their support to the whole
Constitution,--to this provision as well as any other. To the
proposition, then, that slaves whose cases come within the terms of this
clause "shall be delivered up," their oaths are unanimous. Now, if they
would make the effort in good temper, could they not, with nearly equal
unanimity, frame and pass a law by means of which to keep good that
unanimous oath?

There is some difference of opinion whether this clause should be
enforced by national or by State authority; but surely that difference
is not a very material one. If the slave is to be surrendered, it can be
of but little consequence to him or to others by which authority it is
done; and should any one in any case be content that this oath shall go
unkept on a merely unsubstantial controversy as to how it shall be kept?

Again, in any law upon this subject, ought not all the safeguards of
liberty known in civilized and humane jurisprudence to be introduced, so
that a free man be not, in any case, surrendered as a slave? And might
it not be well at the same time to provide by law for the enforcement of
that clause in the Constitution which guarantees that "the citizens of
each State shall be entitled to all the privileges and immunities of
citizens in the several States"?

I take the official oath to-day with no mental reservations, and with no
purpose to construe the Constitution or laws by any hypercritical rules;
and, while I do not choose now to specify particular acts of Congress as
proper to be enforced, I do suggest, that it will be much safer for all,
both in official and private stations, to conform to and abide by all
those acts which stand unrepealed, than to violate any of them, trusting
to find impunity in having them held to be unconstitutional.

It is seventy-two years since the first inauguration of a President
under our national Constitution. During that period, fifteen different
and very distinguished citizens have in succession administered the
executive branch of the government. They have conducted it through many
perils, and generally with great success. Yet, with all this scope for
precedent, I now enter upon the same task, for the brief constitutional
term of four years, under great and peculiar difficulties.

A disruption of the Federal Union, heretofore only menaced, is now
formidably attempted. I hold, that, in the contemplation of universal
law and of the Constitution, the Union of these States is perpetual.
Perpetuity is implied, if not expressed, in the fundamental law of all
national governments. It is safe to assert that no government proper
ever had a provision in its organic law for its own termination.
Continue to execute all the express provisions of our national
Constitution, and the Union will endure forever; it being impossible
to destroy it, except by some action not provided for in the instrument
itself.

Again, if the United States be not a government proper, but an
association of States in the nature of a contract merely, can it, as a
contract, be peaceably unmade by less than all the parties who made it?
One party to a contract may violate it,--break it, so to speak; but does
it not require all to lawfully rescind it? Descending from these general
principles, we find the proposition that in legal contemplation the
Union is perpetual confirmed by the history of the Union itself.

The Union is much older than the Constitution. It was formed, in fact,
by the Articles of Association in 1774. It was matured and continued in
the Declaration of Independence in 1776. It was further matured, and
the faith of all the then thirteen States expressly plighted and engaged
that it should be perpetual, by the Articles of Confederation, in 1778;
and, finally, in 1787, one of the declared objects for ordaining and
establishing the Constitution was to form a more perfect Union. But, if
the destruction of the Union by one or by a part only of the States
be lawfully possible, the Union is less than before, the Constitution
having lost the vital element of perpetuity.

It follows from these views that no State, upon its own mere motion,
can lawfully get out of the Union; that resolves and ordinances to that
effect are legally void; and that acts of violence within any State or
States against the authority of the United States, are insurrectionary
or revolutionary according to circumstances.

I therefore consider, that, in view of the Constitution and the laws,
the Union is unbroken; and, to the extent of my ability, I shall take
care, as the Constitution itself expressly enjoins upon me, that the
laws of the Union shall be faithfully executed in all the States.
Doing this, which I deem to be only a simple duty on my part, I shall
perfectly perform it, so far as is practicable, unless my rightful
masters, the American people, shall withhold the requisite power, or in
some authoritative manner direct the contrary.

I trust this will not be regarded as a menace, but only as the declared
purpose of the Union that it will constitutionally defend and maintain
itself.

In doing this, there need be no bloodshed or violence; and there shall
be none unless it is forced upon the national authority.

The power confided to me _will be used to hold, occupy, and possess the
property and places belonging to the government_, and collect the duties
and imposts; but, beyond what may be necessary for these objects, there
will be no invasion, no using of force against or among the people
anywhere.

Where hostility to the United States shall be so great and so universal
as to prevent competent resident citizens from holding the Federal
offices, there will be no attempt to force obnoxious strangers among the
people for that object. While the strict legal right may exist of the
Government to enforce the exercise of these offices, the attempt to do
so would be so irritating, and so nearly impracticable withal, that I
deem it better to forego for the time the uses of such offices.

The mails, unless repelled, will continue to be furnished in all parts
of the Union.

So far as possible, the people everywhere shall have that sense of
perfect security which is most favorable to calm thought and reflection.

The course here indicated will be followed, unless current events and
experience shall show a modification or change to be proper; and in
every case and exigency my best discretion will be exercised according
to the circumstances actually existing, and with a view and hope of
a peaceful solution of the national troubles, and the restoration of
fraternal sympathies and affections.

That there are persons, in one section or another, who seek to destroy
the Union at all events, and are glad of any pretext to do it, I will
neither affirm nor deny. But, if there be such, I need address no word
to them.

To those, however, who really love the Union, may I not speak? Before
entering upon so grave a matter as the destruction of our national
fabric, with all its benefits, its memories, and its hopes, would it not
be well to ascertain why we do it? Will you hazard so desperate a step,
while any portion of the ills you fly from have no real existence? Will
you, while the certain ills you fly to are greater than all the real
ones you fly from? Will you risk the commission of so fearful a mistake?
All profess to be content in the Union if all constitutional rights can
be maintained. Is it true, then, that any right, plainly written in the
Constitution, has been denied? I think not. Happily the human mind is so
constituted, that no party can reach to the audacity of doing this.

Think, if you can, of a single instance in which a plainly written
provision of the Constitution has ever been denied. If, by the mere
force of numbers, a majority should deprive a minority of any clearly
written constitutional right, it might, in a moral point of view,
justify revolution: it certainly would, if such right were a vital one.
But such is not our case.

All the vital rights of minorities and of individuals are so plainly
assured to them by affirmations and negations, guaranties and
prohibitions, in the Constitution, that controversies never arise
concerning them. But no organic law can ever be framed with a provision
specifically applicable to every question which may occur in practical
administration. No foresight can anticipate, nor any document of
reasonable length contain, express provisions for all possible
questions. Shall fugitives from labor be surrendered by National or by
State authority? The Constitution does not expressly say. Must Congress
protect slavery in the Territories? The Constitution does not expressly
say. From questions of this class spring all our constitutional
controversies, and we divide upon them into majorities and minorities.

If the minority will not acquiesce, the majority must, or the government
must cease. There is no alternative for continuing the government but
acquiescence on the one side or the other. If a minority, in such a
case, will secede rather than acquiesce, they make a precedent which in
turn will ruin and divide them; for a minority of their own will secede
from them, whenever a majority refuses to be controlled by such a
minority. For instance, why not any portion of a new confederacy, a year
or two hence, arbitrarily secede again, precisely as portions of the
present Union now claim to secede from it? All who cherish disunion
sentiments are now being educated to the exact temper of doing this. Is
there such perfect identity of interests among the States to compose
a new Union as to produce harmony only, and prevent renewed secession?
Plainly, the central idea of secession is the essence of anarchy.

A majority held in restraint by constitutional check and limitation, and
always changing easily with deliberate changes of popular opinions and
sentiments, is the only true sovereign of a free people. Whoever rejects
it does, of necessity, fly to anarchy or to despotism. Unanimity is
impossible: the rule of a minority, as a permanent arrangement, is
wholly inadmissible; so that, rejecting the majority principle, anarchy
or despotism in some form is all that is left.

I do not forget the position assumed by some, that constitutional
questions are to be decided by the Supreme Court, nor do I deny that
such decisions must be binding in any case upon the parties to a suit,
as to the object of that suit; while they are also entitled to very high
respect and consideration in all parallel cases by all other departments
of the government; and, while it is obviously possible that such
decision may be erroneous in any given case, still, the evil effect
following it, being limited to that particular case, with the chance
that it may be overruled and never become a precedent for other cases,
can better be borne than could the evils of a different practice.

At the same time, the candid citizen must confess, that, if the policy
of the government upon the vital questions affecting the whole people
is to be irrevocably fixed by the decisions of the Supreme Court the
instant they are made, as in ordinary litigation between parties in
personal actions, the people will have ceased to be their own masters,
having to that extent practically resigned their government into the
hands of that eminent tribunal.

Nor is there in this view any assault upon the court or the judges.
It is a duty from which they may not shrink, to decide cases properly
brought before them; and it is no fault of theirs if others seek to
turn their decisions to political purposes. One section of our country
believes slavery is right and ought to be extended, while the other
believes it is wrong and ought not to be extended; and this is the only
substantial dispute: and the fugitive-slave clause of the Constitution,
and the law for the suppression of the foreign slave-trade, are each as
well enforced, perhaps, as any law can ever be in a community where the
moral sense of the people imperfectly supports the law itself. The great
body of the people abide by the dry, legal obligation in both cases, and
a few break over in each. This, I think, cannot be perfectly cured; and
it would be worse in both cases after the separation of the sections
than before. The foreign slave-trade, now imperfectly suppressed,
would be ultimately revived, without restriction, in one section;
while fugitive slaves, now only partially surrendered, would not be
surrendered at all by the other.

Physically speaking, we cannot separate: we cannot remove our respective
sections from each other, nor build an impassable wall between them. A
husband and wife may be divorced, and go out of the presence and beyond
the reach of each other; but the different parts of our country cannot
do this. They cannot but remain face to face; and intercourse, either
amicable or hostile, must continue between them. Is it possible, then,
to make that intercourse more advantageous or more satisfactory after
separation than before? Can aliens make treaties easier than friends can
make laws? Can treaties be more faithfully enforced between aliens than
laws can among friends? Suppose you go to war, you cannot fight always;
and when, after much loss on both sides, and no gain on either, you
cease fighting, the identical questions as to terms of intercourse are
again upon you.

This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit
it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the existing government, they can
exercise their constitutional right of amending, or their revolutionary
right to dismember or overthrow it. I cannot be ignorant of the fact,
that many worthy and patriotic citizens are desirous of having the
national Constitution amended. While I make no recommendation of
amendment, I fully recognize the full authority of the people over the
whole subject, to be exercised in either of the modes prescribed in the
instrument itself; and I should, under existing circumstances, favor
rather than oppose a fair opportunity being afforded the people to act
upon it.

I will venture to add, that to me the convention mode seems preferable,
in that it allows amendments to originate with the people themselves,
instead of only permitting them to take or reject propositions
originated by others not especially chosen for the purpose, and which
might not be precisely such as they would wish either to accept or
refuse. I understand that a proposed amendment to the Constitution
(which amendment, however, I have not seen) has passed Congress, to
the effect that the Federal Government shall never interfere with the
domestic institutions of States, including that of persons held to
service. To avoid misconstruction of what I have said, I depart from my
purpose not to speak of particular amendments so far as to say, that,
holding such a provision to now be implied constitutional law, I have no
objection to its being made express and irrevocable.

The chief magistrate derives all his authority from the people, and they
have conferred none upon him to fix the terms for the separation of the
States. The people themselves, also, can do this if they choose; but the
Executive, as such, has nothing to do with it. His duty is to administer
the present government as it came to his hands, and to transmit it
unimpaired by him to his successor. Why should there not be a patient
confidence in the ultimate justice of the people? Is there any better
or equal hope in the world? In our present differences, is either party
without faith of being in the right? If the Almighty Ruler of nations,
with his eternal truth and justice, be on your side of the North, or on
yours of the South, that truth and that justice will surely prevail by
the judgment of this great tribunal,--the American people. By the frame
of the government under which we live, this same people have wisely
given their public servants but little power for mischief, and have with
equal wisdom provided for the return of that little to their own hands
at very short intervals. While the people retain their virtue and
vigilance, no administration, by any extreme wickedness or folly, can
very seriously injure the Government in the short space of four years.

My countrymen, one and all, think calmly and well upon this whole
subject. Nothing valuable can be lost by taking time.

If there be an object to hurry any of you, in hot haste, to a step which
you would never take deliberately, that object will be frustrated by
taking time; but no good object can be frustrated by it.

Such of you as are now dissatisfied still have the old Constitution
unimpaired, and, on the sensitive point, the laws of your own framing
under it; while the new administration will have no immediate power, if
it would, to change either.

If it were admitted that you who are dissatisfied hold the right side
in the dispute, there is still no single reason for precipitate action.
Intelligence, patriotism, Christianity, and a firm reliance on Him who
has never yet forsaken this favored land, are still competent to adjust,
in the best way, all our present difficulties.

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. You
can have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the Government; while I
shall have the most solemn one to "preserve, protect, and defend" it.

I am loah to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be
enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds
of affection.

The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field and
patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad
land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as
surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

This address, so characteristic of its author, and so full of the
best qualities of Mr. Lincoln's nature, was well received by the
large audience which heard it. Having finished, Mr. Lincoln turned to
Chief-Justice Taney, who, with much apparent agitation and emotion,
administered to him the following oath:--

"I, Abraham Lincoln, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute
the office of President of the United States, and will, to the best of
my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United
States."

The ceremony concluded, Mr. Lincoln, as President of the United States,
in charge of the Committee of Arrangements, was accompanied by Mr.
Buchanan back to the Senate- Chamber, and from there to the Executive
Mansion. Here Mr. Buchanan took leave of him, invoking upon his
administration a peaceful and happy result; and here for the present we
leave him. In another volume we shall endeavor to trace his career as
the nation's Chief Magistrate during the ensuing four years.

APPENDIX.

[Illustration: Facsimile of Autobiography1 588]

[Illustration: Facsimile of Autobiography2 590]

[Illustration: Facsimile of Autobiography3 592]

THE circumstances under which the original of the accompanying
_facsimile_ was written are explained in the following letter:--

National Hotel, Washington, D.C., Feb. 19, 1872. Colonel Ward H. Lamon.

Dear Sir,--In compliance with your request, I place in your hands a copy
of a manuscript in my possession written by Abraham Lincoln, giving
a brief account of his early history, and the commencement of that
political career which terminated in his election to the Presidency.

It may not be inappropriate to say, that some time preceding the writing
of the enclosed, finding, in Pennsylvania and elsewhere, a laudable
curiosity in the public mind to know more about the early history of
Mr. Lincoln, and looking, too, to the possibilities of his being
an available candidate for the Presidency in 1860, I had on several
occasions requested of him this information, and that it was not without
some hesitation he placed in my hands even this very modest account of
himself, which he did in the month of December, 1859.

To this were added, by myself, other facts bearing upon his legislative
and political history, and the whole forwarded to a friend residing
in my native county (Chester, Pa.),--the Hon. Joseph J. Lewis, former
Commissioner of Internal Revenue,--who made them the basis of an
ably-written and somewhat elaborate memoir of the late President, which
appeared in the Pennsylvania and other papers of the country in January,
1860, and which contributed to prepare the way for the subsequent
nomination at Chicago the following June.

Believing this brief and unpretending narrative, written by himself in
his own peculiar vein,--and injustice to him I should add, without
the remotest expectation of its ever appearing in public,--with the
attending circumstances, may be of interest to the numerous admirers of
that historic and truly great man, I place it at your disposal.

I am truly yours,

Jesse W. Fell.






End of Project Gutenberg's The Life Of Abraham Lincoln, by Ward H. Lamon

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