Chapter II: Part 2

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

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

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

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

COTILLION PARTY.

The pleasure of your Company is respectfully solicited at
a Cotillion Party, to be given at the "American House", on
to-morrow evening at 7 o'clock, P. M.

December 16th, 1839

M. H. RIDGELY,
J. A. M'CLENNAND,
R. ALLEN,
N. H. WASH,
F. W. TOLD,
G. A. DOUGLASS,
W. S. PRENTICE,
N. W. EDWARDS,
J. E. SPEED,
J. SHIELDS,
E. D. TAYLOR,
E. H. MERRYMAN,
N. E. WHITESIDE,
M. EASTHAM,
J. R. DILLER,
A. LINCOLN,

Managers.

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

AN INVITATION TO A SPRINGFIELD COTILLION PARTY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell Shields that I wrote them."

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

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

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

From a photograph by Brady in the War Department Collection]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yours very sincerely and respectfully,
"ABRAHAM LINCOLN."

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

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

"I knew it was a Copperhead lie!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II

THE LEADER OF THE SPRINGFIELD BAR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Education defective.

"Profession, lawyer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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