ABRAHAM LINCOLN

Uniform with This Volume
GEORGE WASHINGTON
By PAUL LEICESTER FORD

"This work challenges attention for the really valuable light which it throws upon the character of George Washington."

—Philadelphia Bulletin.

THOMAS JEFFERSON
By WILLIAM ELEROY CURTIS

"The volume is particularly worth reading because it revives the many-sided nature and activity of a truly great man."

—Springfield Republican.

"A most readable and entertaining volume. Jefferson will stand higher in popular estimation because of the human touch in the picture."

—Brooklyn Eagle.

Copyright, 1891, by M. P. Rice

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

From an original, unretouched negative made in 1864

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

BY
WILLIAM ELEROY CURTIS
AUTHOR OF "THOMAS JEFFERSON", "THE TURK AND HIS LOST
PROVINCES", "THE UNITED STATES AND FOREIGN
POWERS", ETC.

WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS

PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
PHILADELPHIA, U.S.A.

He knew to bide his time,

And can his fame abide,

Still patient in his simple faith sublime,

Till the wise years decide.

Great captains, with their guns and drums,

Disturb our judgment for the hour,

But at last silence comes;

These all are gone, and, standing like a tower,

Our children shall behold his fame,

The kindly, earnest, brave, foreseeing man,

Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame,

New birth of our new soil, the first American.

—Lowell, Commemoration Ode

[Contents]

[List of Illustrations]

[A Lincoln Calendar]

[Abraham Lincoln]

[I]
THE MAN AND HIS KINDRED

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A. Lincoln.

"June 14, 1860."

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

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

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

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

THE BIRTHPLACE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

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

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

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

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

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

ROCK SPRING FARM, KENTUCKY, WHERE ABRAHAM LINCOLN WAS BORN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

ROCK SPRING ON THE FARM WHERE LINCOLN WAS BORN

From a photograph taken in September, 1895

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

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

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

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

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

"Mr. Blank, how tall are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.
AN INVITATION TO A SPRINGFIELD COTILLION PARTY
By special permission, from the collection of
C. F. Gunther, Esq., Chicago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell Shields that I wrote them."

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

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

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

MARY TODD LINCOLN, WIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

From a photograph by Brady in the War Department Collection

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yours very sincerely and respectfully,

"Abraham Lincoln."

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

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

"I knew it was a Copperhead lie!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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."

Copyright, 1900 by McClure, Phillips & Co.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We are not ready for trial."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright, 1900, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN THE SUMMER OF 1860

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[III]
A GREAT ORATOR AND HIS SPEECHES

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

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

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

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