Class- Book_ ,* Abraham Lincoln AN ADDRESS BY Hon. Newton Bateman, LL. D. • ♦ Abraham Lincoln An Address Hon. Newton Bateman, LL. D. PVBLLSHED BY The : Cadmvs : Clvb 0ALES5VR0, ILL. MDCCCXCIX 3fe • This little volume is its own excuse for existence. Dr. Bateman's family have au- thorized its publication, in compliance with very many requests from friends of the au- thor. The lecture as delivered, will live in the memories and hearts of the many who have heard it, as will the vivid and impres- sive personality of the speaker. We believe tli at its intrinsic worth demands the per- manence of print, that the audience may not be limited to those who have been privileged to hear that eloquent voice, now stilled. We hope to follow this monograph very soon, by a volume consisting - of Dr. Bate- man's life and lectures, for which we be- speak the welcome with which our father's words were always received by his loyal "Boys and Girls'' of Old Knox. - — — — — PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OE ABRAHAM LINCOLN. & !S2 2J2I 2S2S BRAHAM LINCOLN was born in Hardin County, Kentucky, February 12, 1809. I first met him in the cit} T of Spring- field, Illinois, in 1842, and from that time till his departure from that place for Washing-ton on the 11th of Febru- ary, 1861, I saw much of him in the court room, on the hustings, at social gatherings, in the State House, on the streets, and elsewhere. But it was not till my removal to Springfield, in 1858, after my first election to the State Superintendency of Schools, that my personal acquaintance with him can be said to have been close and intimate. Soon after his first nomination for the Presidency, finding his modest little house Personal Reminiscences on Eighth Street, in Spring-field, too small for the throngs of visitors which pressed upon him from all parts of the country, his friends installed him in the Executive Cham- ber of the old State House, where he contin- ued to hold daily receptions till his departure for Washing-ton the following February. My office during the whole of that period of nearly eight months, was in a room ad- joining the one used by Mr. Lincoln, and communicating with it by a door which was usually wide open,— at Mr. Lincoln's re- quest—to secure for both rooms a better ventilation, and to afford relief to his often over-crowded chamber, the surplus frequent- ly overflowing into my office while awaiting their turn to see Mr. Lincoln. Nearly every day, during the summer months, he would pass from one room to the other, shak- ing hands and chatting with his friends and callers. It was during these eight months in which I heard and saw him every day, for several of Abraham Lincoln. hours, that I had excellent opportunities of observing- and studying- the man. I do not need to say to you that there was, in Mr. Lincoln, a quiet but keen sense of humor. No reference to him would be com- plete that should omit this characteristic. "The little story," of which he was so fond. and which he often turned to such good ac- count, is blended with all our notions of the man. He was himself a capital story-teller, — an artist indeed in that line. He knew how to select and arrange the material, what to put in the fore-ground, what in the back- ground, what to set up as the central figure, and how to make all converge to- wards the final climax. He knew how to whet curiosity just enough to hold the at- tention of all to the end, without giving the least clue as to the nature of the final explosion; and he especially excelled in that supreme generalship which enables an ac- complished story-teller to keep his reserves out of sight till the opportune moment, and Personal Reminiscences then suddenly deploy them with dramatic effect, and make the story end with their dashing - charge. His manner in these pleasantries is not to be described. It was usually very quiet — never boisterous, but so piquant and pecu- liar; such a twinkle in his eye, such woik- ing-s of his mobile face, such lurking fun in his tones, and such quaint drolleries of expression. One thing in this connection is note- worthy; in not one of hundreds of stories which I heard him tell, was there the sem- blance of malice or venom — no personal cut or sting. However broad the travesty, keen the wit, or side-shaking the burlesque, he was careful never to wound the feelings or trifle with the sensibilities of any man, present or absent. His humor was the over- flow of a gentle and tender nature, and as free from malice as the prattle of a child. He would tell a storey with as much de- light and zest at his own expense as at the 8 of Abraham Lincoln. expense of another, — rather more, if any- thing - , I often thought. One of his favorite places of resort in Springfield when seeking rest and social recreation, was the little consulting room, south of and adjoining the Supreme Court Library, in the old State House, and the Sec- retary of State's office in the same building. Entering the latter one morning after his return from court in Petersburg", Menard County — and when hacks and stage coaches were the only means of reaching that place — seeing a number of us standing about, he said: "Sit down, boys; I have a little story to tell you." A circle was soon formed around the stove, and he began: "Going to Petersburg the other day, I was the only passenger in the hack. A.fter we'd gone about a mile from town, the driver, whom I didn't know, turned around to me and said: 'Have suthin warmin', Mister?' — it was a cold day, — at the same time handing me a suspicious looking black bottle. ' No, thank 9 Personal Reminiscences you' said I, 'I don't drink.' The driver looked surprised, but lapsed into silence and drove on. After awhile he turned around again with the remark: ' Have one, Mister?' reaching- out a handful of old stogy cigars, such as used to sell in Kentucky, 'seventeen for a cent, bit a barrel, and two for noth- ing - .' 'No, thank you,' said I, 'I don't smoke.' This time the driver looked more surprised but said nothing. Two or three miles further on, pulling from his pocket a plug of tobacco half a foot long and as black as tar, he poked it toward me, saying: ' Have a chaw, Mister?' 'No, thank you' said I, 'I don't chew.' At this his face was a picture of blank astonishment, but he drove on in silence. Half an hour or so afterwards, turning around again, he said, with a con- cerned look and tone: 'Mister, I'm a'f eared for you ! ' ' Afraid for me ? ' ' Yes I am — I'm downright oneasy about you ! ' ' Why so,' said I. 'Well, I'll tell you. You don't drink, nor smoke, nor chaw; and I've no- lo oj Abraham Lincoln. ticed all my life, that when a man hain't got no little vices, like them, he's mighty apt to have big - ones — I'm really consarned about you, Mister !' " Mr. Lincoln was often pitted at the Bar, against a very eminent lawyer, of Spring- field, who was extremely careless, almost slatternly, in his dress and manners. In a certain cause in which they were engaged as opposing counsel — a cause of no great intrinsic importance — Mr. Lincoln, after his adversary's masterly review of the evi- dence and clear statement of the legal prin- ciples involved, plainly perceived that unless he could execute some sort of a flank move- ment so as to break the force of that speech, he was certainly defeated. His quick eye had already discovered an irregularity in his antagonist's personal appearance. Ris- ing in his turn to address the jury, he said: "My learned friend has made an able speech to you. He has analyzed the testi- mony with his accustomed acuteness and 11 Per so nal Rem in iseen ees skill, and laid down to you the law with his usual ability and confidence. And I am not going- to assert, positively, that he is mis- taken, either as to the law or the evidence. It would not become me to do so, for he is an older and better lawyer than I am. Nevertheless I may properly make a sug- gestion to you, gentlemen of the jury. And I now ask you, and each of you, to look, closely and attentively, at my friend, the counsel on the other side, as he sits there before you, — look at him all over, but espe- cially at the upper part of him, and then tell me if it may not be possible that a lawyer who is so unmindful of the proprie- ties of this place as to come into the pres- ence of his Honor and into your presence, gentlemen of the jury, with his standing collar on wrong-end-to, may not possibly be mistaken in his opinion of the law? That is all I have to say.'" The explosion that followed this speech may be imagined. All eyes were turned 12 of Abraham Lincoln. toward the luckless object of it, and, sure enough, there the learned barrister sat, with his standing- collar buttoned on wrong-, and its two points sticking out behind, like horns. I need not say that Mr. Lincoln was incapable of indulging in such pleasantries in a trial of any serious importance. One of the most impressive incidents in Mr. Lincoln's life as a lawyer that I ever witnessed, occurred in a murder trial of much notoriety at the time. The court room was crowded — excitement ran high — Mr. Lincoln, who was for the de- fense, had just made one of his calm, clear, plain, and forcible speeches. Firm^ be- lieving- that his client was innocent, it was evident that he had made the jury believe so, too. The senior counsel on the other side rose to reply. Noting the effect on the jury of the speech just made, he was deter- mined to counteract it at all hazards. "Well, gentlemen, " said he, "you have 13 Personal Reminiscences heard Mr. Lincoln — 'honest Abe Lincoln,' they call him, I believe. And I suppose you think you have heard the honest truth — or at least that Mr. Lincoln honestly believes what he has told you to be the truth. I tell you, he believes no such thing-. That frank, ingenuous face of his, as you are weak enough to suppose, those looks and tones of such unsophisticated simplicity, those ap- peals to your minds and consciences as sworn jurors, are all assumed for the occasion, gentlemen; all a mask, gentlemen. You have been listening- for the last hour to an actor, who knows well how to play the role of honest seeming, for effect." At this moment, amid breathless stillness, Mr. Lincoln arose, and with deep emotion, and an indescribable expression of pain upon his gaunt features, said: "Mr. — , you have known me for years and you know that not a word of that language can be truth- fully applied to me;" and sat down. The lawyer hesitated a moment, changed 14 oj Abraham Lincoln. color, and then his better nature regaining the mastery, he turned to Mr. Lincoln and said calmly and with much feeling - : "Yes, Mr. Lincoln, I do know it, and / take it all bark." The whole audience broke out into an ir- repressible burst of applause, as the two gentlemen approached each other and shook hands, after which the trial proceeded. If great and sudden prosperity is one of the supreme tests of character, that of Mr. Lincoln was founded on a rock. After his nomination, and still more after his election, he became at once the central figure in the nation, and for seven months his reception-room in the old State House was daily thronged with visi- tors, including large numbers of the most distinguished men of the country. During all this time, 1 saw more or less of him every day, as I have said; yet by no word or act that I ever witnessed did he manifest the slight- est pride or elation or any consciousness 15 Person a 1 Rem in isccn ccs even, that he was the "observed of all ob- servers." One of the most touching- incidents of this time, was his hearty and delightful recog- nition of the poor men and women whom he had known in the days of his obscurity and poverty, numbers of whom called to see him. No matter with whom he might be con- versing- — whether judges, or senators, or gov- ernors — when one of these old friends called he would instantly excuse himself, hurry forward, take the timid or embarrassed per- son by the hand, offer a chair and talk of old times with all the simple familiarity of former days — unmindful of the magnates in his room, and often to their astonishment and apparent disgust. One day, w r hen his room was filled with an unusual number of distinguished people, in- cluding a New York senator, a visitor was announced, — for Mr. Lincoln had given a peremptory order to the janitor to refuse admittance to nobody, more especially not 16 of Abraham Lincoln. to exclude any of his old friends, — whose ap- pearance must have amazed some of the very elegant gentlemen present. It was an elderly lady in homespun, with a large, red, moth- erly face hidden in the recesses of an old- fashioned sun-bonnet, holding in her hand a parcel done up in coarse brown paper and tied with a cotton string. Mr. Lincoln recognized her at once as an old friend — handed her a chair, sat down by her side, and in the most simple and unembarrassed way began to talk about her folks, looking around occasionally, to see if his distin- guished guests heard and appreciated her quaint remarks and sayings. Presently, with some shyness, she untied the parcel, and handed Mr. Lincoln the contents — an immense pair of woolen stockings — remark- ing: "I know 'taint much, Mr. Linkin, but I spun all that wool, and I knit every stitch of them stockings with my own hands, and I thought maybe you'd accept of them for old acquaintance' sake." 17 Personal Reminiscences Tears came into his eyes as he gratefully took them, assuring- her that if elected, he should take them with him to Washington, where he was sure none such could be ob- tained. And then, still talking and laugh- ing, he took the articles by the tops, one in each hand, and held them up in triumph before his guests, who all joined in the merriment, the senator remarking, as he scanned the very long and narrow things: "The lady had a correct apprehension of your longitude and latitude, Mr. Lincoln." Another day, ( after the nomination but before the election ), an elderly man, an old- time friend, called and said: "Good morn- ing, Mr. President." "Not yet," was the repl}'. "We mustn't count our chickens before they are hatched, you know." "Well," rejoined the man, "Maybe yourn aint quite hatched, but they're peepin' sure." vSimilar incidents were of almost daily oc- currence — these may serve as samples. 18 ol Abraham Lincoln. Souvenirs of almost every description were brought from near and far and presented to him in that famous reception room, both during and after the canvass, until it re- sembled a museum of curiosities. The arti- cles were of all sorts and sizes, — some very quaint and curious, some cheap and home- made, others elegant and costly; canes in great variety, from the woods of Indiana and Kentucky, and from the shops of Broad- wav. There were pieces of old rails that he had split, fragments of the log cabin in which he had lived, dilapidated specimens of the furniture he had made and used, stray bits of the surveyor's instruments he had once owned, mementoes of the Black Hawk war, in which he took part, books, pictures and engravings. There was a rustic chair, composed of thirty-seven little saplings, one from every state in the Union and each piece labelled with the name of the sender, and of the State whence it came; and an immense wooden chain of thirty-seven links, 19 Person a 1 Ron in is ecu res all carved with rare skill from a single piece of timber, and designed to symbolize the in- dissoluble union of the states. Those two articles, with many others, remained in the room until Mr. Lincoln left it for Washing- ton, and were seen by thousands from every part of the country. The presentation of each one of the hun- dreds of articles, of which I have named but a few, was the occasion of a little speech or story, or at least of a few pleasant and be- fitting- words from Mr. Lincoln, nearly all of which I heard: for, as already said, the door between his room and mine was almost always open, and he always talked in so loud and merrj' a tone on these occasions, that every word was perfectly distinct as I sat at my desk in my own room. He would often call me in to see some particular^' rare or queer thing- that had been brought him, or to introduce me to some old friend — in which latter case the formula was generally about as follows: 20 of Abraham Lincoln. "This is my little friend, the big- school- master of Illinois." In a conversation about our rooms, before he took possession of his, I expressed my fears that he and his friends might be inter- rupted by the loud talking of the folks who would be calling to see me on school busi- ness nearly every hour of the day. "Never mind about that," said he, "If you can stand my noise, I can stand yours.*' Let it not be supposed that no graver scenes were enacted in that reception room, than those to which I have thus far referred. These were only the lighter incidents of those passing days, each one of which had its hours of deep and anxious conference touching the state of the country and the portentous shadows that even then were rolling up from the South. If there were these brighter tints upon the canvas, they but served to deepen the darkness that was gathering in the back-ground of the picture. Many a pale, earnest face, of statesman and 21 Personal Reminiscences patriot did I see by Lincoln's side in these memorable days, and often was his face the palest' and most earnest of all. As the probability of his election gradually ripened into moral certainty, the exceeding gravity of the situation impressed him more and more ; and, knowing as I did, something of the deeper nature of the man whose lighter moods only, were seen by the many, and what a weight of foreboding was on his heart, — it was often a marvel to me how he could go through the social ordeals of each day as he did. The months passed in that reception room were turned to the best account by Mr. Lin- coln. Meeting there men from every portion of the country, he was afforded rare facili- ties for increasing his already remarkable knowledge of the American paople, and of the gigantic political problem, the solu- tion of which he was soon to undertake. Those daily receptions, therefore, were not merely occasions for the interchange of 22 of Abraham Lincoln. social and personal courtesies, but for the study of the g-eneral situation, and of those intricate and delicate questions which would inevitably confront his administration, at its very opening - . That room was a school to him, and to the uttermost did he improve its advantages. "I am perfectly astonished," said a tall and handsome Mississippi Colonel to me one day, after a long- conversation with Mr. Lincoln; "I expected to find a fierce and ignorant fanatic, but I find instead, not only an affable and genial gentleman, but a wise and moderate statesman. I find myself forced to believe him honest and upright and just; and, to tell you the truth, almost to love him, in spite of myself. Why, our whole southern people are deceived in regard to that man." And so on. This is but a sample of a revulsion of feeling and opinion, wrought by an hour's conversation with Mr. Lincoln on political matters, in the case of many gentlemen 23 Person a I Ron in isccn ccs from the South, who had not before seen or heard him. Mr. Lincoln was extremely careful and cautious in his statements, whether of facts or of opinion. He was accurate and exact —he aimed at the precise truth. He would never be positive unless he was sure. This marked characteristic of his mind gave rise to certain forms of expression, which were peculiar to him. Whoever heard him in Court, before the people, or even in earnest discussion with a neighbor at a street cor- ner, in which the expression : "It seems to me," or "It appears to me," or "It does ap- pear to me," did not occur again and again? I suppose I heard him use those phrases, especially the last one, thousands of times. His habit of accuracy was illustrated at my expense on a certain occasion, when I submitted to him for his opinion and criti- cism, a certain paper that I had written. (He had invited me to consult him freely. ) The object of that paper was to show the 24 of Abraham Lincoln. complexity of our form of government. In it was this sentence: ''More questions of constitutional law have arisen in the United States, during the brief period of our na- tional existence, than in England in the last five hundred years." "Well," said he, after reading the sentence, "That is a mat- ter of arithmetic. I can't tell you whether that is right or not, and I don't see how anybody can, without going to the records and counting the cases, on each side. As precision is not important to your present purpose, it does appear to me, that if I were you, I would loosen that statement a little — take the arithmetic out of it !" I thanked him, and retired with an able- bodied flea in each ear. Mr. Lincoln was very fond of children. His surviving friends in Springfield will never forget the long-familiar spectacle of his towering form in the street with Rob or Will or Tad, or all three, perhaps, at his s id e — no r his exhaustless imperturbability 25 Per so n a I Rem in iseen ces and good-humored patience at the pranks and antics of his boys. They would some- times be sent to hasten his steps homeward to dinner or tea. Promptly sallying- forth from his office, he was sure to be stopped by some friend or neighbor at nearly every street corner, for a little chat — for somehow, the very streets seemed brighter when Abra- ham Lincoln appeared in them, and the moodiest face lightened up as his gaunt figure and pleasant face were seen approach- ing. But these detentions were not appre- ciated by the boys, whose keen appetites stirred them on to get Paterfamilias home as soon as possible. In the course of these efforts by the youngsters, the future Presi- dent of the United States was very often placed in very amusing positions and atti- tudes. The spectacle of two little chaps tugging and pulling at his coat-tails, while the third pushed in front, was often beheld —while Mr. Lincoln, talking and laughing, and pretending to scold, but all the while 26 of Abraham Lincoln. backing under the steady pressure of the above-mentioned forces, raised his voice louder and louder as he receded, till it died away in the distance and further conversa- tion became impossible. He then faced about, and the little fellows hurried him off in triumph towards home. His patience and good nature seemed ab- solutely proof against all the petty annoy- ances of life— I often saw him depressed, bowed with grief, mournfully sad — or stirred with indignation — but irritated, and ruffled in temper, I never saw him. He was one day playing a game of chess with Judge Treat, in the little room back of the Law-Library of which I have spoken. At a certain stage of the game, "Tad 1 ' came to summon him to dinner. Knowing the boy's genius for mischief, Mr. Lincoln kept him away from the table with his long arms, still watching the game, till at length the little rogue's assaults ceased, and the father relaxed his vigilance. The next Personal Reminiscences. moment the table rose bodily in the air, tilted, and chess-board and chess-men rolled on the floor! The good Judge, much amazed, advised summary and condign punishment ; but Mr. Lincoln, after a moment's futile effort to capture Tad, who made fast time out of the State house, laug-hingiy remarked, (referring- to the state of the game when the catastrophe happened), "I guess that upheaval was rather fortunate for you, Judge ! " and quietly put on his hat and fol- lowed Tad home. The day after his nomination, Mr. Ash- man, president of the Convention, with a large party of distinguished gentlemen, members of the Convention, arrived in Springfield to inform Mr. Lincoln of his nomination, and to receive his reply. Mr. Lincoln had requested me to escort this party to his house. Mr. Ashman's address, and Mr. Lincoln's reply are matters of history. The aptness of Mr. Lincoln's words, and the unstudied dignity of his 28 of Abraham Lincoln. manner, in that trying- moment, in the little crowded parlor, surprised and delighted his g-uests, few of whom had ever seen him before. As he sat down, Mr. Boutwell, afterwards Secretary of the Treasury, and Senator from Massachusetts, whispered to me: "They told me he was a rough dia- mond — I protest against the adjective- nothing could have been more elegant and appropriate." Soon after, little Tad worked his way up to his father's side, and whispered very loud in his ear. Mr. Lincoln knew that nearly everyone in the room must have heard the whisper — but not the least disconcerted, he arose, and laughing, said: "You see, gen- tlemen, that if I am elected, it won't do to put that young - man in the cabinet — he can't be intrusted with state secrets." The ready wit of this pleasantry was immensely enjoyed. After the merriment had subsided, Mr. Lincoln, still standing-, remarked: "And now, g-entlemen, as you are already aware, 29 Personal Rem in /seen ees Mrs. Lincoln will be happy to meet you in the dining room" — and led the way to as pleasant and merry a tea party as ever gath- ered in that little house on Eighth street. A little incident, showing how truly his noble nature was interpreted by the intui- tions of children, may here be mentioned: A little girl who had heard Mr. Lincoln spoken of as "ugly" was taken by her father to see him. Whereupon she ex- claimed, "Why, Pa, he's not ugly at all, he's beautiful." In his oral reply to the committee, he said that he would in due time send them a written note, formally accepting the nomina- tion. Late one afternoon, a few days af- terward, he being alone in his room in the state house, and I in mine, he called me in his usual cheery way. Handing me a note written in pencil, he said: "That is my reply to the good people whom you brought to my house the other night. I think it is all right, but grammar, you know, is not 30 of Abraham Lincoln. my strong- hold; and as several persons will probably read that little thing-, I wish you would look it over carefully and see if it needs doctoring- anywhere." I took the paper and slowly read it throug-h. It was addressed to the Hon. George Ashman. In it was this sentence: "The declaration of principles and senti- ments which accompanied your letter meets mv approval, and it shall be my care to not violate it, or disregard it, in any part." Handing- the note back to Mr. Lincoln, I said that the language was all strictly cor- rect, with one very slight exception — almost too trivial for mention. "Well, what is it?" said he, "I wish to be correct without any exception, however trivial." Well, then, Mr. Lincoln, I replied, it would, per- haps, be as well to transpose the "to" and "not" in that sentence— pointing to the one just quoted. Mr. Lincoln looked at it a moment and said: " Oh, you think I'd better turn those two little fellows end for end, eh ?" 31 Personal Reminiscences "Yes," I said, "I guess you had" — and he did. Another scene I vividly remember: It was the nig- lit after the ever-memorable election of November, I860. The streets and public places were thronged with anx- ious people waiting- to hear how the battle had gone. It was known by some of the ladies that their husbands, brothers and friends would be up nearly all night, watch- ing for the telegrams from the different states; they therefore met, about ten o'clock in Watson's Hall, on the south side of the public square, with a good supply of re- freshments. The attractions of this place were soon widely known, and instead of the expected few, the ladies extended their hos- pitality to hundreds. It was a memorable night. Instead of toasts and sentiment, we had the reading of telegrams from every quarter of the country. As these came in from time to time, and the reader mounted a chair with the dispatches in his hand, all 32 oj Abraham Lincoln. was breathless stillness in a moment. If the news was unfavorable, anxious glances were exchanged, and for a moment the hum of voices would be restrained and subdued. But if, as was generally the case, the tele- grams told of fresh majorities for Father Abraham, they were greeted with shouts that made the very building shake. The entertainment was gotten up by the ladies, with special reference to Mr. Lincoln himself, and his personal friends; and again and again, as the night wore on, Mr. Lin- coln came in with a handful of dispatches, and by special request, mounted the chair and read them to us himself. At length, at a very late hour, a telegram w r as received from Philadelphia, and handed to Mr. Lin- coln. All eyes were fixed upon his tall form and slightlv trembling lips, as he read in a clear and distinct voice: "The city and state for Lincoln by decisive majority," and immediately added in slow, emphatic tones, and with a significant gesture of the fore- 33 Personal Reminiscences linger: "I think that settles it." So thought we all — and what congratulations and hand-shakings followed — how the glee club did sing — how hats did \\y into the air -what huzzahs rolled out upon the night — how men danced who had never danced be- fore — ( they do say that the feet of this wit- ness behaved in a very singular manner, but that could hardly have been!) How Mr. Lincoln looked on and laughed at the fear- ful and wonderful performances of the ama- teur Terpsichoreans — and how, between two and three o'clock in the morning, we all took him by the hand again, with a "good night 1 ' and a "God bless you," and separat- ed. On the eleventh of February, 1861, on the day preceding his fifty-second birthday, Mr. Lincoln set out for Washington. He had sent special invitations to a few of his old friends to accompany him as far as Indian- apolis. That I was included in the number, I shall be pardoned for remembering with 34 of Abraham Lincoln. peculiar pleasure. That note of invitation is preserved among- my most cherished memorabilia of Abraham Lincoln. I shall ever regret that imperative official duties would not allow me to join the party. But I accompanied him to the railroad station, and stood by his side on the plat- form of the car, when he delivered that memorable farewell to his friends and neighbors. Of those, an immense concourse had assembled to bid him good bye. The day was dark and chill, and a drizzling rain had set in. The signal bell had rung, and all was in readiness for the departure, when Mr. Lincoln appeared on the front platform of the special car— removed his hat, looked out for a moment upon the sea of silent, up- turned faces, and heads bared in loving rev- erence and sympathv, regardless of the rain; and, in a voice broken and tremulous with emotion and a most unutterable sad- ness, yet slow and measured and distinct, and with a certain prophetic far-off look, 35 Personal Reminiscences. which no one who saw can ever forget, be- gan: "My friends, no one, not in my posi- tion, can appreciate 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. A duty devolves upon me which is greater, perhaps, than that which has devolved upon any other man since the days of Washing-ton. 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 aid which sustained him; and upon the same Almighty Being 1 place my reliance and support. And I hope you, my friends, will pray that I may receive that divine assistance, with- out which I cannot succeed, and with which success is certain. Again, I bid j-ou all an affectionate farewell. " His pale face was literally wet with tears 36 of Abraham Lincoln. as he re-entered the car, and the train roll- ed out of the city, which Abraham Lincoln was to enter no more — till, his great work finished, he would come back from the war, a victor and a conqueror, though with the seal of death upon his visage. Some politi- cians derided the solemn words of that fare- well — but I knew they were the utterances of bis inmost soul — never did speech of man move me as that did. Seeing every mourn- ful tremor of those lips — noting every shad- ow that flitted over that face — catching every inflection of that voice — the words seemed to drop, every one, into my heart, and to be crystal ized in my memory. I hurried back to my office, locked the door, (for I felt that I must be alone), wrote out the address from memory, and had it pub- lished in the city papers in advance of the reporters. And when the reports of the stenographers were published, they differed from mine in only two or three words, and as to even those, I have always believed 37 Personal Reminiscences that mine were right, for the speech was engraved on my heart and memory, and I had but to copy the engraving. And so, Abraham Lincoln left Spring- held, and passed on to his great work, fol- lowed by the benediction and prayers, and by the anxieties too, of a loving people. Events soon proved that he had, indeed, undertaken a task greater than had been devolved upon any other man since the days of Washington. From the clouds that had been massing in baleful darkness along the southern skies, the red volts soon began to leap and the sullen thunders to be heard. The earth which had been rocking in the mighty throes of convulsion, now yawned beneath our feet, and we gazed into the horri- ble abyss. Years have passed since the flames ceased to belch from that black and bloody crater — the flowers of thirty summers have bloomed and faded upon its rugged slopes, hiding and softening the rifts and seams ploughed by the dynamics of war. But we 38 of Abraham Lincoln. cannot look calmly down it, even vet, for that a mighty host of our loved and bravest, lie there forever cut off from the light of the sun. There lie my kindred and yours, and there they will lie, till He, who is the Res- urrection and the Life, shall bid them come forth. But, though never more shall we clasp again those fleshless hands, or hear those vanished voices — though to most of us life can never again be as it was, by reason of the unreturning footsteps of sonsand broth- ers and fathers and friends, who left our sides so long ago — yet may we learn the les- sons of the struggle in which they perished —the ideas that rode like Cherubim, upon the wings of that crimson tempest. And in so doing we shall see the character and place in history, of Abraham Lincoln. In the intense blackness of that awful back- ground, the majesty of the man stands out in bold relief. The storm through which his brave heart 39 Personal Reminiscences and steady hands conducted the Nation, demonstrates the regency of moral ideas in history. It was the explosive power of such ideas, working- beneath a gigantic and pon- derous system of injustice and wrong, that culminated in the earthquake of 1861, and caused the cry of our agon}' to be heard through all the coasts of the world. Moral ideas are the mightiest things beneath God's throne — right and truth are imperial powers, armed with a Divine prerogative, and with the strength of a decree of God. And those were the forces that Lincoln was appointed to wield — these were the invisible legions that reinforced the armies of Liberty. Lincoln saw and believed and felt all this — and this it was that made him strong. V He recognized, as did no other American statesman of this century, the moral ele- ment in politics. He believed with all his intellect and soul, that freedom was right, and that bondage was wrong- — not merely in- 40 oj Abraham Lincoln. expedient, impolitic, but wrong-. This is the great, central, golden fact in his character. This is the glory that crowns him even now. Like the aureola ; and this is the force that is fast lifting him to an apotheosis among the perpetual kings, in the circum- polar skies of history. It is impossible to account in any other way for the place that Abraham Lincoln has in our hearts, and in the heart of Chris- tendom, to-daj. Not his intellect, char. robust and powerful as that was — not any masterliness of policy, for he was rather the interpreter of Providence and the agent of the popular will, than a Cromwellian origi- nator of bold policies — not his personal appearance and presence, for he was homely in person, and without elegance or courtli- ness of manners: no, it is in the light and glory of his moral goodness, his lofty aims and his fidelity to truth, that he stands transfigured to-day. " God peoples the historic Pantheon not 41 Person a I Re in in is cc n ees so much with intellects as with souls — less with geniuses than with virtues.'' Persons change to principles, — the material to the spiritual. Good men become the embodi- ment of an idea — their face becomes the face of a truth — their defects fall away with the years, and time, which clarifies, uplifts. Distance only reveals the grandeur of souls essentially great, till, like Mount Blanc to the receding traveller, they tower, lone and sublime, across the valley of ages. Nor let it be said that such idealizations of history are falsehoods, they are rather the grandest of truths. The world grows to what it gazes on. The face that hangs sun-like over our American history — the face of Washington — though doubtless much idealized, is true to our conception of the essential moral nature of the man. And it is essential moral grandeur and beauty, not brilliancy or genius, that makes that face one of love and power to the Nation — one of the mightiest historical forces beneath the sun. 42 of Abraham Lincoln. And henceforth, thus idealized, trans- figured, another face is to be set forever amid the lights of historic skies. As the pilgrim to that tomb in Mount Vernon feels the spell of a more than mortal influence coming- over and subduing- his soul, — so an awful presence wanders by noon and by night around the monument in Oak Ridg-e — but above that obelisk, higher than the Pleiades, shines a new star — evermore. To that, the muse of history will point down all coming time, as the symbol of heroic loyalty to God, to country and hu- manity — as the apotheosis of one who walked in the light as God gave him light, — of one who, in simple child-like honesty, carried this loyalty into the mightiest and most awful issues of human history — of one who, steadfast to the last, 4k In charity to all, in malice to none, 1 ' gave up life itself for duty. Does not such honesty and loy- alty of soul, possess an essential and a moral kingliness? Does it not claim, and 43 Personal Reminiscences shall it not bear, a perpetual scepter and a fadeless crown in the historic realm? It is startling - , to us who knew him so long- and so well, to think of one so near, and yet so far — of one so long beside us in the common and familiar walks of life, now thrown so high amid the everlasting lights of the moral and historic arena. But, I repeat, this idealization of Abra- ham Lincoln is surely in progress — his translation to a place amid the constellated names upon which the good will gaze for- ever, is already begun. All that was homely and common in the corporeal type and fea- ture of the man, is fading out and falling away. Robed in the beauty and grandeur of a soul, honest to its very core, and to the very death, he is to shine forth in the skies of the future, more glorious than the Belvi- derian God of light. I was the last of his Springfield friends to press his hands, as the train moved off on that lowering eleventh of February, oj Abraham Lincoln. 1861. That hand, that good right hand, that had ever been lifted for the defense of the poor and needy, that afterwards held the pen and wrote the words that enfran- chised a race — I was never to take again. Four years and two months passed. The bells of a Continent wailed out a requiem knell. Every flag dropped to half-mast. Belts of latitude and longitude, and succes- sive States, were draped in mourning. The dirge that began in Washington and was taken up by State after State and city after city, died away at last in the streets of Springfield. Abraham Lincoln had come home, — and "never had conqueror in the past such a cortege and following." I saw him again: and as I gazed upon that form. pale, silent and marred, as it lay in state in yonder humble capitol, I felt that the trans- figuration of which I have spoken had already begun. History and death had touched that face to an awe and majesty that seemed to belong no longer to the sons 45 SEP 25- Personal Reminiscences of men. On that brow the assassin's mark was already changing - to the aureola — to the g-lory — and from the mute lips, the words: "In charity to all, in malice towards none," seemed mingling- with the hymns of history, down the aisles of all the future. 46 S '12