973 »7L^ Jones, Thomas D, 
 
 Memories of Lincoln 
 
LINCOLN ROOM 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 MEMORIAL 
 
 the Class of 1901 
 
 founded by 
 
 HARLAN HOYT HORNER 
 
 and 
 
 HENRIETTA CALHOUN HORNER 
 
dX?M01(I£S of 
 
 XXikcojcK 
 
 <By THOMAS D. JONES 
 
OXfM01(I£S of HlKCOJCK 
 
 "By 
 
 THOMAS D.JONES 
 
 With Prefatory Note by 
 
 RUFUS ROCKWELL WILSON 
 
 and reproductions of the author's 
 two busts oj JQincoln-, 
 
 The Press of the Pioneers, Inc. 
 
 New York 
 
 J 934 
 
PORTRAIT OF THOMAS D. JONES 
 
3: 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 There were a number of sculptors and painters of skill and quality 
 at work in this country during the seventh decade of the last century, 
 but it is one of the ironies of history that only a few of them sought 
 or made opportunity to execute first-hand busts and portraits of 
 Abraham Lincoln. One of these was Thomas D. Jones, whose two 
 busts reproduced in the following pages hold a place among cherished 
 reminders of the outward seeming of the great war President. 
 
 Thomas D. Jones was born in i8c8 in Oneida County, New York, 
 and early in life was first a stone mason and later a marble cutter, 
 practicing the latter trade in Cincinnati. About 1846, without in- 
 struction, he began the modeling of busts in wood, stone and marble, 
 and soon became widely and favorably known as a sculptor in Ohio 
 and neighboring states, numbering among his sitters some of the 
 most eminent men of his period. His busts of Thomas Ewing and 
 Salmon P. Chase were later highly commended by John Q. A. Ward, 
 a competent critic usually sparing in his praise of his fellow sculp- 
 tors; and he also executed admirable busts of Henry Clay, John J. 
 Crittenden, Thomas Corwin, Zachary Taylor, and Reverdy Johnson. 
 
 In the winter of 1860-61, as here recorded, Jones made the marble 
 bust of Lincoln from life, now in the gallery of the New York 
 Historical Society, and in 1864 he again modeled from life a bust in 
 bronze, which he gave to his friend Addison T. Richards, then 
 secretary to the National Academy of Design, and which in recent 
 months has passed into the possession of a well-known Western col- 
 lector. Lincoln cherished a warm regard for the sculptor, shortly be- 
 fore his death in 1865 recommending him for a consulate. Jones' 
 intimate and delightful but little known recollections of Lincoln 
 were first published in The Weekly Union of Sacramento, California, on 
 November 4, 1871, and are here reproduced through the kindness of 
 Harry McNeill Bland, whose splendid collection of Lincolniana is 
 always instantly and cheerfully placed at the disposal of the inquir- 
 ing student. Jones died in 1881 in Cincinnati where he had passed his 
 closing years. 
 
 A writer in one of the issues of the Magazine of Western History 
 for 1886 describes Jones as "a genial, courtly gentleman of the old 
 school who lacked the money-getting instinct. He seemed always," 
 
 3 
 
we are told, "in rather straitened circumstances, but his rare 
 familiarity with Shakespeare, and his knowledge of distinguished 
 men made him socially delightful." An artist friend who knew Jones 
 in his earlier years in Cincinnati adds a few revealing touches to this 
 picture. "A man of positive talent, but showed in his work the lack 
 of early training and art education. He was entirely original, had a 
 great love and admiration for the heroic and classic in art, and in 
 looks, dress and action was always dramatic. His long hair and 
 piercing eyes, overshadowed by a broad brimmed hat, and the old 
 Roman toga thrown over his left shoulder will ever be kindly re- 
 membered by those who had the pleasure and honor of his acquain- 
 tance or friendship. 
 
 The memories of Lincoln which Jones put on paper and which are 
 here reproduced are of an intimate and appealing sort, and add to our 
 knowledge of one of the critical periods in a great man's life. Espe- 
 cially welcome is the brief but vivid account of the gray February 
 morning on which the President-elect took his departure for Wash- 
 ington. Lincoln's gift for the right word never had nobler expression 
 than in the brief address -"the last and best speech," as Jones de- 
 clares, of his Springfield days — in which he bade farewell to his 
 friends, and which may be quoted as a not unfitting conclusion to 
 this prefatory note: 
 
 "My Friends: No one not in my situation can appreciate my 
 feeling of sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of 
 these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a 
 century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my 
 children have been born, and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing 
 when or ever I may return, with a task before me greater than which 
 rested on Washington. Without the assistance of that Divine Being 
 whoever attended him, I cannot succeed. With that assistance, I can- 
 not fail. Trusting in Him who can go with me, and remain with you, 
 and be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet 
 be well. To His care commending you, as I hope in your prayers you 
 will commend me, I bid you an affectionate farewell." 
 
 And on this high yet tender note Abraham Lincoln parted from 
 the men and women among whom he had grown into greatness as 
 naturally and inevitably as the acorn grows into the oak. When he 
 returned to them four years and three short months later what the 
 Greeks would have called his Destiny had already placed him among 
 the Immortals. r p w 
 
 4 
 
A* 
 
 MEMORIES OF LINCOLN 
 
 By Thomas D. Jones 
 
 (Sacramento Weekly Union , November 4, 1871) 
 
 fter the presidential election of i860, 1 received a com- 
 mission from Colonel R. M. Moore and others, of this 
 city, (Columbus, Ohio), to proceed to Springfield, Illinois, to execute 
 a bust of Abraham Lincoln. Accompanied by Colonel Moore we left 
 on Christmas Eve, arriving late at night in Lafayette, Indiana, 
 where on account of a heavy snow storm, we were compelled to re- 
 main until about noon the next day. A hundred miles of magnificent 
 prairie to cross, a silent and frosted ocean; it was a glorious 
 Christmas! 
 
 Just enough snow had fallen and mingled with the sun-dried grass 
 to give the grand prairie the appearance of their boasted deserts of 
 Oriental lands. It was a bitter, blustering and freezing day, and the 
 escape of the steam from the locomotive had a magical effect on all 
 the exterior portions of the train, particularly the windows. Clumps 
 of trees seen in the distance had all the semblance of a group of Arabs, 
 guiding their much-loved camels. 
 
 As the close of day was fast approaching, the weird appearance 
 of the atmosphere was still more wonderful, and as owl light set in 
 we safely arrived in Springfield. 
 
 Next day at a timely hour, armed with letters of introduction 
 given us by Governor Chase, Hon. Thomas Ewing, and others, we 
 presented ourselves at Lincoln's office, then located in the State 
 Capitol of Illinois. Although surrounded by a few political friends 
 he received us kindly, and it was rather flattering to our vanity, 
 however, for he seemed to know us by intuition. As he was a prompt 
 man, he lost no time in proceeding to business, and inquired how I 
 made my busts. I gave him a brief description of my process. 
 
 "I like your mode; when Mr. Volk, of Chicago, made a bust of 
 me, he took a plaster cast of my face, a process that was anything 
 but agreeable." He appeared highly pleased with the idea that he 
 was not to be assassinated through the custom of some sculptures in 
 
 5 
 
BUST OF LINCOLN BY THOMAS D. JONES, EXECUTED IN l86l 
 
taking a plaster cast of the face, which was very much in vogue in 
 Europe a hundred years ago. A sculptor was once engaged to assassi- 
 nate Napoleon the First in that way. The conspiracy was discovered 
 in time to save the Emperor's life. 
 
 In a day or two my modeling stand and clay were set up, in a room 
 engaged at the St. Nicholas, where I was to receive a sitting of an 
 hour daily from Mr. Lincoln in the forenoon. It was impossible for 
 him to be regular or punctual. Too many calls on him from all parts 
 of the country. 
 
 The work once begun, he became a subject of great interest, but 
 a very difficult study. His early mode of life and habits of thought 
 had impressed hard and rugged lines upon his face, but a good 
 anecdote or story before commencing a sitting much improved the 
 plastic character of his features. 
 
 He received letters almost daily from the South on all sorts of 
 subjects — some coarse, some witty, and others amusing. The most fre- 
 quent inquiries of him were those on the subject of rail splitting — 
 the best timber for rails, which end to split first — buttered or top end, 
 all of which never disturbed the equanimity of his temper. They 
 were as amusing to him as Artemus Ward's monkey. He was once 
 favored with a piece of timber that interested him. 
 
 Having been, I thought, too frequently interrupted by some of 
 Lincoln's curious friends and admirers I requested the clerk at the 
 office of the hotel to tell such persons to wait in the sitting-room 
 below, until Lincoln came downstairs. One of those friends of Lin- 
 coln did reach my studio one morning. Who do you desire to see? 
 "Mr. Lincoln." As he wore a bottle green coat, and had a pair of 
 grasshopper legs, I requested him to wait in the reading-room, as 
 Lincoln would soon go downstairs and he could meet him there. 
 
 Lincoln seemed annoyed that I did not show him in. I told him I 
 presumed it would be all right, as I requested the gentleman to wait 
 until he was through with his engagement. Lincoln on going down- 
 stairs, sought the gentleman I had described; not finding him, he 
 concluded to peruse the papers. While so engaged for some time, he 
 looked up, and there stood the bottle-green specter close by and in 
 front of him. 
 
 "What can I do for you?" inquired Lincoln. 
 
 "Don't you know me?" said the emerald individual. 
 
 "I may have met you before, as I have thousands, but I cannot 
 recall your former face at present." 
 
 7 
 
'Yes, we met fifteen years ago, and I have been in California ever 
 since, and brought this red wood gold-mounted cane as a slight token 
 of our second meeting." 
 
 The body of the cane was made of the celebrated redwood, of 
 California, and the handle or head of the cane was of generous 
 proportions, and composed entirely of quartz and gold, highly 
 artistic and in very good taste. 
 
 The above is only one of the many incidents of the kind that oc- 
 curred almost daily, until Lincoln left for Washington. The bottle- 
 green imp remained in Springfield until he could accompany him. 
 
 One of the most amusing incidents during our pleasant intercourse 
 happened as follows: A small box by express, to Lincoln's address, 
 reached my studio, one morning; it was neither large nor formidable 
 in appearance, but it looked suspicious. I suggested that he had better 
 let me open it, as it might contain an infernal machine or torpedo. 
 Neither did we soak it in a tub of water, or say many prayers over it. 
 So placing it at the back of the clay model on which I was at work, 
 using it as an earthwork, so in case it exploded, it would not 
 harm either of us, I cut the strings, and out tumbled a pig-tail whistle, 
 and a letter from that prince of good fellows, A. P. Russell, then 
 Secretary of State of Ohio. 
 
 Calling at Lincoln's residence that evening, with a number of 
 letters for him, I found Tad making the house vocal, if not musical, 
 with the pig-tail whistle, blowing blasts that would have astonished 
 Roderick Dhu. Any boy in the country knows how to make a bark 
 whistle. Make a pig's tail whistle in the same way, only with more 
 care. Materials might be made from a living pig, and the original 
 owner might be called to his dinner by his own tail. 
 
 Not long after taking my first sitting of Lincoln, he commenced 
 preparing his addresses to be delivered in the different cities through 
 which he was to pass from Springfield to Washington. His speeches 
 or addresses were very deliberately composed, in my room. I sharpened 
 all the Fabers he required. He generally wrote with a small port- 
 folio and paper resting on his knee, with a copy of his published 
 speeches lying beside him for reference. After completing one of his 
 compositions he would very modestly read it to me. 
 
 Presently the accomplished James E. Murdoch honored the citi- 
 zens of Springfield with a professional visit, giving two readings. 
 Lincoln attended both, apparently enjoying them with great gusto. 
 So popular were Murdoch's readings that a complimentary was pro- 
 
 8 
 
posed. Murdoch thought it necessary that Lincoln's name should 
 lead the invitation, but how to get it was the question, for he resided 
 a mile from the hotel. I proposed to call for it. Lincoln wrote his 
 name on a small slip of paper, and I handed it to Murdoch to place at 
 the head of the list of names. I have often wondered since whether 
 Murdoch still preserves the little memento of that evening. As the 
 entertainment was chiefly the works of Charles Dickens, nothing 
 could have pleased Lincoln more, judging how heartily he laughed, 
 and his wreathed smiles on that occasion are never to be forgotten. 
 Both Lincoln and Charles Dickens have long since joined that noble 
 band of immortals. God bless them! 
 
 Murdoch subsequently called at my studio to pay his respects to 
 Lincoln, and it is needless to say before he left the room he did not 
 fail to make a most patriotic speech for the times. I had seen Murdoch 
 on the boards, and in our public halls, but never before was he one- 
 half as eloquent as he was that morning in the presence of and to 
 Lincoln. 
 
 I remarked to Lincoln, one day, that I was sometimes curious 
 about a man's religious, as well as ethnological origin. "Well, what 
 do you think of mine?" 
 
 'Judging," I remarked, "from the peculiar characteristics of your 
 face you originated from the Hardshell Baptist persuasion." 
 
 'You are right; my father was a member of the Baptist Church, 
 but I am not." 
 
 He was a man that Pythagoras or Socrates would have admired 
 most hugely, and those old Greeks would have said that he possessed 
 two demons, two distinct souls, or spirits. 
 
 One day, while little dreaming of saint or sinner, who should 
 I meet but the entertaining Oscanyan, an American by birth, but 
 Mussulman by education. I had not seen him since we parted in his 
 Turkish bazaar, in New York, some seven or eight years before. We 
 had often dined together at the residence of Carlos D. Stuart, the 
 popular song writer of the day. Oscanyan had called to see Lincoln 
 as much as to entertain the public. Before dining he proposed a walk. 
 We strolled out past ex-Governor Matteson's residence, which had 
 cost over one hundred and forty thousands dollars, and contained a 
 marble statue of Stephen A. Douglas by Volk. As he contemplated 
 the dwelling with Oriental calmness, he inquired: 
 
 "Did the owner of that house build it himself, or was it erected 
 by his fathers?" 
 
BUST OF LINCOLN BY THOMAS D. JONES, EXECUTED IN 1863 
 
"Neither, I believe, for I have been told it was built out of funds 
 filched from the State of Illinois. But why do you ask, Oscanyan?" 
 
 "Because it reminds me of a story of Mourad AfFendi and a rustic 
 boy near Adrianople." 
 
 "Let me hear it." 
 
 "Mourad AfFendi was in the habit of traveling throughout his 
 empire incognito to see for himself whether his subjects were happy 
 or miserable and his laws well administered. Meeting a handsome 
 boy one day, he asked him whether he would like to see Constanti- 
 nople. The boy replied that he would. 'When you arrive in Constan- 
 tinople show the people this card, and you will be hospitably 
 received. ' It was not long before the boy began to dream of Constanti- 
 nople, and went there, showing his card to every one he met. By his 
 inquiring after Mourad AfFendi, everybody laughed at him, until a 
 gentleman had the curiosity to examine it, and at once saw that it 
 was genuine. 'Do you see that fine palace yonder?' 
 
 'Yes,' said the boy. 'Show that card to the guard at the gate, 
 and you will gain admission.' The boy was shown into the palace 
 and recognized by his old friend. No sooner seated in Turkish style 
 than he minutely noticed everything he saw. 'My son,' said Mourad 
 AfFendi, 'what is it that interests you the most?' 'Well,' replied he, 
 'I was just thinking whether you built this palace yourself, or was it 
 erected by your fathers.' 
 
 Lincoln and Oscanyan soon became warm friends. Both were 
 modest, and very entertaining in their way. One was the rough 
 diamond, while the other had all the polish of a Damascus blade, if 
 not its keenness. 
 
 As Lincoln came in one morning with face all aglow, and beaming 
 with benevolence and kindness, I remarked : ' 'You appear so cheerful, 
 you must have had a pleasant adventure on your way." 
 
 "I had a very agreeable one. As I came through the State House 
 square I met an old friend. We were once fellow members of the 
 Legislature of Illinois. I was a Whig in those days, and the Democrats 
 were predominant. Scarcely a Whig measure could be advanced but 
 my old friend would rise to his feet and oppose it. 
 
 "As the Whigs were tired of that amusement, or annoyance 
 rather, when the first opportunity presented itself I caught the 
 speaker's attention, and remarked that my Democratic friend re- 
 minded me of a scene that had occurred, several years before, on the 
 Sangamon. Two old bachelor brothers resided in a log cabin at the 
 
 ii 
 
foot of a hill, which was crowned with a dense forest, a favorite place 
 for hunting. One morning one of the brothers started over the hill to 
 do a little shooting. He had not gone far before 'crack' went the 
 rifle. In a few minutes more another shot was heard. The brother be- 
 low concluded that some game had been secured; so he went over the 
 brow of the hill. On reaching the top of the hill, he saw his brother 
 'drawing a bead,' as old hunters used to say, for another shot. No 
 sooner thought than done. On reaching his brother sportsman, with 
 rifle in hand, and loading for another fire, he inquired, 'Brother what 
 have you killed?' The hunter replied by saying, T have been trying to 
 shoot that squirrel up there, but he does not come down.' The other 
 looked to for squirrel but seeing nothing of the kind, concluded 
 that there must be something wrong with the hunter's mind. So 
 scrutinizing his face, he looked into his eyes. All right — there was no 
 maniac glance to be seen there. Next he thought he would ex- 
 amine the throbbing of the temples, which are sometimes indica- 
 tions of insanity, but there were none. It had so happened that 
 the hunter brother had a pair of prominent and over-jutting eye- 
 brows. On the extreme end of an extended hair of one of the brows 
 was a large louse disporting himself. 'That brother, is your squirrel,' 
 said he, and removed it. The hunter looked again, but saw no game 
 in the tree-top, shouldered his rifle, returned to his cabin a wiser, 
 if not a better man, never again to expend his ammunition until he 
 was sure of his game." 
 
 Lincoln said his story was followed with roars of laughter, and 
 his old Democratic friend would never speak to him again until that 
 morning, on the State House square. Extending his hand: "Mr. Lin- 
 coln, we may never meet again (how prophetic!) and I would like to 
 part good friends." "Certainly," said Mr. Lincoln, and the impress 
 of that meeting was on his face when he reached my room. By that 
 time considerable progress had been made on the bust. I said to him: 
 "Mr. Lincoln, will you have the kindness to tell me what you think 
 of the result thus far?" 
 
 Laying down his writing materials, he examined it very closely 
 for some time. "I think it looks very much like the critter." Those 
 were the exact words, and very like him at times, for he was not 
 known to flatter. 
 
 Receiving his partial approbation at least, I concluded to invite 
 some of his friends in to see the work. Next morning, who should 
 drop in upon us but Master Robert Lincoln, familiarly called Bob in 
 
 12. 
 
those days, asking his father to give him ten dollars, which Lincoln 
 did without ceremony. When Master Robert was about to leave the 
 room, I said to him: "As your fair cousin, Mrs. G. (who was a guest 
 of the Lincoln's family at the time), is an accomplished woman, will 
 you present her my compliments, and tell her that I would be pleased 
 to have her call and see your father's bust, this afternoon; and you 
 have gallantry enough, I know, to accompany her." 
 
 Master Robert promised to do as much, but unfortunately, it 
 turned out to be a rainy and sleety afternoon. Having been a voter in 
 seven States, I frequently received envelopes, post marked, of official 
 proportions, if not from official men, requesting me to see that those 
 colossal missives be delivered to Lincoln in person, and placed in his 
 hands. I did not run the postoffice, but did much of that kind of work . 
 
 Almost every evening I had occasion to call at Lincoln's residence 
 and did so with pleasure for two reasons : First, for that was the ex- 
 cuse, to deliver letters from my friends to the President-elect; second, 
 to study him by gas-light, and see whether I could discover any new 
 phase of character since morning. The evening following Master 
 Robert's promise to accompany Mrs. G. to my studio, I had a very 
 formidable looking package to deliver. As I entered the center of the 
 parlor from the hall, on the left side sat Lincoln, as usual, reading or 
 writing. Mrs. Lincoln had entered the folding doors, right hand side. 
 I had paid my respects to Lincoln just before Mrs. Lincoln came in. 
 
 "Ah! Mr. Jones," bowing much lower than usual for her, than 
 was her custom, "I have a crow to pick with you." 
 
 "I am very sorry, madame, for the crow is an ominous bird. But 
 the crow?" 
 
 'You could send your compliments to Mrs. G., as a lady of taste, 
 but not a word to me." 
 
 'Very true, Madame, and the only apology I have to make is, 
 that I have called to present my invitation to you in person, and will 
 be most happy to see you in my studio." She thanked me, but never 
 called. 
 
 The broad smile and radiant humor of Lincoln's face at the time, 
 paid me well for my visit. The next morning, while engaged upon 
 one of his reception speeches, he looked up: 
 
 "Mr. Jones, what was that you said to Mrs. Lincoln, last even- 
 ing?" I repeated it. "I thought it was good at the time," said he 
 and went on with his writing. 
 
 T 3 
 
At this time my studio was Lincoln's only retreat from the pur- 
 suit of numerous applicants for office, where he could compose his 
 addresses in peace. Such men as Governor Chase, and others, came by 
 invitation, and Lincoln saw them in their private rooms at the dif- 
 ferent hotels. 
 
 About two weeks before Lincoln left Springfield for Washington 
 a deep-seated melancholy seemed to take possession of his soul. 
 While James Buchanan , sitting like Cerberus at the gate, would neither 
 do, nor let others act, South Carolina had already seceded, and other 
 States (were) preparing to do the same damnable deed. The great 
 problem with Lincoln at the time was, How to enforce the laws in the 
 true spirit of the Constitution without the shedding of blood. During 
 those two weeks he made not a single threat, apparently resigned to 
 his fate, as a martyr prepared for the stake. The former Lincoln was 
 no longer visible to me. His face was transformed from mobility into 
 an iron mask. 
 
 Anecdotes of Lincoln during his residence in Springfield were 
 numerous. I will give only one, as it will interest both ladies and 
 gentlemen. While Lincoln courted Miss Todd, he and Douglas were 
 rivals for her hand. For some reason or other, and a woman always 
 has a reason, Lincoln was discarded. The description of the effect it 
 had upon him as it was told me by one of the actors that was present 
 at the scene, I shall never forget. Several of Lincoln's friends feared 
 that he would become insane, (that is the word), if not already mad. 
 Finally Miss Todd was prevailed upon to see Lincoln. She consented. 
 As an old friend of both related the incident: "We put them both in 
 a room together and let them fight it out," and Lincoln was 
 victorious. 
 
 What a strange destiny that of those two men — Lincoln and 
 Douglas — both were rivals in love and politics, and both died mar- 
 tyrs in their great devotion to the cause of the Union. 
 
 Lincoln's keen perception of the ridiculous enabled him to enjoy 
 an anecdote or story better than most men, and he treasured them 
 too. While in a photograph gallery one morning, posing him for 
 some pictures he desired to present a very dear friend, I tried to recall 
 two lines of A. J. H. Duganne's "Parnassus in Pillory," written by 
 him twenty years ago. All I could remember ran as follows: 
 
 "Endymion Hurst, whose head, 
 Unlike his books, is red." 
 

 • 
 
 They pleased him better than I anticipated, and I rehearsed them 
 several times until they were fixed in his memory. 
 
 We generally opened the ball in the morning with two or three 
 anecdotes, each, and then went on with our work in silence. Should 
 a story or anecdote not be clearly impressed upon his mind the next 
 day he would ask me to repeat it. He had a remarkable memory of 
 events, of language, of persons and things, but not of names. Desiring 
 to illustrate something, one day, by telling an anecdote, to Judge 
 Swain, he said : ' 'Judge, what is that man's name in Ohio that makes 
 mud heads?" "Jones." 'You are right; that reminds me of one of his 
 stories." 
 
 Soon after reaching Springfield, I attended one of Lincoln's evening 
 receptions. It was there I really saw him for the first time to please 
 me. He was surrounded by his nearest and dearest friends, his face 
 illuminated, or in common parlance, lighted up. He was physically 
 an athlete of the first order. He could lift with ease a thousand 
 pounds, five hundred in each hand. In height six feet four inches, and 
 weighing one hundred and seventy-six pounds. He was a spare, bony, 
 lean and muscular man, which gave him that great and untiring ten- 
 acity of endurance during his laborious administration. 
 
 Mentally he reasoned with great deliberation, but acted promptly 
 as he did in all his rough and tumble encounters in the West. His 
 arms were very long and powerful. "All I had to do was to extend 
 one hand to a man's shoulder, and with weight of body and strength 
 of arms, give him a trip that generally sent him sprawling on 
 the ground, which would so astonish him as to give him a quietus. 
 
 Well he might "send him sprawling." His great strength and 
 height were well calculated to make him a peerless antagonist. Get 
 any man out of the balance, and he will lay down of his own gravity. 
 His head was neither Greek nor Roman, nor Celt, for his upper lip 
 was too short for that, or a Low German. There are few such men in 
 the world. Where they came from originally is not positively known. 
 The profile line of the forehead and nose resembled each other. 
 General Jackson was one of that type of men. They have no depression 
 in their forehead at that point called eventuality. The line of the 
 forehead from the root of the nose to the hair above comparison is 
 slightly convex. Such men remember everything and forget nothing. 
 Their eyes are not large, hence their deliberation of speech; neither 
 are they bon vivants or bald-headed. 
 
 1 5 
 
Lincoln was decidedly one of that class of men. His habit of 
 thought and a very delicate digestion gave him a lean face and a 
 spare figure. He had a fine head of hair until the barbers at Wash- 
 ington attended his toilette. Twelve men out of thirteen wear their 
 hair parted on the left side of their heads — why? Because nearly all 
 our barbers use their right hand in their profession instead of the 
 left. 
 
 Before the public Lincoln was a very grave and earnest man; in 
 private, kind, modest, and replete with wit and humor. He never 
 told a story for its zanyism, but purely for good humor, illustration, 
 or "adornment of his speech," as Rabelais would say. As an evidence 
 of Lincoln's kindly nature in domestic life, an old milkman called to 
 see his bust. He said he had served Lincoln with milk for several 
 years; that Lincoln would walk over to his place in the morning 
 barefooted with a little milk bucket in one hand, and his oldest boy 
 sitting astride of his shoulders, chirping like a bird. 
 
 The day at length arrived when Lincoln was to take his departure 
 for Washington. It was a dark, gloomy, misty morning, boding rain. 
 The people assembled early to say their last good-bye to the man they 
 loved so much. The railroad office was used as the reception room. 
 Lincoln took a position where his friends and neighbors could file by 
 him in a line. As they came up each one took his hand in silence. The 
 tearful eye, the tremulous lips and inaudible words was a scene never 
 to be forgotten. When the crowed had passed him, I stepped up to 
 say good-bye. He gave me both his hands — no words after that. 
 
 The train thundered in that was to bear him away, and Lincoln 
 mounted the rear platform of one of the cars. Just at that moment 
 Mrs. Lincoln's carriage drove up — it was raining. I proffered my 
 umbrella and arm, and we approached Lincoln as near as we could for 
 the crowd, and heard the last and best speech ever delivered in 
 Springfield. 
 
 (See Prefatory Note) 
 
 16 
 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 973.7L63B2J72M C001 
 
 MEMORIES OF LINCOLN NY 
 
 3 0112 031794644