Best Lincoln stories, tersely told

His affection for his mother was very strong, and long after her death he would speak of her affectionately and tearfully. She was a woman five feet five inches in height, slender of figure, pale of complexion, sad of expression, and of a sensitive nature. Of a heroic nature, she yet shrank from the rude life around her. About two years after her removal from Kentucky to Indiana she died. “Abe” was then ten years old. She was buried under a tree near the cabin home, where little “Abe” would often betake himself and, sitting on her lonely grave, weep over his irreparable loss.

Lincoln’s mother was buried in a green pine box made by his father. Although a boy of ten years at that time, it was through his efforts that a parson came all the way from Kentucky to Indiana three months later to preach the sermon and conduct the service. The child could not rest in peace till due honor had been done his dead mother.

WHAT LINCOLN’S STEP-MOTHER SAID OF HIM.

“Abe was a good boy, and I can say what scarcely one woman—a mother—can say in a thousand: Abe never gave me a cross word or look, and never refused, in fact or appearance, to do anything I requested him. I never gave him a cross word in all my life. … His mind and mine—what little I had—seemed to run together. He was here after he was elected President. He was a dutiful son to me always. I think he loved me truly. I had a son, John, who was raised with Abe. Both were good boys; but I must say, both now being dead, that Abe was the best boy I ever saw, or expect to see.”—Ida M. Tarbell.

LINCOLN’S FIRST LOVE.

Lincoln’s first love was Anna Rutledge, of New Salem, whose father was keeper of the Rutledge tavern where “Abe” boarded. The girl had been engaged to a young man named John McNeill, whom, we are informed, the village community pronounced an adventurer and a man unworthy the girl’s love. He left for the east, promising, however, to return within a year and claim her as his wife, so the story reads. According to Mrs. William Prewitt, a sister of Anna Rutledge, who is at present (1898) living, the engagement was broken off before McNeill went away, so that she was free to receive the attentions of “Abe” Lincoln. She finally promised to become his wife in the spring of 1835, soon after his return from Vandalia. But, unfortunately, circumstances did not permit of a marriage then, Lincoln being barely able to support himself, not yet having been admitted to the bar, and the girl, being but seventeen years old. It was agreed that she should attend an academy at Jacksonville, Ill., and Lincoln would devote himself to his law studies till the next spring, when he would be admitted to the bar, and then they would be married.

New Salem was deeply interested in the young lovers and prophesied a happy life for them; but fate willed it otherwise. Anna Rutledge became seriously ill, with an attack of brain fever, and when it was seen that her recovery was impossible Lincoln, her lover, was sent for. They “passed an hour alone in an anguished parting,” and soon after (August 25, 1835,) Anna died.

The death of his sweetheart was a terrible blow to Lincoln. His melancholy increased and darkened his mind and his imagination, and tortured him with its black picture. One stormy night he was sitting beside a friend of his, with his head bowed on his hand, while tears trickled through his fingers. His friend begged him to try to control his sorrow; to try to forget it. Lincoln replied: “I cannot; the thought of the snow and rain on Ann’s grave fills me with indescribable grief.” For many days Lincoln journeyed on foot to the cemetery where Anna Rutledge lay buried, and there alone, in the “city of the dead,” wept for the girl whom he had loved so well. Many years afterward, when he had married and become great, he said to a friend who questioned him: “I really and truly loved the girl and think often of her now.” After a pause he added: “And I have loved the name of Rutledge to this day.”

THE DUEL LINCOLN DIDN’T FIGHT.

President Abraham Lincoln and General Joe Shields, who married sisters, once arranged to fight a duel at Alton, Ill. It is remembered yet by the old settlers. Shields had offended a young lady at Springfield, and she got even by sending an article about it to a Springfield paper, signing a nom de plume. The next day General Shields called upon the editor and gave him 24 hours during which to divulge the name of the author or to take the consequences. The editor, who was a friend of Abraham Lincoln, called upon him and asked what to do. Not thinking it was a very serious affair, Lincoln promptly said, “Tell him that I wrote it.” The editor did so, and General Shields challenged Lincoln to a duel, the latter accepting and choosing broadswords as the weapons and an island opposite Alton as the place. The principals and seconds went to the place appointed, when a chance remark of Lincoln that he hated to have to kill Shields because he caused him to believe that he wrote the article in order to protect a lady, brought about a reconciliation, and the duel failed to come off. Hundreds of people were on the bank of the river, and to carry out a joke a log was dressed up, placed in a skiff, the occupants fanning it with their hats as though it was an injured man, and the excitement was intense. It always remained a sore spot with Lincoln, and but little was ever said about it.

LINCOLN AS A DANCER.

Lincoln made his first appearance in society when he was first sent to Springfield, Ill., as a member of the state legislature. It was not an imposing figure which he cut in a ballroom, but still he was occasionally to be found there. Miss Mary Todd, who afterward became his wife, was the magnet which drew the tall, awkward young man from his den. One evening Lincoln approached Miss Todd and said, in his peculiar idiom:

“Miss Todd, I should like to dance with you the worst way.”

The young woman accepted the inevitable and hobbled around the room with him. When she returned to her seat, one of her companions asked mischievously:

“Well, Mary, did he dance with you the worst way?”

“Yes,” she answered, “the very worst.”

LINCOLN’S COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.

In 1839 Miss Mary Todd, of Kentucky, arrived in Springfield to visit a married sister, Mrs. Edwards. At the instance of his friend Speed, who was also a Kentuckian, Lincoln became a visitor at the Edwards’, and before long it was apparent to the observant among those in Springfield that the lively young lady held him captive. Engagements at that time and in that neighborhood were not announced as soon as they were made, and it is not at all impossible that Miss Todd and Mr. Lincoln were betrothed many months before any other than Mrs. Edwards and Mr. Speed knew of it.

At this time, as was the case till Lincoln was elected to the presidency, his one special rival in Illinois was Stephen A. Douglas. Mr. Douglas had more of the social graces than Mr. Lincoln, and it appeared to him that nothing would be more interesting than to cut out his political rival in the affections of the entertaining and lively Miss Todd, and so he paid her court.

A spirited young lady from Kentucky at that time in Illinois would have been almost less than human if she had refused to accept the attentions of the two leading men of the locality. Therefore Miss Todd, being quite human, encouraged Douglas, and again there was what nowadays would have been called a flirtation. This course of action did not spur Lincoln on in his devotion, but made him less ardent, and he concluded, after much self worriment, to break off the engagement, which he did, but at the same interview there was a reconciliation and a renewal of the engagement.

Lincoln’s marriage to Mary Todd occurred in Springfield, Ill., at the home of Mr. M. W. Edwards, where Miss Todd lived. She was the belle of Springfield. The marriage, although hastily arranged in the end, was perhaps the first one performed in that city with all the requirements of the Episcopal ceremony. Rev. Charles Dresser officiated. Among the many friends of Lincoln who were present was Thomas C. Brown, one of the judges of the state supreme court. He was a blunt, outspoken man and an old timer.

Parson Dresser was attired in full canonical robes and recited the service with much impressive solemnity. He handed Lincoln the ring, who, placing it on the bride’s finger, repeated the church formula, “With this ring I thee endow with all my goods and chattels, lands and tenements.”

Judge Brown, who had never before witnessed such a ceremony, and looked upon it as utterly absurd, ejaculated, in a tone loud enough to be heard by all, “God Almighty, Lincoln, the statute fixes all that!” This unexpected interruption almost upset the old parson, who had a keen sense of the ridiculous, but he quickly recovered his gravity and hastily pronounced the couple man and wife.

LINCOLN’S PERSONAL APPEARANCE.

That Lincoln was a man of extraordinary personal appearance is well known. He measured six feet four inches, and as most men are below six feet it will be seen that he was considerably taller than the average. He possessed great strength, both bodily and mental, and had a superabundance of patience, which he displayed constantly, and treated even those who differed with him with respect and kindness. One who had sustained close relations with Lincoln and knew him intimately, the late Charles A. Dana, in his Reminiscences of Abraham Lincoln, published in McClure’s Magazine, thus describes him:

“Mr. Lincoln’s face was thin, and his features were large. He had black hair, heavy eyebrows, and a square and well developed forehead. His complexion was dark and quite sallow. He had a smile that was most lovely, surpassing even a woman’s smile in its engaging quality. When pleased his face would light up very pleasantly. Some have said he was awkward in his step. The word ‘awkward’ hardly fits, because there was such a charm and beauty about his expression, such good humor and friendly spirit looking from his eyes, that one looking at him never thought whether he was awkward or graceful. His whole personality at once caused you to think, ‘What a kindly character this man has!’ Always dignified in manner, he was benevolent and benignant, always wishing to do somebody some good if he could. He was all solid, hard, keen intelligence combined with goodness.”

LINCOLNS’ MOTHER.

Not long before his tragic death, Mr. Lincoln said: “All that I am, and all that I hope to be, I owe to my mother.” That mother died when little Abe was nine years of age. But she had already woven the texture of her deepest character into the habits and purposes of her boy. Her own origin had been humble. But there were certain elements in her character that prepared her for grand motherhood. When Nancy Hanks, at the age of twenty-three, gave her heart and hand to Thomas Lincoln, she was a young woman of large trustfulness, of loving, unselfish disposition, of profound faith in Divine Providence, of unswerving Christian profession.

On the day of their marriage Thomas Lincoln took this young wife to his unfinished cabin, which had as yet neither door, floor, nor window. The young man was a shiftless Kentucky hunter, who could not read a word. He was handy with his few carpenter tools, but had received no encouragement to keep at work. His happy, trusting wife assisted him to finish the cabin. He mortared the chinks with mud which they together had mixed. Her hope and song made the work of the day his happy employ. In the evening she taught him to read, spelling the words out of her Bible as the text book, which served her double purpose.

From that day Thomas Lincoln was a new man. It was this conscientious wife that inspired him to move across the Ohio into the free State of Indiana. Here Lincoln soon became a justice of the peace. When this wife died, only twelve years after their marriage, Thomas Lincoln had been transformed from the shiftless hunter, who could not read, to an intelligent farmer of the largest influence of any man in his township. Little Abe had been taught to read out of that same Bible, and had read out of that mother’s eyes and voice her large trust in the overshadowing Providence and her unswerving honesty in doing the right. It was this woman that put into his hands the fine books—the Bible, Pilgrim’s Progress, Æsop’s Fables, Robinson Crusoe, and Weems’s Life of Washington.

Such was the mother that started Abraham Lincoln. “Widow Johnston,” who became his stepmother, was a good woman, with whom he always maintained the kindest relations. She deserved the honorable mention she received.

LINCOLN’S MELANCHOLIA.

A friend of Lincoln writes: Lincoln’s periods of melancholy are proverbial. On one occasion, while in court in 1855, Maj. H. C. Whitney describes him as “sitting alone in one corner of the room remote from any one else, wrapped in abstraction and gloom. It was a sad but interesting study for me, and I watched him for some time. It appeared as if he were pursuing in his mind some sad subject through various sinuosities, and his face would assume at times the deepest phases of seeming pain, but no relief came from this dark and despairing melancholy till he was roused by the breaking up of court, when he emerged from his cave of gloom and came back, like one awakened from sleep, to the world in which he lived again.” As early as 1837 Robert L. Wilson, who was his colleague in the legislature, testifies that Lincoln admitted to him that, although he appeared to enjoy life rapturously, still he was the victim of extreme melancholy, and that he was so overcome at times by depression of spirits that he never dared carry a pocketknife.

To physicians he was something of a physiological puzzle. John T. Stuart insisted that his digestion was organically defective, so that the pores of his skin oftentimes performed the functions of the bowels; that his liver operated abnormally and failed to secrete bile, and that these things themselves were sufficient in his opinion to produce the deepest mental depression and melancholy.

Lincoln’s law partner, Mr. Herndon, attributed Lincoln’s melancholy to the death of Anna Rutledge, believing that his grief at her untimely death was so intense that it cast a perpetual shadow over his mental horizon. Another believed that it arose from his domestic environments; that his family relations were far from pleasant, and that that unhappy feature of his life was a constant menace to his peace and perfect equipoise of spirits. “Although married,” says one, “he was not mated, so that if we see him come into his office in the morning eating cheese and bologna sausages philosophically, what can we expect but some periods of sadness and gloom? Emerson, who you and I hold in high esteem, had pie for breakfast all his married life, and in my opinion that is what clouded his memory the rest of his life after seventy years of age.”

LINCOLN’S HEIGHT.

Emma Gurley Adams in the New York Press.

Sir:—The admirable speech of Hon. Thomas B. Reed in your paper of Feb. 9 contains one error which I would like to correct. Mr. Reed says Mr. Lincoln was six feet four inches in height. Mr. Lincoln told my father that he was exactly six feet three inches only a short time before his tragic death. Mr. Lincoln was very fond of tall men, and generally knew their exact height and never hesitated to say: “I am exactly six feet three.”

HOW LINCOLN BECAME A LAWYER.

That Lincoln was a skilled lawyer is well known. It is not, however, generally known that he learned law himself, never having studied with anyone, or having attended any law school. He was preëminently a self-educated man. He borrowed law books of his friend Stuart, of Springfield, Ill., took them home (twenty miles away) and studied them hard. He walked all the way to Springfield and back, and usually read while walking. He often read aloud during these trips. Twenty years afterward, while he was a great lawyer and statesman, he gave this advice to a young man who asked him “how he could become a great lawyer.” “Get books, and read and study them carefully. Begin with Blackstone’s ‘Commentaries,’ and after reading carefully through, say twice, take up Chitty’s ‘Pleadings,’ Greenleaf’s ‘Evidence,’ and Story’s ‘Equity,’ in succession. Work, work, work is the main thing.”

LINCOLN AS A LAWYER.

When Lincoln became a lawyer, he carried to the bar his habitual honesty. His associates were often surprised by his utter disregard of self-interest, while they could but admire his conscientious defense of what he considered right. One day a stranger called to secure his services.

“State your case,” said Lincoln.

A history of the case was given, when Lincoln astonished him by saying:

“I cannot serve you; for you are wrong, and the other party is right.”

“That is none of your business, if I hire and pay you for taking the case,” retorted the man.

“Not my business!” exclaimed Lincoln. “My business is never to defend wrong, if I am a lawyer. I never undertake a case that is manifestly wrong.”

“Well, you can make trouble for the fellow,” added the applicant.

“Yes,” replied Lincoln, fully aroused, “there is no doubt but that I can gain the case for you, and set a whole neighborhood at loggerhead. I can distress a widowed mother and her six fatherless children, and thereby get for you six hundred dollars, which rightly belongs as much to the woman and her children as it does to you; but I won’t do it.”

“Not for any amount of pay?” continued the stranger.

“Not for all you are worth,” replied Lincoln. “You must remember that some things which are legally right are not morally right. I shall not take your case.”

“I don’t care a snap whether you do or not!” exclaimed the man angrily, starting to go.

“I will give you a piece of advice without charge,” added Lincoln. “You seem to be a sprightly, energetic man; I would advise you to make six hundred dollars some other way.”

LINCOLN’S CONSCIENTIOUSNESS IN TAKING CASES.

Even as early as 1852 Lincoln had acquired a reputation for story telling. When not busy during the session of the court he was “habitually whispering stories to his neighbors, frequently to the annoyance of Judge Davis, who presided over the Eighth circuit.” If Lincoln persisted too long the judge would rap on the chair and exclaim: “Come, come, Mr. Lincoln; I can’t stand this! There is no use trying to carry on two courts. I must adjourn mine or yours, and I think you will have to be the one.” As soon as the group had scattered the judge would call one of the men to him and ask: “What was that Lincoln was telling?”

In his law practice Lincoln seems to have been singularly conscientious, his first effort being to try to arrange matters so as to avoid litigation. Nor would he assume a case that he felt was not founded upon right and justice.

THE JURY UNDERSTOOD.

Another one of these anecdotes is related in connection with a case involving a bodily attack. Mr. Lincoln defended, and told the jury that his client was in the fix of a man who, in going along the highway with a pitchfork over his shoulder, was attacked by a fierce dog that ran out at him from a farmer’s door-yard. In parrying off the brute with the fork its prongs stuck into him and killed him.

“What made you kill my dog?” said the farmer.

“What made him bite me?”

“But why did you not go after him with the other end of the pitchfork?”

“Why did he not come at me with his other end?” At this Mr. Lincoln whirled about in his long arms an imaginary dog and pushed his tail end towards the jury. This was the defensive plea of “Son assault demesne”—loosely, that “The other fellow brought on the fight”—quickly told and in a way the dullest mind would grasp and retain.

LINCOLN’S HONESTY WITH A LADY CLIENT.

A lady who had a real estate claim which she desired prosecuted once called on Lincoln and wished him to take up her case. She left the claim in his hands, together with a check for two hundred dollars as a retaining fee. Lincoln told her to call the next day, and meanwhile he would examine her claim.

Upon presenting herself the next day the lady was informed that he had examined the case carefully, and told her frankly that she had no valid or legal grounds on which to base her claim. He therefore could not advise her to institute legal proceedings. The lady was satisfied, and thanking him, rose to leave.

“Wait,” said Lincoln, at the same time fumbling in his vest pocket, “here is the check you left with me.”

“But, Mr. Lincoln, I think you have earned that,” replied the lady.

“No, no,” he responded, handing it back to her, “that would not be right. I can’t take pay for doing my duty.”—From Lincoln’s Stories, by J. B. McClure.

LINCOLN WINS A CELEBRATED CASE.

The son of Lincoln’s old friend and former employer, who had loaned him books, was charged with a murder committed in a riot at a camp-meeting. Lincoln volunteered for the defense.

A witness swore that he saw the prisoner strike the fatal blow. It was night, but he swore that the full moon was shining clear, and he saw everything distinctly. The case seemed hopeless, but Lincoln produced an almanac, and showed that at that hour there was no moon. “Then he depicted the crime of perjury with such eloquence that the false witness fled the court house.”

One who heard the trial says: “It was near night when Lincoln concluded, saying, ‘If justice was done, before the sun set it would shine upon his client a free man.’”

The court charged the jury; they returned and brought in a verdict of “not guilty.” The prisoner fell into his weeping mother’s arms, says the writer, and then turned to thank Lincoln. The latter, looking out at the sun, said: “It is not yet sundown, and you are free.”—From Lincoln’s Stories, by J. B. McClure.

LINCOLN’S “SELFISHNESS.”

Mr. Lincoln once remarked to a fellow-passenger on the old-time mud-wagon coach, on the corduroy road which antedated railroads, that all men were prompted by selfishness in doing good or evil. His fellow-passenger was antagonizing his position when they were passing over a corduroy bridge that spanned a slough. As they crossed this bridge, and the mud-wagon was shaking like a sucker with chills, they espied an old, razor-back sow on the bank of the slough, making a terrible noise because her pigs had got into the slough and were unable to get out and in danger of drowning. As the old coach began to climb the hillside Mr. Lincoln called out: “Driver, can’t you stop just a moment?” The driver replied. “If the other feller don’t object.” The “other feller”—who was no less a personage than, at that time, “Col.” E. D. Baker, the gallant general who gave his life in defense of old glory at Ball’s Bluff—did not “object,” when Mr. Lincoln jumped out, ran back to the slough and began to lift the little pigs out of the mud and water and place them on the bank. When he returned Col. Baker remarked: “Now, Abe, where does selfishness come in in this little episode?” “Why, bless your soul, Ed, that was the very essence of selfishness. I would have had no peace of mind all day had I gone on and left that suffering old sow worrying over those pigs. I did it to get peace of mind, don’t you see?”

LINCOLN REMOVES A LICENSE ON THEATRES.

One of the most interesting anecdotes about the beloved Lincoln is the one quoted from Joe Jefferson’s autobiography. Jefferson and his father were playing at Springfield during the session of the legislature, and, as there was no theaters in town, had gone to the expense of building one. Hardly had this been done when a religious revival broke out. The church people condemned the theater and prevailed upon the authorities to impose a license which was practically prohibition.

“In the midst of our trouble,” says Jefferson, “a young lawyer called on the managers. He had heard of the injustice and offered, if they would place the matter in his hands, to have the license taken off, men then in vogue he remarked how much declaring that he only desired to see fair play, and he would accept no fee whether he failed or succeeded. The young lawyer began his harangue. He handled the subject with tact, skill and humor, 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 a number of anecdotes and kept the council in a roar of laughter. His good humor prevailed and the exorbitant tax was taken off. The young lawyer was Lincoln.”

HOW LINCOLN GOT THE WORST OF A HORSE TRADE.

Abraham Lincoln was fond of a good story, and it is a well-known fact that he often illustrated an important point in the business at hand by resorting to his favorite pastime. Probably one of the best he ever told he related of himself when he was a lawyer in Illinois. One day Lincoln and a certain judge, who was an intimate friend of his, were bantering each other about horses, a favorite topic of theirs. Finally Lincoln said:

“Well, look here. Judge, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make a horse trade with you, only it must be upon these stipulations: Neither party shall see the other’s horse until it is produced here in the court yard of the hotel, and both parties must trade horses. If either party backs out of the agreement, he does so under a forfeiture of $25.”

“Agreed,” cried the judge, and both he and Lincoln went in quest of their respective animals.

A crowd gathered, anticipating some fun, and when the judge returned first, the laugh was uproarious. He led, or rather dragged, at the end of a halter the meanest, boniest, rib-staring quadruped—blind in both eyes—that ever pressed turf. But presently Lincoln came along carrying over his shoulder a carpenter’s horse. Then the mirth of the crowd was furious. Lincoln solemnly set his horse down, and silently surveyed the judge’s animal with a comical look of infinite disgust.

“Well, Judge,” he finally said, “this is the first time I ever got the worst of it in a horse trade.”

LINCOLN HELPED HIM TO WIN.

His first case at the bar will never be forgotten by ex-Senator John C. S. Blackburn, of Kentucky, for Abraham Lincoln played a conspicuous part in helping the young Kentuckian to win his suit. Lincoln was merely an attorney, waiting for one of his cases to be called, when the incident occurred.

Ex-Senator Blackburn was but 20 years old when he began the practice of law, having graduated at Center College, Danville, Ky. His first case was in the United States court in Chicago, presided over by Justice John McLean, then on the circuit, says the Chicago Times-Herald. The opposing counsel was Isaac N. Arnold, then at the head of the Chicago bar, and subsequently a member of congress and author of the first biography of Lincoln. Young Blackburn had filed a demurrer to Mr. Arnold’s pleadings in the cause, and when the case was reached on the calendar the young Kentuckian was quite nervous at having such a formidable and experienced antagonist, while the dignity of the tribunal and the presence of a large number of eminent lawyers in court served to increase his timidity and embarrassment. In truth, the stripling barrister was willing to have any disposition made of the cause, in order to get rid of the burden of embarrassment and “stage fright.” He was ready to adopt any suggestion the opposing counsel should make.

Arnold made an argument in which he criticized the demurrer in a manner that increased the young lawyer’s confusion. However, Blackburn knew that he had to make some kind of an effort. He proceeded with a few remarks, weak and bewildering, and was about to sit down when a tall, homely, loose-jointed man sitting in the bar arose and addressed the court in behalf of the position the young Kentuckian had assumed in a feeble and tangled argument, making the points so clear that the court sustained the demurrer.

Blackburn did not know who his volunteer friend was, and Mr. Arnold got up and sought to rebuke the latter for attempting to interfere in the case, which he had nothing to do with. This volunteer was none other than Abraham Lincoln, and this was the first and last time the Kentuckian ever saw the “rail-splitting President.” In replying to Mr. Arnold’s strictures, Mr. Lincoln said he claimed the privilege of giving a young lawyer a helping hand when struggling with his first case, especially when he was pitted against an experienced practitioner.

LINCOLN SETTLES A QUARREL WITHOUT GOING TO LAW.

When Abe Lincoln used to be drifting around the country practicing law in Fulton and Menard counties, Illinois, an old fellow met him going to Lewistown, riding a horse which, while it was a serviceable enough an animal, was not of the kind to be truthfully called a fine saddler. It was a weather-beaten nag, patient and plodding and it toiled along with Abe—and Abe’s books, tucked away in saddle-bags, lay heavy on the horse’s flank.

“Hello, Uncle Tommy,” said Abe. “Hello, Abe,” responded Uncle Tommy. “I’m powerful glad to see ye, Abe, fer I’m gwyne to have sumthin’ fer ye at Lewiston cot, I reckon.”

“How’s that, Uncle Tommy?” said Abe.

“Well, Jim Adams, his land runs long o’ mine, he’s pesterin’ me a heap an’ I got to get the law on Jim, I reckon.”

“Uncle Tommy, you haven’t had any fights with Jim, have you?”

“No.”

“He’s a fair to middling neighbor, isn’t he?”

“Only tollable, Abe.”

“He’s been a neighbor of yours for a long time, hasn’t he?”

“Nigh on to fifteen year.”

“Part of the time you get along all right, don’t you?”

“I reckon we do, Abe.”

“Well, now, Uncle Tommy, you see this horse of mine? He isn’t as good a horse as I could straddle, and I sometimes get out of patience with him, but I know his faults. He does fairly well as horses go, and it might take me a long time to get used to some other horse’s faults. For all horses have faults. You and Uncle Jimmy must put up with each other as I and my horse do with one another.”

“I reckon, Abe,” said Uncle Tommy, as he bit off about four ounces of Missouri plug. “I reckon you’re about right.”

And Abe Lincoln, with a smile on his gaunt face, rode on toward Lewistown.

A LINCOLN STORY ABOUT LITTLE DAN WEBSTER’S SOILED HANDS.

Mr. Lincoln, on one occasion narrated to Hon. Mr. Odell and others, with much zest, the following story about young Daniel Webster:

When quite young, at school, Daniel was one day guilty of a gross violation of the rules. He was detected in the act, and called up by the teacher for punishment. This was to be the old-fashioned “feruling” of the hand. His hands happened to be very dirty. Knowing this, on his way to the teacher’s desk, he spit upon the palm of his right hand, wiping it off upon the side of his pantaloons.

“Give me your hand, sir,” said the teacher, very sternly.

Out went the right hand, partly cleaned. The teacher looked at it a moment and said:

“Daniel! if you will find another hand in this school-room as filthy as that, I will let you off this time!”

Instantly from behind his back came the left hand. “Here it is, sir,” was the ready reply.

“That will do,” said the teacher, “for this time; you can take your seat, sir.”—From Lincoln’s Stories, by J. B. McClure.

LINCOLN’S LONG LIMBS DRIVE A MAN OUT OF HIS BERTH.

There was one story of his career that the late George M. Pullman told with manifest delight, which is thus related by an intimate friend.

One night going out of Chicago, a long, lean, ugly man, with a wart on his cheek, came into the depot. He paid George M. Pullman 50 cents, and half a berth was assigned him. Then he took off his coat and vest and hung them up, and they fitted the peg about as well as they fitted him. Then he kicked off his boots, which were of surprising length, turned into the berth, and, having an easy conscience, was sleeping like a healthy baby before the car left the depot. Along came another passenger and paid his 50 cents. In two minutes he was back at George Pullman.

“There’s a man in that berth of mine,” said he, hotly, “and he’s about ten feet high. How am I going to sleep there, I’d like to know? Go and look at him.”

In went Pullman—mad, too. The tall, lank man’s knees were under his chin, his arms were stretched across the bed and his feet were stored comfortably—for him. Pullman shook him until he awoke, and then told him if he wanted the whole berth he would have to pay $1.

“My dear sir,” said the tall man, “a contract is a contract. I have paid you 50 cents for half this berth, and, as you see, I’m occupying it. There’s the other half,” pointing to a strip about six inches wide. “Sell that and don’t disturb me again.” And, so saying, the man with a wart on his face went to sleep again. He was Abraham Lincoln.

LINCOLN’S JOKE ON DOUGLAS.

On one occasion, when Lincoln and Douglas were “stumping” the State of Illinois together as political opponents, Douglas, who had the first speech, remarked that in early life, his father, who he said was an excellent cooper by trade, apprenticed him out to learn the cabinet business.

This was too good for Lincoln to let pass, so when his turn came to reply, he said:

“I had understood before that Mr. Douglas had been bound out to learn the cabinet-making business, which is all well enough, but I was not aware until now that his father was a cooper. I have no doubt, however, that he was one, and I am certain, also, that he was a very good one, for (here Lincoln gently bowed toward Douglas) he has made one of the best whisky casks I have ever seen.”

As Douglas was a short heavy-set man, and occasionally imbibed, the pith of the joke was at once apparent, and most heartily enjoyed by all.

On another occasion, Douglas in one of his speeches, made a strong point against Lincoln by telling the crowd that when he first knew Mr. Lincoln he was a “grocery-keeper,” and sold whisky, cigars, etc. “Mr. L.,” he said, “was a very good bar-tender!” This brought the laugh on Lincoln, whose reply, however, soon came, and then the laugh was on the other side.

“What Mr. Douglas has said, gentlemen,” replied Mr. Lincoln, “is true enough; I did keep a grocery and I did sell cotton, candles and cigars, and sometimes whisky; but I remember in those days that Mr. Douglas was one of my best customers.

“Many a time have I stood on one side of the counter and sold whisky to Mr. Douglas on the other side, but the difference between us now is this: I have left my side of the counter, but Mr. Douglas still sticks to his as tenaciously as ever!”—From Lincoln’s Stories, by J. B. McClure.

LINCOLN SHREWDLY TRAPS DOUGLAS.

Perhaps no anecdote ever told of Mr. Lincoln illustrates more forcibly his “longheadedness” in laying plans, not even that incident when he asked the “Jedge” a question in his debate with Mr. Douglas, which may be told as follows:

One afternoon during that joint debate Mr. Lincoln was sitting with his friends, planning the program, when he was observed to go off in a kind of reverie, and for some time appeared totally oblivious of everything around him. Then slowly bringing his right hand up, holding it a moment in the air and then letting it fall with a quick slap upon his thigh, he said:

“There, I am going to ask the ‘jedge’ (he always called him the ‘jedge’) a question to-night, and I don’t care the ghost of a continental which way he answers it. If he answers it one way he will lose the senatorship. If he answers it the other way it will lose him the Presidency.”

No one asked him what the question was: but that evening it was the turn for Mr. Douglas to speak first, and right in the midst of his address, all at once Mr. Lincoln roused up as if a new thought had suddenly struck him, and said:

“Jedge, will you allow me to ask you one question?”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Douglas.

“Suppose, Jedge, there was a new town or colony just started in some Western territory; and suppose there were precisely 100 householders—voters—there; and suppose, Jedge, that ninety-nine did not want slavery and one did. What would be done about it?”

Judge Douglas beat about the bush, but failed to give a direct answer.

“No, no, Jedge, that won’t do. Tell us plainly what will be done about it?”

Again Douglas tried to evade, but Lincoln would not be put off, and he insisted that a direct answer should be given. At last Douglas admitted that the majority would have their way by some means or other.

Mr. Lincoln said no more. He had secured what he wanted. Douglas had answered the question as Illinois people would have answered it, and he got the Senatorship. But that answer was not satisfactory to the people of the south. In 1860 the Charleston convention split in two factions and “it lost him the Presidency,” and it made Abraham Lincoln President.

LINCOLN’S FAIRNESS IN DEBATE.

The first time I met Mr. Lincoln was during his contest with Douglas. I was a young clergyman in a small Illinois country town. I was almost a stranger there when Lincoln was announced to make a speech. I went to the hall, got a seat well forward and asked a neighbor to point out Mr. Lincoln when he came in. “You won’t have no trouble knowin’ him when he comes,” said my friend, and I didn’t. Soon a tall, gaunt man came down the aisle and was greeted with hearty applause.

I was specially impressed with the fairness and honesty of the man. He began by stating Douglas’ points as fully and fairly as Douglas could have done. It struck me that he even overdid it in his anxiety to put his opponent’s argument in the most attractive form. But then he went at those arguments and answered them so convincingly that there was nothing more to be said.

Mr. Lincoln’s manner so charmed me that I asked to meet him after the address, and learning that he was to be in town the next day attending court I invited him to dine with me. He came, and we had an interesting visit.

The thing that most impressed me was his reverence for learning. Recently come from divinity studies, I was full of books, and he was earnest in drawing me out about them. He was by no means ignorant of literature, but as a man of affairs naturally he had not followed new things nor studied in the lines I had. Philosophy interested him particularly, and after we had talked about some of the men then in vogue he remarked how much he felt the need of reading and what a loss it was to a man not to have grown up among books.

“Men of force,” I answered, “can get on pretty well without books. They do their own thinking instead of adopting what other men think.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Lincoln, “but books serve to show a man that those original thoughts of his aren’t very new, after all.”

I met Mr. Lincoln several times later, the next time a long while after in another place. I thought he would have forgotten me, but he knew me on sight and asked in the gentlest way possible about my wife, who had been ill when he came to see us. But of all my memories of Lincoln the one that stands out strongest was his interest in poetry and theology. He loved the things of the spirit.—A Clergyman.

LINCOLN ASKED HIS FRIEND’S HELP FOR THE UNITED STATES SENATE.

One of the most valued possessions of the Gillespie family of Edwardsville, Ill., is a package of old letters, the paper stained by time and the ink faded, but each missive rendered invaluable, to them at least, by the well-known signature of Abraham Lincoln which adorns it. These letters, so carefully preserved, are nearly all of a political nature, and are addressed to Hon. Joseph Gillespie, before the war one of the leading politicians of Illinois, a famous stump speaker, several times member of the legislature, and for many years one of Lincoln’s most intimate political friends. The correspondence covers a period of about ten years, from 1849 to 1858, and the most interesting feature of this period, so far as Lincoln was concerned, was his unsuccessful effort to be elected to the United States senate. Probably the first intimation of his ambition in this direction was conveyed to Mr. Gillespie in the following letter, the original of which is now in the possession of the Missouri Historical Association, having been presented to that society by Mr. Gillespie in 1876. A copy, however, forms part of the family collection. It reads:

“Springfield, Ill., December 1, 1854.—(J. Gillespie, Esq.)—Dear Sir: I have really got it into my head to be United States senator, and if I could have your support my chances would be reasonably good. But I know and acknowledge that you have as just claims to the place as I have; and, therefore, I cannot ask you to yield to me if you are thinking of becoming a candidate yourself. If, however, you are not, then I would like to be remembered by you; and also to have you make a mark for me with the anti-Nebraska members down your way. If you know, and have no objection to tell, let me know whether Trumbull intends to make a push. If he does I suppose the two men in St. Clair, and one or both in Madison, will be for him.

“We have the legislature clearly enough on joint ballot, but the senate is very close, and Cullom told me to-day that the Nebraska men will stave off the election if they can. Even if we get into joint vote we shall have difficulty to unite our forces. Please write me and let this be confidential. Your friend as ever.

“A. LINCOLN.”

MAKING LINCOLN PRESENTABLE.

In narrating “When Lincoln Was First Inaugurated,” Stephen Fiske tells of Mrs. Lincoln’s efforts to have her husband look presentable when receiving a delegation that was to greet them upon reaching New York City.

“The train stopped,” writes Mr. Fiske, “and through the windows immense crowds could be seen; the cheering drowning the blowing off of steam of the locomotive. Then Mrs. Lincoln opened her hand bag and said:

“‘Abraham, I must fix you up a bit for these city folks.’

“Mr. Lincoln gently lifted her upon the seat before him; she parted, combed and brushed his hair and arranged his black necktie.

“‘Do I look nice now, mother?’ he affectionately asked.

“‘Well, you’ll do, Abraham,’ replied Mrs. Lincoln critically. So he kissed her and lifted her down from the seat, and turned to meet Mayor Wood, courtly and suave, and to have his hand shaken by the other New York officials.”

EVIDENCE OF LINCOLN’S RELIGIOUS BELIEF.

There has been much controversy over Lincoln’s religious beliefs, many claiming that he was a deist while others have sought to prove that he was an infidel. Although never a member of any church, there is much documentary as well as corroborative evidence which show him to have been a believer in Providence; and in his parting address to his Springfield neighbors, when leaving for Washington, he said:

“Washington would never 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.”

LINCOLN A TEMPERANCE MAN.

After his nomination for the Presidency at the Republican convention of Chicago, a committee visited him in Springfield and gave him official notification of his nomination.

The ceremony over, Lincoln informed the company that custom demanded that he should treat them with something to drink. He thereupon opened a door that led into a room in the rear and called a girl servant. When she appeared Lincoln spoke something to her in an undertone, and returned to his guests. In a few minutes the girl appeared, bearing a large waiter, containing several glass tumblers, and a large pitcher in the midst, which she placed upon the table.

Mr. Lincoln arose and gravely addressing the company, said: “Gentlemen, we must pledge our mutual healths in the most healthy beverage which God has given to man: it is the only beverage I have ever used or allowed in my family, and I cannot conscientiously depart from it on the present occasion. It is pure Adam’s ale from the spring.” So saying he took a tumbler, touched it to his lips and pledged them his highest respects in a cup of cold water. Of course all his guests were constrained to admire his consistency, and to join in his example.—From Lincoln’s Stories, by J. B. McClure.

LINCOLN’S FAMOUS GETTYSBURG ADDRESS.

Speaking of the dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg and President Lincoln’s famous address, delivered on that occasion, Nov. 19, 1863, Gov. Curtain, of Pennsylvania, said that there had been much discussion as to how and when that address was written, and he continued:

“I can tell you all about that. Of course I was there, and the President and his cabinet had arrived and were at the hotel. Soon after his arrival, as we were sitting around in the parlor, Mr. Lincoln looked thoughtful for a moment or two, and then said: ‘I believe, gentlemen, the committee are expecting me to say something here to-day. If you will excuse me I will go into this room here and prepare it.’ After a time he returned, holding in his hand a large, yellow government envelope, on which he had written his address.

“‘Here, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I want to read this to you to see if it will do;’ and sitting down he read it to us, and then said: ‘Now for your criticisms. Will it do? What do you say?’

“Several spoke in favor of it, and one or two commended it in strong terms. ‘Well,’ says the President, ‘haven’t you any criticisms? What do you say Seward?’

“Mr. Seward made one or two suggestions, bearing on some slight verbal changes, which I believe Mr. Lincoln incorporated.

“‘Now if you will allow me, gentlemen,’ continued the President, ‘I will copy this off;’ and again withdrew and made a copy of the address.”

THE GETTYSBURG ADDRESS.

“Ladies and Gentlemen: Four score and seven years ago your fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

“But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far above our power to add to or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here; but it can never forget what they did here.

“It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that the government of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the earth.”

LINCOLN AS A RULER.

Mr. Henry Watterson, the distinguished and scholarly editor of the widely-read Louisville Courier Journal, once delivered a lecture on “Lincoln.” The following is part of what he said:

“After he was inaugurated President, Mr. Lincoln evinced four great qualities of mind and heart so great indeed that it is doubtful if such a combination of kingly talents was ever before or since concentrated in the same man.” Mr. Watterson then elaborated from historical facts, incidents, and conclusions, as also from quotations from Mr. Lincoln’s speeches and letters, his direction and management of generals and cabinet officers, his knowledge of law, diplomacy, and military affairs, his firmness for the right, his great kindness of heart, and love of humanity, the following propositions: