The evening of the second day after the nomination brought to Springfield a committee of notification composed of some of the most distinguished men of that day and others who were destined to play a conspicuous part in national affairs. George Ashmun, of Massachusetts, was the chairman; Governor Boutwell, afterwards United States Senator and Secretary of the Treasury; Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield Republican; Carl Schurz, of Wisconsin; Gideon Welles, of Connecticut; Amos Tuck, of New Hampshire; William M. Evarts and Governor Edwin D. Morgan, of New York; "Pig-Iron" Kelley, of Pennsylvania; Francis P. Blair, of Missouri; and others were of the party. Most of them were disappointed at the result of the Convention and distrustful of the strength and ability of the prairie lawyer as a candidate. He received them, however, with simple dignity. They were invited to deliver their message at his modest home, and appeared there a few moments after their arrival in Springfield, to find him surrounded by his family and a few intimate friends. They saw a man of unprepossessing appearance, with long limbs, large hands and feet, stooping shoulders, coarse features, and a shock of rebellious hair. He was the last man in the world, perhaps, to judge by appearances, that this committee would have chosen as a Presidential candidate; but when he began to speak in reply to Mr. Ashmun, a change seemed to come over him. The rugged face and awkward figure were transformed, and the members of the committee recognized at once that they were in the presence of a man who was master of himself and possessed a strength they had not suspected. And when they left Springfield, almost without exception, they were convinced of the wisdom of his nomination.

The opposing candidates prepared long letters of acceptance explanatory of their views and defining their purposes, but Lincoln had already recognized the wisdom of reticence, and the night of his nomination, standing in his own doorway, he told his neighbors and friends who called to congratulate him and demanded a speech that "the time comes upon every man when it is best to keep his lips closed. That time has come to me." Hence his letter of acceptance was the briefest ever written by a Presidential candidate. After one formal introductory phrase, it reads:

"The declaration of principles which accompanies your letter meets my approval, and it shall be my care not to violate it or disregard it in any way or part. Imploring the assistance of Divine Providence, and with due regard for the views and feelings of all who were represented in the Convention, to the rights of all the States and Territories and people of the nation, to the inviolability of the Constitution, and the perpetual union of prosperity, and harmony of all, I am most happy to co-operate for the practical success of the principles declared by the convention. Your obliged friend and fellow-citizen,

"A. Lincoln."

This letter was not shown to any one of Lincoln's friends, with the exception of Dr. Newton Bateman, State Superintendent of Education and an intimate friend, to whom Lincoln said,—

"Mr. School-master, here is my letter of acceptance. And I wouldn't like to have any mistakes in it. I am not very strong on grammar and I wish you would see if it is all right."

Mr. Bateman suggested one change, so that it would read "it shall be my care not to violate," instead of "it shall be my care to not violate."

"So you think I better put those two little fellows end to end, do you?" replied Lincoln, taking his pen and making the change suggested.

Lincoln's nomination made very little difference in his daily life. He turned his law practice over to his partner, employed John G. Nicolay, a clerk in the office of the Secretary of State, as his private secretary, was given the use of the Governor's room at the State-House for an office, and devoted his entire time to the reception of visitors and correspondence concerning the campaign. His door stood always open. There was not even an usher. Everybody came and went as freely as when he was a candidate for the Legislature or engaged in his practice. He was the same Abraham Lincoln he had always been, except a little more serious because of increasing responsibilities, and a little more dignified because he was sensible of the honor that had been conferred upon him; but his old friends detected no change in the man, and dropped in to exchange gossip whenever they came to town. Distinguished visitors came from a distance,—statesmen, politicians, wire-pullers, newspaper correspondents, men with great purposes and ambitions, adventurers, lion-hunters, and representatives of all classes and conditions, who usually seek the acquaintance of influential and prominent men and worship a rising sun. He told each a story and sent him away, pleased with his person and impressed with his character. His correspondence had increased enormously and every letter received a polite reply, but he maintained his policy of reticence and gave no indication of his plans or purposes.

One day, while a group of distinguished politicians from a distance were sitting in the Governor's room, chatting with Lincoln, the door opened and an old lady in a big sunbonnet and the garb of a farmer's wife came in.

"I wanted to give you something to take to Washington, Mr. Lincoln," she said, "and these are all I had. I spun the yarn and knit them socks myself." And with an air of pride she handed him a pair of blue woollen stockings.

Lincoln thanked her cordially for her thoughtfulness, inquired after the folks at home, and escorted her to the door as politely as if she had been Queen of England. Then, when he returned to the room, he picked up the socks, held them by the toes, one in each hand, and with a queer smile upon his face remarked to the statesmen around him,—

"The old lady got my latitude and longitude about right, didn't she?"

Such incidents occurred nearly every day and were a source of great pleasure to the President, who was never happier than when in the company of "the plain people," as he called them.

No one man of honest intentions visited him without feeling the better for it and being impressed with his ability, his courage, and his confidence. From the beginning he never doubted his own success. He realized that the Democratic party was hopelessly split and that, while the factions, if combined, might embrace a majority of the voters of the country, the Republicans would have a plurality, and his reasoning was so plausible that he convinced his visitors of the truth of his convictions. He never showed the slightest annoyance at the attacks that were continually made upon his reputation and record, and demonstrated his coolness, self-poise, and wisdom by declining to defend himself or offer explanations. His theory was expressed to a friend who wrote him with great concern about a charge that had been made against his integrity.

"I have made this explanation to you as a friend," he wrote, "but I wish no explanation made to our enemies. What they want is a squabble and a fuss, and that they can have if we explain, and they cannot have it if we don't."

The greater number of inquiries related to his position and intentions towards slavery, and to every one he gave a similar answer, that he had defined his position again and again in his speeches before his nomination, and "Those who will not read or heed what I have already publicly said would not read or heed a repetition of it. 'If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.'"

He kept his finger upon the pulse of the country, and none of the managers of either party was so well informed as to the situation and sentiment in different sections as he. The Republican politicians soon discovered this fact and came to him more and more for advice and instruction. Even Thurlow Weed, who was supposed to be the shrewdest politician in the country, recognized a master and sought counsel from him regarding the management of the campaign in New York. Wherever he detected a weak spot, he sent a word of warning and advice: wherever there were local dissensions, he restored harmony with his tact and good-nature. Thus was Lincoln the manager of his own campaign; more so, perhaps, than any man who was ever elected President. But at the same time he made one great mistake. He had heard the threat of secession so long that he had grown indifferent to it, and he told everybody that "The people of the South have too much sense to attempt the ruin of the government."

The election occurred on November 6, 1860, and the result was what he had expected since his nomination. The Republican electors did not receive a majority by nearly a million votes, but the division of the Democrats left them a plurality.

The city of Springfield had never cast so large a vote for any candidate for office up to that time, and it celebrated its triumph with a jubilee of rejoicing. The people called Lincoln from his house and demanded a speech, but he asked to be excused. He thanked them for their support and congratulations, and remarked, "In all our rejoicing let us neither express nor cherish any hard feeling towards any citizen who has differed from us. Let us at all times remember that all American citizens are brothers of a common country and should dwell together in the bonds of fraternal feeling."

After the excitement had quieted down, Lincoln resumed his former habits and daily routine. Springfield was crowded with politicians those days,—office-seekers and advisers, men who came to ask favors and to offer them. The announcement of his election had been the signal for the conspirators in the South to throw off their masks. During long years of controversy, the pro-slavery party had a hope of ultimate triumph, but until the actual election of Lincoln there was no actual treason or revolutionary act. Four days after the Senators from South Carolina resigned, six weeks later that State declared its separation from the Union and organized an independent government, and, while he was still waiting at Springfield, Lincoln read the newspaper reports of conventions in all the Gulf States, at which they also declared their independence. But he was obliged to sit inactive and helpless; unable to do anything to check the dissolution of the Union, although appeals came from every quarter. He described his situation to an old friend who came to see him at Springfield.

"Joe," he said, sadly, "I suppose you have forgotten the trial down in Montgomery County where your partner gave away your case in his opening speech. I saw you motioning to him and how uneasy you were, but you couldn't stop him, and that's just the way with Buchanan and me. He is giving away the case and I can't stop him."

It was not the Republicans of the North alone that appealed to Lincoln. Unionists of the South came to him for pledges that he would do nothing, for assurances that there was nothing to fear from his election, and he went so far as to make an exception in their case to gratify them. In December he wrote a letter to Alexander H. Stephens, whom he had known and admired in Congress, marked "For your eye only," in which he stated his position in the most positive and unmistakable language, and asked, "Do the people of the South really entertain fears that a Republican administration would directly or indirectly interfere with the slaves? If they do, I wish to assure you as once a friend, and still, I hope, not an enemy, that there is no cause for such fears. The South would be in no more danger in this respect than it was in the days of Washington. I suppose, however, that this does not meet the case. You think slavery is right and ought to be extended, while we think it is wrong and ought to be restricted. That, I suppose, is the rub. It is certainly the only substantial difference between us."

General Duff Green came to Springfield in December, 1860, as an emissary from President Buchanan to invite the President-elect to Washington for a conference upon the situation, with the hope that his presence there might prevent civil war, and General Green was bold enough to tell him that, if he did not go, "upon his conscience must rest the blood that would be shed." Here Lincoln's political shrewdness and diplomacy were demonstrated in as conspicuous a manner, perhaps, as at any other crisis in his life. He detected at once the intention to unload upon him the responsibility for disunion and war, and met it with a counter-proposition which must have excited the admiration of the conspirators who were trying to entrap him. He received General Green with great courtesy, heard him with respectful attention, and gave him a letter in which he said that he did not desire any amendment to the Constitution, although he recognized the right of the American people to adopt one; that he believed in maintaining inviolate the rights of each State to control its own domestic institutions; and that he considered the lawless invasion by armed force of the soil of any State or Territory as the gravest of crimes. While those were his sentiments, and while they indicated the policy he should pursue as President, he would not consent to their publication unless the Senators from Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, Louisiana, and Texas would sign a pledge which he had written below his signature to this letter and upon the same piece of paper. It was a pledge "to suspend all action for the dismemberment of the Union until some act deemed to be violative of our rights shall be done by the incoming administration." Thus the responsibility was thrown back upon the representatives of the seceding States, and it is unnecessary to say that Duff Green's mission to Springfield was not considered a success by the rebel leaders. In order to protect himself, Lincoln sent a copy of his letter to Senator Trumbull, calling his attention to the fact that part of its text and all of its sentiment were copied from the Chicago platform.

By this time Lincoln had become thoroughly convinced that the Southern leaders were in earnest and that nothing could prevent the secession of their States, although he continued his efforts to reassure them and to apply every means his ingenuity could suggest to reconcile them to the situation. Notwithstanding all his anxiety, his sense of humor remained, and, as was his habit, he illustrated the situation with a story about a pious man named Brown who was on a committee to erect a bridge over a very dangerous river. They called in an engineer named Jones, who had great confidence in himself, and, after the difficulties had been explained, asked him whether he was able to build the bridge. Jones was a profane man, and replied that he would build a bridge to hell if he could get a contract, or words to that effect. The churchmen were horrified, and when the contractor retired, Brown attempted to allay their indignation by saying all the good things he could remember or invent about Jones. At the same time he was a very cautious man and would not commit himself to any doubtful proposition.

"I know Jones," he said, "and he is a man who will keep his promises. If he agrees to build a bridge to Hades he will do it, although I have my doubts about the 'butments on the infernal side."

The infinite patience exhibited by Lincoln during this period of anxious helplessness, amidst the clamors of office-seekers, the importunities of sincere but timid men who besought him to yield to the South and avoid trouble and bloodshed, the threats of his enemies, the intrigues of the politicians, the conspiracies of the disunionists, showed his strength of character and sense of discretion, and did much to establish him in the confidence of the public. He indulged neither in hope nor fear, he made no boasts, he showed no alarm, he answered neither yea nor nay, but maintained complete self-control and waited for his time to come. To intimate friends who possessed his confidence he never failed to assert his determination to maintain the Union, no matter what it cost, and to resist to the end every proposition for dissolution or dismemberment, but his words were as gentle and as kindly as they were firm.

"The right of a State to secede is not an open or debatable question," he said. "That was fully discussed in Jackson's time and denied not only by him but by the vote of Congress. It is the duty of a President to execute the laws and maintain the existing government. He cannot entertain any proposition for dissolution or dismemberment. He was not elected for any such purpose. As a matter of theoretical speculation it is probably true that if the people, with whom the whole question rests, should become tired of the present government they might change it in the manner prescribed by the Constitution."

At the same time, without being dictatorial, he kept the Republican leaders inspired with his own confidence and determination and endeavored to prevent them from the mistake of yielding to compromise or making concessions. He wrote Representative Washburne with emphasis, "Prevent our friends from demoralizing themselves and their cause by entertaining propositions for compromise of any sort on slavery extensions. There is no possible compromise upon it but what puts us under again, and all our work to do over again. On that point hold firm as a chain of steel."

To Seward he wrote, "I say now, as I have all the while said, that on the question of extending slavery I am inflexible. I am for no compromise which assists or permits the extension of the institution on soil owned by the nation."

He knew what was going on under the direction of the disloyal members of Buchanan's Cabinet. He was aware that the Northern States were being stripped of arms and ammunition and that large quantities of military stores were being sent South where they could easily be seized when the time came. He knew also that disloyal officers of the army were being placed in command of the forts and military posts in the South, and other strategical points, and he asked Washburne to present his respects to General Scott, "and tell him confidentially that I should be obliged to him to be as well prepared as he can either to hold or retake the forts as the case may require after the inauguration."

Mr. Seward and other Republican leaders were apprehensive lest an attempt be made to prevent the counting of the electoral vote and the inauguration of Lincoln. The secessionists controlled both Houses and could have prevented constitutional proceeding if they had chosen to do so, but offered no interference. Mr. Seward always claimed—and he had an excessive degree of admiration for his own acts—that a speech which he made at the Astor House in January deceived the secession leaders into permitting the vote to be canvassed and Lincoln inaugurated. "When I made that speech the electoral vote was not counted," said Mr. Seward with pride, "and I knew it never would be if Jeff Davis believed there would be war. I had to deceive Davis and I did it. That's why I said it would all be settled in sixty days."

The will of the people to make Abraham Lincoln President was carried into effect upon February 13, 1861, when the Congress of the United States met in joint session and declared him duly elected.

Mr. Seward and other Republican leaders had urged Lincoln to come to Washington early in February, but the latter, with his usual judgment and common sense, declined to depart from ordinary usage, and politely explained his own feeling that he ought not to appear in Washington until he had been formally declared President. When that formality had been completed, he bade his old friends good-by and began a memorable journey, taking a circuitous route in order to gratify the people of the Northern States, who wished to see the President-elect, and gathered at every station through which he passed, hoping to hear his voice or catch a glimpse of his face. He made about thirty speeches on the journey, and every time he spoke it was to stimulate the patriotism and the determination of the people to preserve the Union. The address delivered in Independence Hall, Philadelphia, was perhaps the most notable, as it was the longest, because he was deeply moved by the date and the place, for it was Washington's birthday. Among other things, he said,—

"All the political sentiments I entertain have been drawn, so far as I have been able to draw them, from the sentiments which originated in and were given to the world from this hall. I have never had a feeling, politically, that did not spring from the sentiments embodied in the Declaration of Independence. It was that which gave promise that in due time the weight would be lifted from the shoulders of all men and that all should have an equal chance. Now, my friends, can this country be saved on that basis? If it can, I will consider myself one of the happiest men in the world if I can help to save it. If it cannot be saved upon that principle, it will be truly awful. But if this country cannot be saved without giving up that principle, I was about to say I would rather be assassinated on this spot than surrender it. Now, in my view of the present aspect of affairs, there is no need of bloodshed and war. There is no necessity for it. I am not in favor of such a course; and I may say in advance that there will be no bloodshed unless it be forced upon the government. The government will not use force unless force is used against it.

"My friends, this is wholly an unprepared speech. I did not expect to be called upon to say a word when I came here. I supposed it was merely to do something towards raising a flag—I may, therefore, have said something indiscreet. [Cries of 'No! no!'] But I have said nothing but what I am willing to live by, and, if it be the pleasure of Almighty God, to die by."

The manner in which Lincoln came into Washington has been the subject of abundant discussion and criticism, but long ago the public mind settled down to a mature opinion that he did exactly right, and that a President-elect of the United States, particularly at such a critical juncture, should not take any risks or omit any precautions for his personal safety. Lincoln himself, long after, declared that he did not then and never did believe that he would have been assassinated, but always thought it wise to run no risk when no risk was necessary. Wisdom justifies such a rule, while the tragic experience of the American people has left no doubt of it. The facts were that an Italian barber named Ferrandini, an outspoken secessionist working at a Baltimore hotel, had submitted to an organization of Southern sympathizers a wild plan for intimidating the Union people of Maryland and the North, which included the blowing up of all the bridges around Washington, the kidnapping of several prominent Republicans, and the assassination of Lincoln, General Scott, and Hamlin, the President and Vice-President elect. This would leave the capital open to the Southern leaders, throw the entire government into confusion, and prevent interference from the North with any revolutionary plans which Jefferson Davis might be contemplating.

Just how much encouragement Ferrandini received from the Southern sympathizers in Baltimore and Washington is not known, but he was the captain of a military company whose members were pledged to prevent the inauguration of Lincoln or any abolitionist President. When Allan Pinkerton learned of his suggestions, he reported the matter at once to Mr. Felton, President of the railroad that connected Baltimore with Philadelphia. Mr. Pinkerton's disclosures were confirmed by detectives employed by Governor Hicks, of Maryland, and the military authorities at Washington, although neither knew that the others were at work on the case. After consultation with his friends, Lincoln decided not to take any chances, and it was arranged that, after the ceremonies at Harrisburg were concluded, he should return to Philadelphia with a single companion and take the regular midnight train to Washington, leaving the rest of his party to continue in the special train according to the original itinerary. Lincoln wore no disguise, no deception was practised upon any one, and the only unusual occurrence that night was the disconnection of the telegraph wires just outside of Philadelphia and Harrisburg, so that, in case the change of plan was discovered, the news could not reach Baltimore until Lincoln had passed through that city. Mr. Seward and Mr. Washburne were the only persons to meet the President-elect at the station, and they had been advised of his coming only a few hours before by Mr. Seward's son, who had come by a previous train from Harrisburg.

The week before the inauguration was a busy one for the President-elect. A great deal of his time was occupied by visits of ceremony and consultations with Republican leaders about the composition of his Cabinet, the terms of his inaugural, and the policy to be pursued by the new administration. March 4 Mr. Buchanan escorted him from the Executive Mansion to the Capitol, where the oath was administered to him by Chief-Justice Taney, and, standing upon a platform at the east portico of the unfinished Capitol, he was introduced to the multitude by his old friend, Edward D. Baker, while Stephen A. Douglas, his opponent for the Presidency, stood at his left hand and held his hat. The public curiosity to see the President-elect reached its climax as he made his appearance. All sorts of stories had been told and believed about his personal appearance. His character had been grossly misrepresented and maligned in both sections of the Union, and the hysterical condition of the country naturally whetted the appetite of men of all parties to see and hear the man who was now the central figure of the republic. The tone of moderation, tenderness, and good-will which breathed through his inaugural speech made a profound impression in his favor, while his voice rang out over the acres of people before him with surprising distinctness, and was heard in the remotest parts of his audience.

No inaugural address before or since has been awaited with so much anxiety and interest. It was expected that in this, his first official utterance, the new President would outline the policy of his administration and determine whether the country should have war or peace. Thousands of men were eager for an intimation of what he intended to say, and an accurate forecast was worth millions of dollars to the stock market; but not a word nor a thought leaked out. The document was written with Lincoln's own hand upon the backs of envelopes and other scraps of paper from time to time as ideas suggested themselves and he determined what to say, and finally, as the time of his departure from Springfield approached, he put them together in a little bare room in a business block over the store of his brother-in-law, where he was accustomed to retire when he wanted to be alone or had to do writing of importance. Only two persons knew of this retreat.

When the manuscript was finished it was intrusted to Mr. William H. Bailhache, editor of the Illinois State Journal, who put it in type himself, assisted by a veteran compositor, also an old friend of Lincoln. After taking a dozen proof-slips, the type was distributed. Judge David Davis and one or two other friends read it in Springfield. Orville H. Browning read it on the journey to Washington, and upon the morning of his arrival at the capital, a copy was handed to Mr. Seward, who spent an entire Sunday revising it. His amendments and suggestions were almost as voluminous as the original document. Lincoln adopted either in whole or in part nearly all of them, except where they affected the style or changed the policy indicated. The most important changes made were to modify the declaration of his intentions to recover and hold the fortifications and property which had been seized by the secessionists and to speak of the exercise of power in that direction with some ambiguity and a hint at forbearance.

During all his life at the White House Lincoln took an active part in political affairs. He never forgot that he was the President of the whole country; but at the same time he considered it necessary to its salvation to establish the Republican party upon a firm and permanent basis, and for that purpose a more complete and thorough organization was necessary. He knew the value of an organization of trained politicians and of political discipline as well as any man in public life. He was thoroughly a practical politician and as skilful in execution as he was in planning. He knew how to manipulate men and direct movements as well as Thurlow Weed, and no man in the Cabinet or in either House of Congress was more adroit in accomplishing his purposes. He never failed to carry through Congress any measure that he considered important; he never failed to obtain the confirmation of a nominee. He used the patronage of his office to strengthen the Republican party because he believed it essential to the salvation of his country. He possessed a political tact so subtle and masterful that it enabled him to reconcile rivalries and enemies, to unite conflicting purposes, and to bring to his support men of implacable hostility, who never realized his purpose until his object was accomplished, and then it was such as they almost invariably approved. He was candid when candor was necessary, he was mysterious when he believed it wise to excite curiosity, and he was determined and often arbitrary with men whom he thought would be most impressed that way. His greatest quality, the most valuable talent he possessed, was his ability to fathom the human heart, to understand its weakness and its strength, so that he could measure the influence that must be exerted and the methods by which it could be induced to assist him in his direction of affairs.

His lowly birth and early experience were of great advantage to him in understanding human nature, and he looked to the great masses of "the plain people" as well as to the Almighty for guidance, and had full faith in their honesty and capacity. Before he acted upon any important question he felt the public pulse, and when he thought the people were ready he acted, and not before. While he was a great leader, a shrewd and deep manipulator of public opinion, he often said, in his quaint way, that it was possible to fool a part of the people all the time, and all of the people part of the time; but no man could fool all the people all the time. With his great common sense, he endeavored to discover what was in the public mind and how the public conscience would regard certain measures proposed, and waited for it to point out his path of duty. The atmosphere of Washington never affected him; he was self-contained and indifferent to social and other influences that usually exercise much force upon public men.

His sympathies were tender, and his desire to contribute to the happiness of every one made it difficult for him to say "No;" but this, his greatest weakness, was never shown in the direction of the military or political policy of the government. On the contrary, the man who would violate the laws of war and imperil the discipline of an army by pardoning a deserter or commuting the sentence of some poor wretch who was sentenced to be shot would not permit delegations of United States Senators to move him one atom from what he deemed best to be done. He carried this principle into his appointments to office also. During the Presidential canvass of 1864, when a quarrel between the Weed and Fenton factions of the Republican party endangered the ticket in New York, Lincoln sent for the Senator. What occurred we do not know; but Mr. Fenton started immediately for New York with Mr. Nicolay, and the latter returned to Washington with the resignation of Rufus F. Andrews, a friend of Mr. Fenton, who had been surveyor of the port, and Abram Wakeman, Mr. Weed's choice for the office, was appointed at once. From that time forward Mr. Weed was earnest in his support of the Republican ticket. Senator Fenton, in his reminiscences, says, "The small majority in New York in November, less than 7000 for the Republican ticket, served to illustrate Mr. Lincoln's political sagacity and tact. He was always a politician as well as a statesman, and but for his intervention at that time the electoral vote of New York might have been cast for the Democratic candidate, and no one dare measure the effect of such an event upon the war."

President Lincoln never hesitated to use the patronage of the government for political purposes. He held that the government of the United States is a political organization, and that the political opinions of those intrusted with its administration in those critical days were of as much consequence as their integrity or intelligence. As a consequence, he made his appointments first from among those whom he believed would give him the most efficient support in his efforts to save the Union, and second to those who believed in the principles and the measures of the party with which he was identified. He would have rejected with scorn the demands of the civil service reformers of the present day. Public opinion was not then educated up to the existing standard of political morality. At the same time, his keen sense of justice required him to recognize and reward merit and efficiency even among his political opponents.

He had a sly way of stating his intentions, and he often expressed great truths in an odd way. Soon after his arrival in Washington the Massachusetts delegation in the Peace Congress called upon him to recommend Salmon P. Chase for Secretary of the Treasury. Lincoln heard them respectfully, and then, with a twinkle in his eye, remarked,—

"Gentlemen, of course, you would not expect me to tell you who is going to be in the Cabinet; but, from what I hear, I think Mr. Chase's chances are about one hundred and fifty for any other man's hundred for that place."

One day, at Cabinet meeting, Mr. Chase was reproaching himself for failing to write a letter that he had intended to send that day, when Lincoln observed,—

"Never be sorry for what you don't write; it is the things you do write that you are usually sorry for."

The President enforced political discipline among the subordinates of the government. Representative George W. Julian, of Indiana, relates this incident:

"After my nomination for re-election in the year 1864, Mr. Holloway, who was holding the position of Commissioner of Patents, and was one of the editors of a Republican newspaper in my district, refused to recognize me as the party candidate, and kept the name of my defeated competitor standing in his paper. It threatened discord and mischief, and I went to the President with these facts, and on the strength of them asked for Mr. Holloway's removal from office.

"'Your nomination,' said Mr. Lincoln, 'is as binding on Republicans as mine, and you can rest assured that Mr. Holloway shall support you, openly and unconditionally, or lose his head.'

"This was entirely satisfactory; but after waiting a week or two for the announcement of my name, I returned to the President with the information that Mr. Holloway was still keeping up his fight, and that I had come to ask of him decisive measures. I saw in an instant that his ire was roused. He rang the bell for his messenger, and said to him in a very excited and emphatic way,—

"'Tell Mr. Holloway to come to me!'

"The messenger hesitated, looking somewhat surprised and bewildered, when Mr. Lincoln said in a tone still more emphatic,—

"'Tell Mr. Holloway to come to me!'

"It was perfectly evident that the business would now be attended to, and in a few days my name was duly announced and the work of party insubordination ceased."

The late Chief-Justice Cartter, of the District of Columbia, once called upon Lincoln with a party of politicians to secure the appointment of a gentleman who was opposed by the Senators from his State. Lincoln suggested that they ought to get the Senators on their side. They replied that, owing to local complications, such a thing was impossible. Lincoln retorted that nothing was impossible in politics; that the peculiarities of the Senator referred to were well known, and that by the use of a little tact and diplomacy he might be brought around, in which case there would be no doubt about the appointment. To clinch his argument Lincoln told a story of James Quarles, a distinguished lawyer of Tennessee. Quarles, he said, was trying a case, and after producing his evidence rested; whereupon the defence produced a witness who swore Quarles completely out of court, and a verdict was rendered accordingly. After the trial one of his friends came to him and said,—

"Why didn't you get that feller to swar on your side?"

"I didn't know anything about him," replied Quarles. "I might have told you about him," said the friend, "for he would swar for you jest as hard as he'd swar for the other side. That's his business. Judge, that feller takes in swarrin' for a living."

Representative John B. Alley, of Massachusetts, who was himself famous as a politician, said, "Mr. Lincoln was a thorough and most adroit politician as well as statesman, and in politics always adopted the means to the end, fully believing that in vital issues 'success was a duty.' In illustration of this feeling and sentiment, I need only refer to his action and conduct in procuring the passage of the constitutional amendment abolishing slavery. It required a two-thirds vote of Congress to enable the amendments to the Constitution to be sent to the Legislatures for ratification, and there were two votes lacking to make two-thirds, which Lincoln said 'must be procured.' Two members of the House were sent for and Lincoln said that those two votes must be procured. When asked 'How?' he remarked,—

"'I am President of the United States, clothed with great power. The abolition of slavery by constitutional provision settles the fate, for all coming time, not only of the millions now in bondage, but of unborn millions to come—a measure of such importance that those two votes must be procured. I leave it to you to determine how it shall be done; but remember that I am President of the United States, clothed with immense power, and I expect you to procure those votes.'"

These gentlemen understood the significance of the remark. The votes were procured, the constitutional amendment was passed, and slavery was abolished forever.

"Senator Sumner and myself," continued Mr. Alley, "called upon him one morning to urge the appointment of a Massachusetts man to be a secretary of legation, chiefly upon the ground of his superior qualifications. But Mr. Lincoln said, emphatically, 'No;' that he should give the place to an applicant from another State who was backed by strong influence, although he acknowledged that he did not think him fit for the position.

"We were naturally indignant, and wished to know if one of acknowledged fitness was to be rejected because he was a Massachusetts man, and one whom he was willing to say was not fit was to be appointed. 'Yes,' said the President, 'that is just the reason,' and facetiously added, 'I suppose you two Massachusetts gentlemen think that your State could furnish suitable men for every diplomatic and consulate station the government has to fill.' We replied that we thought it could. He appeased our displeasure by saying he thought so too, and that he considered Massachusetts the banner State of the Union, and admired its institutions and people so much that he sent his 'Bob,' meaning his son Robert, to Harvard for an education."

The Presidential campaign of 1864 was fought on one issue only, and that was the success of the war, although Lincoln, in his annual message to Congress in the December following, declared that "No candidate for any office whatever, high or low, has ventured to seek votes on the avowal that he was for giving up the Union." Nevertheless, the Democrats nominated McClellan and attempted to discredit the patriotism and the ability of Lincoln. Similar attempts were made in his own party by the radical antislavery element and the friends of Secretary Chase and numerous disappointed contractors and politicians, but they made hardly a ripple upon the great current of public opinion which swept on irresistible to the Convention. Lincoln did nothing to promote his candidacy, but made no secret of his desire for a re-election, and himself suggested the most effective argument in his own support when he recalled the homely proverb of his youth that "It is bad policy to swap horses while crossing a stream." He placed no obstacles in the way of Mr. Chase, and when warned that General Grant might aspire to the Presidency, replied, "If he takes Richmond, let him have it." He admonished the officials of the administration against too much activity and rebuked them for opposing his enemies. He made no speeches of importance during the campaign, but on several occasions addressed delegations which visited Washington, appeared at sanitary fairs for the benefit of sick soldiers, responded to serenades, and whenever custom or courtesy required him to appear in public he did so without reference to political results.

In August, 1864, the political horizon was very dark, and the President himself, who was always the most hopeful and confident of men, almost entirely lost heart. Having convinced himself that the campaign was going against him, he deliberately laid down a line of duty for himself, and at the Cabinet meeting on August 23 he requested each one of his ministers to write their names upon a folded sheet of paper in such a way that the seal could not be broken without mutilating their autographs. He made no explanation of its contents or of his reason for desiring them to attest it, but after the election it was disclosed that the mysterious paper contained a pledge from himself and his administration loyally to accept any verdict which the people of the country might pronounce upon their efforts to save the Union, and to continue their labors with zealous loyalty until relieved by their successors. The pledge closed as follows:

"This morning, as for some days past, it seems exceedingly probable that this administration will not be re-elected. Then it will be my duty to so co-operate with the President-elect as to save the Union between the election and the inauguration, as he will have secured the election on such ground that he cannot possibly save it afterwards."

V
A PRESIDENT AND HIS CABINET

Lincoln tells us that before he left the telegraph office at Springfield on the night of the election in November, 1860, he had practically selected his Cabinet. The superintendent of the telegraph company gave him a room from which all other visitors were excluded, and, with no company but two operators, he read the reports as they came in. Between times he had plenty of opportunity for meditation, and, always confident, the returns soon convinced him of his election and his mind naturally turned upon the next important act for him to perform. "When I finally left that room," he said afterwards, "I had substantially completed the framework of my Cabinet as it now exists."

To begin with, he decided to offer posts of honor to those who had been his rivals for the Presidential nomination,—Seward, Chase, Cameron, and Bates,—and to fill the remaining places with representatives of the various elements that had combined to form the Republican party. It was to be a composite Cabinet, purely political, including no intimate friends, no personal adherents, and in the entire list there was not one with whom he ever had confidential relations. His plan seems to have been to combine, as one of his secretaries said, the experience of Seward, the integrity of Chase, the popularity of Cameron, and to hold the West with Bates, attract New England with Welles, please the Whigs through Smith, and convince the Democrats through Blair. Lincoln always had a great respect for names. No one had studied more closely the careers of American politicians, although his personal acquaintances outside of his own State were limited, and he was more familiar with the personal qualifications and political records of the gentlemen he had chosen than were they with his. Perhaps he overestimated their ability and the value of their advice, as he was likely to do because of his own modesty and inexperience. He saw distinctly the impending crisis, and felt the need of support from leaders of experience, ability, and influence, as well as popular sympathy. But at the same time the combination he selected had in it all the seeds of disaster because of personal jealousy, previous political rivalry, and the intrigues of their henchmen. Yet by his great tact, patience, and strength of purpose he made them instruments of his will. As finally chosen, his Cabinet represented every faction of the new Republican party and the ablest representative of each division as evenly as an odd number could. When reminded that he had selected four Democrats and only three Whigs, he promptly replied that he was himself a Whig, and hoped that he should often be at Cabinet meetings to make the parties even. This was a famous jest during the early part of the administration.

Although he had decided in his own mind upon five of seven of his future advisers before the votes that elected him were counted, he treated with patience and courtesy the crowds of politicians that came from different parts of the country to advise and persuade him in the interest of their friends. He listened attentively to all that his visitors had to say and gave their suggestions careful reflection. He said to Thurlow Weed that he supposed the latter had some experience in cabinet-making, and, as he had never learned that trade himself, he was disposed to avail himself of the suggestions of friends. The making of a Cabinet, he added, was by no means as easy as he had supposed, partly, he believed, because, while the population had increased, great men were scarcer than they used to be.

He was extremely anxious to get two Southerners for the Cabinet, as he believed that such an act might go far to reconcile the loyal people of that section to his election and establish him in their confidence, but from the beginning he saw that his hopes were not to be realized. In order to draw out public sentiment, he wrote a brief anonymous editorial for the Illinois State Journal on the subject, in which he asked whether it was known that any Southern gentlemen of character would accept such an appointment, and, if so, on what terms would they surrender their political differences to Mr. Lincoln or Mr. Lincoln to them.

"There are men in Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee," said Thurlow Weed, "for whose loyalty under any circumstances and in any event I would vouch."

"Let's have the names of your white blackbirds," replied Lincoln, and Weed gave him four, Mr. Seward suggested several, and Mr. Greeley suggested five. Of all the gentlemen named, Lincoln preferred John A. Gilmer, of North Carolina, with whom he had served in Congress, and who had been a prominent leader of the Whig party in that State. He invited Gilmer to Springfield, but the latter would not come, and after canvassing the various suggestions which were made him, he found that he must limit his choice to the border States, and selected Edward Bates, of Missouri, and Montgomery Blair, of Maryland.

Mr. Bates was an able lawyer and a highly respected and popular antislavery Whig from a slave State. He had been a candidate for the Presidential nomination at Chicago, and had received 48 votes out of 465 cast by delegates from Delaware, Maryland, Missouri, Texas, Oregon, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. Early in December he sent word to Mr. Bates that he would be in St. Louis the next day to consult him about matters of importance; but Mr. Bates would not permit him to make the journey, and started at once for Springfield. They had been acquainted for several years and were very good friends, and after cordial greetings, Lincoln explained that he would like to have Mr. Bates accept the post of Attorney-General in his Cabinet, for which the latter was in every way qualified, and which he would find congenial. Mr. Bates accepted, and the next day the announcement was given to the newspapers for the purpose of quieting the demands of the conservative Republicans and antislavery Whigs in the border States for recognition.

A few days later he offered a Cabinet position to Caleb B. Smith, of Indiana, without assigning him to any particular portfolio. This was done to relieve him from the pressure that was being brought by Schuyler Colfax, whose friends were exceedingly persistent. Mr. Colfax was very much disappointed, and attributed his failure to obtain the appointment to Lincoln's resentment towards him because he had favored the re-election of Douglas to the United States Senate in 1858. Lincoln was not aware of this supposition until after he had entered upon his duties as President, when he showed his candor and good-nature by writing a friendly letter to Mr. Colfax explaining that "a tender of the appointment was not withheld in any part because of anything that happened in 1858. Indeed, I should have decided as I did, easier than I did, had that matter never existed. I had partly made up my mind in favor of Mr. Smith—not conclusively, of course—before your name was mentioned in that connection. When you were brought forward I said, 'Colfax is a young man already in a position, is running a brilliant career, and is sure of a bright future in any event. With Smith it is now or never.' I now have to beg that you will not do me the injustice to suppose for a moment that I remember anything against you in malice."

Mr. Smith did not remain in the Cabinet a great while, however. The duties of Secretary of the Interior were arduous and uncongenial, and he retired in December, 1862, at his own request, to accept an appointment to the United States District bench. He was succeeded by John P. Usher, also of Indiana, who continued in office until after the inauguration of Johnson, although he tendered his resignation early in 1865 to relieve President Lincoln from the criticism of having two members of his Cabinet from Indiana, Hugh McCulloch having been appointed Secretary of the Treasury. The President was reluctant to let Mr. Usher go, but accepted his resignation, and, for some reason never explained, fixed May 15, 1865, as the day when it should take effect. When that day arrived Lincoln had no further need of his services.

Mr. Bates proved a strong supporter of the war. He was a man of determination and belligerent disposition, notwithstanding his conservative education; and although he came from a slave State, he was one of the most radical of the President's advisers whenever the slavery question came up. When the Emancipation Proclamation was first proposed, Mr. Bates and Mr. Stanton were the only members of the Cabinet who gave it their unreserved approval, while Mr. Chase, who came nearer to being the representative of the abolition faction than any other member, and Mr. Seward, who was supposed to be the most radical of Republicans, were opposed to it.

Among Mr. Stanton's papers is a curious memorandum which throws a search-light upon his position and that of some of his colleagues.

"Tuesday, July 22.

"The President proposes to issue an order declaring free all slaves in States in rebellion on the —— day of ——.

"The Attorney-General and Stanton are for its immediate promulgation.

"Seward against it; argues strongly in favor of cotton and foreign governments.

"Chase silent.

"Welles—

"Seward argues—That foreign nations will intervene to prevent the abolition of slavery for sake of cotton. Argues in a long speech against its immediate promulgation. Wants to wait for troops. Wants Halleck here. Wants drum and fife and public spirit. We break up our relations with foreign nations and the production of cotton for sixty years.

"Chase thinks it a measure of great danger, and would lead to universal emancipation.—The measure goes beyond anything I have recommended."

However, before 1864 Mr. Bates grew weary of his official labors and expressed to the President his desire to retire. He was offered a vacant judgeship in Missouri, but declined it on the ground that he could not work in harmony with the radicals who were in control of politics there. When he retired the Cabinet was left without a Southern member.

A few days before the meeting of the Supreme Court, in December, 1864, Lincoln sent for Titian J. Coffey, the Assistant Attorney-General, and said,—

"My Cabinet has shrunk up North, and I must find a Southern man. I suppose if the twelve apostles were to be chosen nowadays the shrieks of locality would have to be heeded. I have invited Judge Holt to become Attorney-General, but he seems unwilling to undertake the Supreme Court work. I want you to see him, remove his objection if you can, and bring me his answer."

"I then had charge of the government cases in the Supreme Court, and they were all ready for argument," said Mr. Coffey. "I saw Judge Holt, explained the situation, and assured him that he need not appear in court unless he chose to do so. He had, however, decided to decline the invitation, and I returned to the President and so informed him.

"'Then,' said the President, 'I will offer it to James Speed, of Louisville, a man I know well, though not so well as I know his brother Joshua. I slept with Joshua for four years, and I suppose I ought to know him well. But James is an honest man and a gentleman, and if he comes here you will find he is one of those well-poised men, not too common here, who are not spoiled by a big office.'"

Mr. Speed accepted the appointment and served until after the assassination.

The relations between several of the members of Lincoln's Cabinet were from the beginning to the end unfriendly, and no President without the tact, patience, and forbearance of Lincoln could have controlled them. He treated them all with unvarying kindness, and although he never disclosed any desire or intention to dominate, and, in fact, invariably yielded on matters of little importance, he was always their master, and on matters of great importance they were compelled to submit to his will. It is the highest testimony to their confidence in him that even those who had retired at his wish never afterwards failed to show him respect and even affection, and none of them ever retired from his post from feelings of dissatisfaction with the orders or the treatment he received from him.

During the early days of his administration he had a higher opinion of his advisers than they had of him, which was because they did not yet know one another. He recognized them as men who had made honorable records in the United States Senate and in other eminent positions, while they regarded him as an ordinary frontier lawyer, without experience, and the struggle for ascendancy and control puzzled a good many people from time to time. Mr. Seward was looked upon as the chief pillar of the temple for many months, Mr. Stanton's iron will was constantly felt by the public, Mr. Chase was regarded as an eminent statesman; but in all the critical issues of the war the uncouth Western lawyer, without experience in statecraft or executive administration, unused to power, asserted and maintained his official supremacy, and every member of his Cabinet yielded implicit obedience. They recognized his unselfish purpose, his purity of character, his keen perception, his foresight, and his common sense, and were usually willing to accept his judgment. While others fretted and became confused in the emergencies that overwhelmed them, Lincoln was never liable to excitement or impulsive action.