Before taking up an account of Lincoln's entry into the Legislature,
which, following strictly the order of time, properly belongs here, I
beg to digress long enough to narrate what I have gathered relating to
another courtship--an affair of the heart which culminated in a sequel
as amusing as the one with Anne Rutledge was sad. I experienced much
difficulty in obtaining the particulars of this courtship. After
no little effort I finally located and corresponded with the lady
participant herself, who in 1866 furnished me with Lincoln's letters and
her own account of the affair, requesting the suppression of her name
and residence. Since then, however, she has died, and her children have
not only consented to a publication of the history, but have furnished
me recently with more facts and an excellent portrait of their mother
made shortly after her refusal of Lincoln's hand.
Mary S. Owens--a native of Green county, Kentucky, born September 29,
1808--first became acquainted with Lincoln while on a visit to a sister,
the wife of Bennet Able, an early settler in the country about New
Salem. Lincoln was a frequent visitor at the house of Able, and a warm
friend of the family. During the visit of Miss Owens in 1833, though
only remaining a month, she lingered long enough to make an impression
on Lincoln; but returned to Kentucky and did not reappear in New Salem
till 1836. Meanwhile Anne Rutledge had died, and Lincoln's eyes began to
wander after the dark-haired visitor from Kentucky. Miss Owens differed
from Miss Rutledge in early education and the advantages of wealth.
She had received an excellent education, her father being one of the
wealthiest and most influential men of his time and locality. A portion
of her schooling was obtained in a Catholic convent, though in religious
faith she was a Baptist. According to a description furnished me by
herself she "had fair skin, deep blue eyes, and dark curling hair;
height five feet, five inches; weight about a hundred and fifty pounds."
She was good-looking in girlhood; by many esteemed handsome, but became
fleshier as she grew older. At the time of her second visit she reached
New Salem on the day of the Presidential election, passing the polls
where the men had congregated, on the way to her sister's house. One
man in the crowd who saw her then was impressed with her beauty. Years
afterwards, in relating the incident, * he wrote me:
"She was tall, portly, had large blue eyes and the finest trimmings I
ever saw. She was jovial, social, loved wit and humor, had a liberal
English education, and was considered wealthy. None of the poets or
romance writers have ever given us a picture of a heroine so beautiful
as a good description of Miss Owens in 1836 would be."
* L. M. Greene.
A lady friend* says she was "handsome, truly handsome, matronly-looking,
over ordinary size in height and weight."
A gentleman** who saw her a few years before her death describes her as
"a nervous, muscular woman, very intellectual, with a forehead massive
and angular, square, prominent, and broad."
* Mrs. Hardin Bale.
** Johnson G. Greene.
At the time of her advent into the society of New Salem she was polished
in her manners, pleasing in her address, and attractive in many ways.
She had a little dash of coquetry in her intercourse with that class
of young men who arrogated to themselves claims of superiority, but she
never yielded to this disposition to an extent that would willingly lend
encouragement to an honest suitor sincerely desirous of securing her
hand, when she felt she could not in the end yield to a proposal of
marriage if he should make the offer. She was a good conversationalist
and a splendid reader, very few persons being found to equal her in this
accomplishment. She was light-hearted and cheery in her disposition,
kind and considerate for those with whom she was thrown in contact.
One of Miss Owens' descendants is authority for the statement that
Lincoln had boasted that "if Mary Owens ever returned to Illinois a
second time he would marry her;" that a report of this came to her ears,
whereupon she left her Kentucky home with a pre-determination to show
him if she met him that she was not to be caught simply by the asking.
On this second visit Lincoln paid her more marked attention than before,
and his affections became more and more enlisted in her behalf. During
the earlier part of their acquaintance, following the natural bent of
her temperament she was pleasing and entertaining to him. Later on he
discovered himself seriously interested in the blue-eyed Kentuckian, whom
he had really underestimated in his preconceived opinions of her.
In the meantime she too had become interested, having discovered the
sterling qualities of the young man who was paying her such devoted
attention; yet while she admired she did not love him. He was ungainly
and angular in his physical make-up, and to her seemed deficient in the
nicer and more delicate attentions which she felt to be due from the
man whom she had pictured as an ideal husband. He had given her to
understand that she had greatly charmed him; but he was not himself
certain that he could make her the husband with whom he thought she
would be most happy. Later on by word and letter he told her so. His
honesty of purpose showed itself in all his efforts to win her hand. He
told her of his poverty, and while advising her that life with him meant
to her who had been reared in comfort and plenty, great privation and
sacrifice, yet he wished to secure her as a wife. She, however, felt
that she did not entertain for him the same feeling that he professed
for her and that she ought to entertain before accepting him, and so
declined his offer. Judging from his letters alone it has been
supposed by some that she, remembering the rumor she had heard of his
determination to marry her, and not being fully certain of the sincerity
of his purposes, may have purposely left him in the earlier stages of
his courtship somewhat in uncertainty. Later on, however, when by his
manner and repeated announcement to her that his hand and heart were
at her disposal, he demonstrated the honesty and sincerity of his
intentions, she declined his offer kindly but with no uncertain meaning.
The first letter I received from Mrs. Vineyard--for she was married to
Jesse Vineyard, March 27, 1841--was written at Weston, Mo., May 1, 1866.
Among other things she says: "After quite a struggle with my feelings I
have at last decided to send you the letters in my possession written
by Mr. Lincoln, believing as I do that you are a gentleman of honor and
will faithfully abide by all you have said. My associations with your
lamented friend were in Menard county whilst visiting a sister who then
resided near Petersburg. I have learned that my maiden name is now in
your possession; and you have ere this, no doubt, been informed that I
am a native Kentuckian."
[Illustration: Mary Owens 186]
From a daguerreotype loaned by her son.
The letters written by Lincoln not revealing enough details of the
courtship, I prepared a list of questions for the lady to answer in
order that the entire history of their relations might be clearly shown.
I perhaps pressed her too closely in such a delicate matter, for she
responded in a few days as follows:
"Weston, Mo., May 22, 1866.
"Mr. W. H. Herndon,
"My Dear Sir: Really, you catechise me in true lawyer style; but I feel
you will have the goodness to excuse me if I decline answering all your
questions in detail, being well assured that few women would have ceded
as much as I have under all the circumstances.
"You say you have heard why our acquaintance terminated as it did. I
too have heard the same bit of gossip; but I never used the remark which
Madame Rumor says I did to Mr. Lincoln. I think I did on one occasion
say to my sister, who was very anxious for us to be married, that I
thought Mr. Lincoln was deficient in those little links which make up
the chain of woman's happiness--at least it was so in my case. Not
that I believed it proceeded from a lack of goodness of heart; but
his training had been different from mine; hence there was not that
congeniality which would otherwise have existed.
"From his own showing you perceive that his heart and hand were at my
disposal; and I suppose that my feelings were not sufficiently enlisted
to have the matter consummated. About the beginning of the year 1838 I
left Illinois, at which time our acquaintance and correspondence ceased,
without ever again being renewed.
"My father, who resided in Green county, Kentucky, was a gentleman of
considerable means; and I am persuaded that few persons placed a higher
estimate on education than he did.
"Respectfully yours,
"Mary S. Vineyard."
The reference to Lincoln's deficiency "in those little links which make
up the chain of woman's happiness" is of no little significance. It
proved that his training had indeed been different from hers. In a short
time I again wrote Mrs. Vineyard to enquire as to the truth of a story
current in New Salem, that one day as she and Mrs. Bowlin Greene were
climbing up the hill to Abie's house they were joined by Lincoln; that
Mrs. Greene was obliged to carry her child, a fat baby boy, to the
summit; that Lincoln strolled carelessly along, offering no assistance
to the woman who bent under the load. Thereupon Miss Owens, censuring
him for his neglect, reminded him that in her estimation he would not
make a good husband. In due time came her answer:
"Weston, Mo., July 22, 1866.
"Mr. W. H. Herndon:
"Dear Sir: I do not think you are pertinacious in asking the question
relative to old Mrs. Bowlin Greene, because I wish to set you right on
that question. Your information, no doubt, came through my cousin, Mr.
Gaines Greene, who visited us last winter. Whilst here, he was laughing
at me about Mr. Lincoln, and among other things spoke about the
circumstance in connection with Mrs. Greene and child. My impression is
now that I tacitly admitted it, for it was a season of trouble with me,
and I gave but little heed to the matter. We never had any hard feelings
towards each other that I know of. On no occasion did I say to Mr.
Lincoln that I did not believe he would make a kind husband, because he
did not tender his services to Mrs. Greene in helping of her carry her
babe. As I said to you in a former letter, I thought him lacking in
smaller attentions. One circumstance presents itself just now to my
mind's eye. There was a company of us going to Uncle Billy Greene's. Mr.
Lincoln was riding with me, and we had a very bad branch to cross. The
other gentlemen were very officious in seeing that their partners got
safely over. We were behind, he riding in, never looking back to see how
I got along. When I rode up beside him, I remarked, 'You are a nice
fellow! I suppose you did not care whether my neck was broken or not.'
He laughingly replied (I suppose by way of compliment), that he knew I
was plenty smart to take care of myself.
"In many things he was sensitive almost to a fault. He told me of an
incident: that he was crossing a prairie one day and saw before him, 'a
hog mired down,' to use his own language. He was rather 'fixed up,' and
he resolved that he would pass on without looking at the shoat. After
he had gone by, he said the feeling was irresistible; and he had to look
back, and the poor thing seemed to say wistfully, 'There now, my last
hope is gone;' that he deliberately got down and relieved it from its
difficulty.
"In many things we were congenial spirits. In politics we saw eye to
eye, though since then we differed as widely as the South is from the
North. But methinks I hear you say, 'Save me from a political woman!' So
say I.
"The last message I ever received from him was about a year after we
parted in Illinois. Mrs. Able visited Kentucky, and he said to her in
Springfield, 'Tell your sister that I think she was a great fool because
she did not stay here and marry me.' Characteristic of the man!
"Respectfully yours,
"Mary S. Vineyard."
We have thus been favored with the lady's side of this case, and it is
but fair that we should hear the testimony of her honest but ungainly
suitor. Fortunately for us and for history we have his view of the case
in a series of letters which have been preserved with zealous care by
the lady's family.*
* The copies of these letters were carefully made by Mr.
Weik from the originals, now in the possession of B. R.
Vineyard, St. Joseph, Mo.
The first letter was written from Vandalia, December 13, 1836, where
the Legislature to which he belonged was in session. After reciting the
progress of legislation and the flattering prospect that then existed
for the removal of the seat of government to Springfield, he gets down
to personal matters by apprising her of his illness for a few days,
coupled with the announcement that he is mortified by daily trips to the
post-office in quest of her letter, which it seemed never would arrive.
"You see," he complains, "I am mad about that old letter yet. I don't
like to risk you again. I'll try you once more, anyhow." Further along
in the course of the missive, he says: "You recollect, I mentioned at
the outset of this letter, that I had been unwell. That is the fact,
though I believe I am about well now; but that, with other things I
cannot account for, have conspired, and have gotten my spirits so low
that I feel that I would rather be in any place in the world than here.
I really cannot endure the thought of staying here ten weeks. Write back
as soon as you get this, and if possible, say something that will please
me; for really, I have not been pleased since I left you."
"This letter is so dry and stupid," he mournfully concludes, "that I
am ashamed to send it, but with my present feelings I cannot do any
better."
After the adjournment of the Legislature he returned to Springfield,
from which point it was a matter of easy driving to reach New Salem,
where his lady-love was sojourning, and where he could pay his addresses
in person. It should be borne in mind that he had by this time removed
to Springfield, the county seat, and entered on the practice of the
law. In the gloom resulting from lack of funds and the dim prospect for
business, he found time to communicate with the friend whose case was
constantly uppermost in his mind. Here is one characteristic letter:
"Springfield, May 7, 1837.
"Friend Mary:
"I have commenced two letters to send you before this, both of which
displeased me before I got half done, and so I tore them up. The first I
thought wasn't serious enough, and the second was on the other extreme.
I shall send this, turn out as it may.
"This thing of living in Springfield is rather a dull business after
all--at least it is so to me. I am quite as lonesome here as [I] ever
was anywhere in my life. I have been spoken to by but one woman since
I've been here, and should not have been by her if she could have
avoided it. I've never been to church yet, and probably shall not be
soon. I stay away because I am conscious I should not know how to behave
myself. I am often thinking of what we said of your coming to live at
Springfield. I am afraid you would not be satisfied. There is a great
deal of flourishing about in carriages here, which it would be your
doom to see without sharing in it. You would have to be poor without
the means of hiding your poverty. Do you believe you could bear that
patiently? Whatever woman may cast her lot with mine, should anyone ever
do so, it is my intention to do all in my power to make her happy and
contented, and there is nothing I can imagine that would make me more
unhappy than to fail in the effort. I know I should be much happier with
you than the way I am, provided I saw no signs of discontent in you.
"What you have said to me may have been in jest or I may have
misunderstood it. If so, then let it be forgotten; if otherwise I much
wish you would think seriously before you decide. For my part I have
already decided. What I have said I will most positively abide by,
provided you wish it. My opinion is you had better not do it. You have
not been accustomed to hardship, and it may be more severe than you
imagine. I know you are capable of thinking correctly on any subject;
and if you deliberate maturely upon this before you decide, then I am
willing to abide your decision.
"You must write me a good long letter after you get this. You have
nothing else to do, and though it might not seem interesting to you
after you have written it, it would be a good deal of company in this
busy wilderness. Tell your sister I don't want to hear any more about
selling out and moving. That gives me the hypo whenever I think of it.
"Yours, etc.
"Lincoln."
Very few if any men can be found who in fond pursuit of their love would
present their case voluntarily in such an unfavorable light. In one
breath he avows his affection for the lady whose image is constantly
before him, and in the next furnishes her reasons why she ought not
to marry him! During the warm, dry summer months he kept up the siege
without apparent diminution of zeal. He was as assiduous as ever, and
in August was anxious to force a decision. On the 16th he had a meeting
with her which terminated much like a drawn battle--at least it seems
to have afforded him but little encouragement, for on his return to
Springfield he immediately indulged in an epistolary effusion stranger
than any that preceded it.
"Friend Mary:
"You will no doubt think it rather strange that I should write you a
letter on the same day on which we parted; and I can only account for
it by supposing that seeing you lately makes me think of you more than
usual, while at our late meeting we had but few expressions of thoughts.
You must know that I cannot see you or think of you with entire
indifference; and yet it may be that you are mistaken in regard to what
my real feelings towards you are. If I knew you were not, I should not
trouble you with this letter. Perhaps any other man would know enough
without further information, but I consider it my peculiar right to
plead ignorance and your bounden duty to allow the plea.
"I want in all cases to do right; and most particularly so in all cases
with women. I want, at this particular time, more than anything else,
to do right with you, and if I knew it would be doing right, as I rather
suspect it would, to let you alone, I would do it. And for the purpose
of making the matter as plain as possible, I now say, that you can now
drop the subject, dismiss your thoughts (if you ever had any) from me
forever, and leave this letter unanswered, without calling forth one
accusing murmur from me. And I will even go farther, and say, that if
it will add anything to your comfort or peace of mind to do so, it is my
sincere wish that you should. Do not understand by this that I wish to
cut your acquaintance. I mean no such thing. What I do wish is that
our further acquaintance shall depend upon yourself. If such further
acquaintance would contribute nothing to your happiness, I am sure it
would not to mine. If you feel yourself in any degree bound to me, I am
now willing to release you, provided you wish it; while, on the other
hand, I am willing and even anxious to bind you faster if I can be
convinced that it will in any considerable degree add to your happiness.
This, indeed, is the whole question with me. Nothing would make me more
miserable, nothing more happy, than to know you were so.
"In what I have now said, I think I cannot be misunderstood; and to make
myself understood is the sole object of this letter.
"If it suits you best to not answer this--farewell--a long life and
a merry one attend you. But if you conclude to write back, speak as
plainly as I do. There can be neither harm nor danger in saying to me
anything you think, just in the manner you think it.
"My respects to your sister.
"Your friend,
"Lincoln."
For an account of the final outcome of this _affaire du cour_ the reader
is now referred to the most ludicrous letter Mr. Lincoln ever wrote. It
has been said, but with how much truth I do not know, that during his
term as President the lady to whom it was written--Mrs. O. H. Browning,
wife of a fellow-member of the Legislature--before giving a copy of it
to a biographer, wrote to Lincoln asking his consent to the publication,
but that he answered warning her against it because it was too full of
truth. The only biographer who ever did insert it apologized for its
appearance in his book, regarding it for many reasons as an extremely
painful duty. "If it could be withheld," he laments, "and the act
decently reconciled to the conscience of a biographer* professing to
be honest and candid, it should never see the light in these pages. Its
grotesque humor, its coarse exaggerations in describing the person of a
lady whom the writer was willing to marry; its imputation of toothless
and weatherbeaten old age to a woman really young and handsome; its
utter lack of that delicacy of tone and sentiment which one naturally
expects a gentleman to adopt when he thinks proper to discuss the merits
of his late mistress--all these, and its defective orthography, it would
certainly be more agreeable to suppress than to publish. But if we begin
by omitting or mutilating a document which sheds so broad a light upon
one part of his life and one phase of his character, why may we not do
the like as fast and as often as the temptation arises? and where shall
the process cease?"
* Lamon, p. 181.
I prefer not to take such a serious view of the letter or its
publication. My idea is, that Mr. Lincoln got into one of his
irresistible moods of humor and fun--a state of feeling into which
he frequently worked himself to avert the overwhelming effects of his
constitutional melancholy--and in the inspiration of the moment penned
this letter, which many regard as an unfortunate composition. The class
who take such a gloomy view of the matter should bear in mind that the
letter was written by Mr. Lincoln in the fervor of early manhood, just
as he was emerging from a most embarrassing situation, and addressed to
a friend who, he supposed, would keep it sacredly sealed from the
public eye. As a matter of fact Mr. Lincoln was not gifted with a ready
perception of the propriety of things in all cases. Nothing with him was
intuitive. To have profound judgment and just discrimination he required
time to think; and if facts or events were forced before him in too
rapid succession the machinery of his judgment failed to work. A
knowledge of this fact will account for the letter, and also serve to
rob the offence--if any was committed--of half its severity.
The letter was written in the same month Miss Owens made her final
departure from Illinois.
"Springfield, April 1, 1838.
"Dear Madam:--
"Without apologizing for being egotistical, I shall make the history of
so much of my life as has elapsed since I saw you the subject of this
letter. And, by the way, I now discover that, in order to give a full
and intelligible account of the things I have done and suffered since I
saw you, I shall necessarily have to relate some that happened before.
"It was, then, in the autumn of 1836 that a married lady of my
acquaintance and who was a great friend of mine, being about to pay a
visit to her father and other relatives residing in Kentucky, proposed
to me that on her return she would bring a sister of hers with her on
condition that I would engage to become her brother-in-law with all
convenient despatch. I, of course, accepted the proposal, for you know
I could not have done otherwise, had I really been averse to it; but
privately, between you and me I was most confoundedly well pleased with
the project. I had seen the said sister some three years before, thought
her intelligent and agreeable, and saw no good objection to plodding
life through hand in hand with her. Time passed on, the lady took her
journey, and in due time returned, sister in company sure enough. This
astonished me a little; for it appeared to me that her coming so
readily showed that she was a trifle too willing; but, on reflection,
it occurred to me that she might have been prevailed on by her married
sister to come, without anything concerning me ever having been
mentioned to her; and so I concluded that, if no other objection
presented itself, I would consent to waive this. All this occurred to me
on hearing of her arrival in the neighborhood; for, be it remembered,
I had not yet seen her, except about three years previous, as above
mentioned. In a few days we had an interview; and, although I had seen
her before, she did not look as my imagination had pictured her. I knew
she was over-size, but she now appeared a fair match for Falstaff. I
knew she was called an 'old maid,' and I felt no doubt of the truth of
at least half of the appellation; but now, when I beheld her, I Could
not for my life avoid thinking of my mother; and this, not from withered
features, for her skin was too full of fat to permit of its contracting
into wrinkles, but from her want of teeth, weather-beaten appearance
in general, and from a kind of notion that ran in my head that nothing
could have commenced at the size of infancy and reached her present bulk
in less than thirty-five or forty years; and, in short, I was not at
all pleased with her. But what could I do? I had told her sister I
would take her for better or for worse; and I made a point of honor and
conscience in all things to stick to my word, especially if others had
been induced to act on it, which in this case I had no doubt they had;
for I was now fairly convinced that no other man on earth would have
her, and hence the conclusion that they were bent on holding me to my
bargain. 'Well,' thought I, 'I have said it, and, be the consequences
what they may, it shall not be my fault if I fail to do it.' At once
I determined to consider her my wife; and, this done, all my powers of
discovery were put to work in search of perfections in her which might
be fairly set off against her defects. I tried to imagine her handsome,
which, but for her unfortunate corpulency, was actually true. Exclusive
of this, no woman that I have ever seen has a finer face. I also tried
to convince myself that the mind was much more to be valued than the
person; and in this she was not inferior, as I could discover, to any
with whom I had been acquainted.
"Shortly after this, without coming to any positive understanding with
her, I set out for Vandalia, when and where you first saw me. During
my stay there I had letters from her which did not change my opinion of
either her intellect or intention, but on the contrary confirmed it in
both.
"All this while, although I was fixed, 'firm as the surge-repelling
rock,' in my resolution, I found I was continually repenting the
rashness which had led me to make it. Through life, I have been in no
bondage, either real or imaginary, from the thraldom of which I so much
desired to be free. After my return home, I saw nothing to change my
opinions of her in any particular. She was the same, and so was I. I now
spent my time in planning how I might get along through life after my
contemplated change of circumstances should have taken place, and how I
might procrastinate the evil day for a time, which I really dreaded as
much, perhaps more, than an Irishman does the halter.
"After all my suffering upon this deeply interesting subject, here I am,
wholly, unexpectedly, completely, out of the 'scrape;; and now I want to
know if you can guess how I got out of it--out, clear, in every sense
of the term; no violation of word, honor, or conscience. I don't believe
you can guess, and so I might as well tell you at once. As the lawyer
says, it was done in the manner following, to-wit: After I had delayed
the matter as long as I thought I could in honor do (which, by the way,
had brought me round into the last fall), I concluded I might as well
bring it to a consummation without further delay; and so I mustered
my resolution, and made the proposal to her direct; but, shocking to
relate, she answered, No. At first I supposed she did it through an
affectation of modesty, which I thought but ill became her under the
peculiar circumstances of her case; but on my renewal of the charge,
I found she repelled it with greater firmness than before. I tried it
again and again, but with the same success, or rather with the same want
of success.
"I finally was forced to give it up; at which I very unexpectedly found
myself mortified almost beyond endurance. I was mortified, it seemed
to me, in a hundred different ways. My vanity was deeply wounded by the
reflection that I had been too stupid to discover her intentions, and at
the same time never doubting that I understood them perfectly; and also
that she, whom I had taught myself to believe nobody else would have,
had actually rejected me with all my fancied greatness. And, to cap the
whole, I then for the first time began to suspect that I was really a
little in love with her. But let it all go. I'll try and outlive it.
Others have been made fools of by the girls; but this can never with
truth be said of me. I most emphatically, in this instance, made a fool
of myself. I have now come to the conclusion never again to think of
marrying, and for this reason: I can never be satisfied with any one who
would be blockhead enough to have me.
"When you receive this, write me a long yarn about something to amuse
me. Give my respects to Mr. Browning.
"Your sincere friend,
"A. Lincoln"
Mrs. O. H. Browning.
As before mentioned Miss Owens was afterwards married and became the
mother of five children. Two of her sons served in the Confederate army.
She died July 4, 1877. Speaking of Mr. Lincoln a a short time before her
death she referred to him as "a man with a heart full of kindness and a
head full of sense."