[Illustration: The Globe Tavern 363]
Photographed in 1886.
After the wedding of Lincoln and Miss Todd at the Edwards mansion we
hear but little of them as a married couple till the spring of 1843,
when the husband writes to his friend Speed, who had been joined to his
"black-eyed Fanny" a little over a year, with regard to his life as a
married man. "Are you possessing houses and lands," he writes, "and oxen
and asses and men-servants and maid-servants, and begetting sons and
daughters? We are not keeping house, but boarding at the Globe Tavern,
which is very well kept now by a widow lady of the name of Beck. Our
room (the same Dr. Wallace occupied there) and boarding only costs us
four dollars a week." Gaining a livelihood was slow and discouraging
business with him, for we find him in another letter apologizing for his
failure to visit Kentucky, "because," he says, "I am so poor and make so
little headway in the world that I drop back in a month of idleness as
much as I gain in a year's sowing." But by dint of untiring efforts and
the recognition of influential friends he managed through rare frugality
to move along. In his struggles, both in the law and for political
advancement, his wife shared in his sacrifices. She was a plucky little
woman, and in fact endowed with a more restless ambition than he. She
was gifted with a rare insight into the motives that actuate mankind,
and there is no doubt that much of Lincoln's success was in a measure
attributable to her acuteness and the stimulus of her influence. His
election to Congress within four years after their marriage afforded
her extreme gratification. She loved power and prominence, and when
occasionally she came down to our office, it seemed to me then that she
was inordinately proud of her tall and ungainly husband. She saw in him
bright prospects ahead, and his every move was watched by her with the
closest interest. If to other persons he seemed homely, to her he was
the embodiment of noble manhood, and each succeeding day impressed upon
her the wisdom of her choice of Lincoln over Douglas--if in reality she
ever seriously accepted the latter's attentions. "Mr. Lincoln may not
be as handsome a figure," she said one day in the office during her
husband's absence, when the conversation turned on Douglas, "but the
people are perhaps not aware that his heart is as large as his arms are
long."
Mrs. Lincoln accompanied her husband to Washington and remained during
one session of Congress. While there they boarded at the same house with
Joshua R. Giddings, and when in 1856 the valiant old Abolitionist came
to take part in the canvass in Illinois, he early sought out Lincoln,
with whom he had been so favorably impressed several years before. On
his way home from Congress Lincoln came by way of Niagara Falls and down
Lake Erie to Toledo or Detroit. It happened that, some time after,
I went to New York and also returned by way of Niagara Falls. In the
office, a few days after my return, I was endeavoring to entertain my
partner with an account of my trip, and among other things described the
Falls. In the attempt I indulged in a good deal of imagery. As I warmed
up with the subject my descriptive powers expanded accordingly. The mad
rush of water, the roar, the rapids, and the rainbow furnished me with
an abundance of material for a stirring and impressive picture. The
recollection of the gigantic and awe-inspiring scene stimulated my
exuberant powers to the highest pitch. After well-nigh exhausting myself
in the effort I turned to Lincoln for his opinion. "What," I inquired,
"made the deepest impression on you when you stood in the presence of
the great natural wonder?" I shall never forget his answer, because it
in a very characteristic way illustrates how he looked at everything.
"The thing that struck me most forcibly when I saw the Falls," he
responded, "was, where in the world did all that water come from?"
He had no eye for the magnificence and grandeur of the scene, for the
rapids, the mist, the angry waters, and the roar of the whirlpool, but
his mind, working in its accustomed channel, heedless of beauty or awe,
followed irresistibly back to the first cause. It was in this light he
viewed every question. However great the verbal foliage that concealed
the nakedness of a good idea Lincoln stripped it all down till he could
see clear the way between cause and effect. If there was any secret in
his power this surely was it.
After seeing Niagara Falls he continued his journey homeward. At some
point on the way, the vessel on which he had taken passage stranded on a
sand bar. The captain ordered the hands to collect all the loose planks,
empty barrels and boxes and force them under the sides of the boat.
These empty casks were used to buoy it up. After forcing enough of them
under the vessel she lifted gradually and at last swung clear of the
opposing sand bar. Lincoln had watched this operation very intently. It
no doubt carried him back to the days of his navigation on the turbulent
Sangamon, when he and John Hanks had rendered similar service at New
Salem dam to their employer, the volatile Offut. Continual thinking on
the subject of lifting vessels over sand bars and other obstructions in
the water suggested to him the idea of inventing an apparatus for that
purpose. Using the principle involved in the operation he had just
witnessed, his plan was to attach a kind of bellows on each side of the
hull of the craft just below the water line, and, by an odd system of
ropes and pulleys, whenever the keel grated on the sand these bellows
were to be filled with air, and thus buoyed up, the vessel was expected
to float clear of the shoal. On reaching home he at once set to work to
demonstrate the feasibility of his plan. Walter Davis, a mechanic having
a shop near our office, granted him the use of his tools, and likewise
assisted him in making the model of a miniature vessel with the
arrangement as above described. Lincoln manifested ardent interest
in it. Occasionally he would bring the model in the office, and while
whittling on it would descant on its merits and the revolution it was
destined to work in steamboat navigation. Although I regarded the thing
as impracticable I said nothing, probably out of respect for Lincoln's
well-known reputation as a boatman. The model was sent or taken by him
to Washington, where a patent was issued, but the invention was never
applied to any vessel, so far as I ever learned, and the threatened
revolution in steamboat architecture and navigation never came to pass.
The model still reposes in undisturbed slumber on the shelves in the
Patent Office, and is the only evidence now existing of Lincoln's
success as an inventor.*
* Following is a copy of Lincoln's application for the
patent on his "Improved Method of Lifting Vessels Over
Shoals": "What I claim as my invention, and desire to secure
by letters patent, is the combination of expansible buoyant
chambers placed at the sides of a vessel with the main shaft
or shafts by means of the sliding spars, which pass down
through the buoyant chambers and are made fast to their
bottoms and the series of ropes and pulleys or their
equivalents in such a manner that by turning the main shaft
or shafts in one direction the buoyant chambers will be
forced downwards into the water, and at the same time
expanded and filled with air for buoying up the vessel by
the displacement of water, and by turning the shafts in an
opposite direction the buoyant chambers will be contracted
into a small space and secured against injury.
"A. Lincoln."
Shortly before the close of his term in Congress he appears in a new
role. Having failed of a re-election he became an applicant for the
office of Commissioner of the General Land Office. He had been urged to
this step by many of his Whig friends in Illinois, but he was so hedged
about with other aspirants from his own State that he soon lost all
heart in the contest. He was too scrupulous, and lacked too much the
essentials of self-confidence and persistence, to be a successful
suitor for office. In a letter to Joshua Speed, who had written him of
a favorable reference to him by Mr. Crittenden, of Kentucky,* he says,
February 20, 1849, "I am flattered to learn that Mr. Crittenden has any
recollection of me which is not unfavorable; and for the manifestation
of your kindness towards me I sincerely thank you."
* Lincoln had asked Speed to see Crittenden (then Governor
of Kentucky) and secure from the latter a recommendation for
Baker, who wanted a first-class foreign mission. Crittenden
did not approve of Baker, but suggested that he would favor
Lincoln, whom he regarded as a rising man. Speed suggested
to Lincoln to apply for the place himself. "I have pledged
myself to Baker," he answered, "and cannot under any
circumstances consent to the use of my name so long as he is
urged for the same place."
"Still, there is nothing about me to authorize me to think of a
first-class office, and a second-class one would not compensate me for
being sneered at by others who want it for themselves. I believe that,
so far as the Whigs in Congress are concerned, I could have the General
Land Office almost by common consent; but then Sweet and Dav. Morrison
and Browning and Cyrus Edwards all want it, and what is worse, while I
think I could easily take it myself I fear I shall have trouble to
get it for any other man in Illinois. The reason is that McGaughey, an
Indiana ex-member of Congress, is here after it, and being personally
known he will be hard to beat by any one who is not." But, as the sequel
proved, there was no need to fear the Hoosier statesman, for although he
had the endorsement of General Scott and others of equal influence,
yet he was left far behind in the race, and along with him Lincoln,
Morrison, Browning, and Edwards. A dark horse in the person of Justin
Butterfield, sprang into view, and with surprising facility captured
the tempting prize. This latter and successful aspirant was a lawyer
of rather extensive practice and reputation in Chicago. He was shrewd,
adroit, and gifted with a knowledge of what politicians would call good
management--a quality or characteristic in which Lincoln was strikingly
deficient. He had endorsed the Mexican war, but, strangely enough, had
lost none of his prestige with the Whigs on that account.*
* The following letter by Butterfield's daughter is not
without interest:
"Chicago, Oct. l2th, 1888.
"Mr. Jesse W. Weik.
"Dear Sir:
"My father was born in Keene, N. H., in 1790, entered
Williams College, 1807, and removed to Chicago in 1835.
After the re-accession of the Whigs to power he was on the
21st of June in 1849 appointed Commissioner of the Land
Office by President Taylor. A competitor for the position at
that time was Abraham Lincoln, who was beaten, it was said,
by 'the superior dispatch of Butterfield in reaching
Washington by the Northern route,' but more correctly by the
paramount influence of his friend Daniel Webster.
"He held the position of Land Commissioner until disabled by
paralysis in 1852. After lingering for three years in a
disabled ana enfeebled condition, he died at his home in
Chicago, October 23d, 1855, in his sixty-third year.
"Very respectfully,
"Elizabeth Sawyer."
The close of Congress and the inauguration of Taylor were the signal
for Lincoln's departure from Washington. He left with the comforting
assurance that as an office-seeker he was by no means a success. Besides
his lack of persistence, he had an unconscious feeling of superiority
and pride that admitted of no such flexibility of opinion as the
professional suitor for office must have, in order to succeed. He
remained but a few days at his home in Illinois, however, before he
again set out for Washington. The administration of President Taylor
feeling that some reward was due Lincoln for his heroic efforts on the
stump and elsewhere in behalf of the Whig party and its measures, had
offered him the office of either Governor or Secretary of Oregon,
and with the view of considering this and other offers he returned to
Washington. Lincoln used to relate of this last-named journey an amusing
incident illustrating Kentucky hospitality. He set out from Ransdell's
tavern in Springfield, early in the morning. The only other passenger
in the stage for a good portion of the distance was a Kentuckian, on his
way home from Missouri. The latter, painfully impressed no doubt with
Lincoln's gravity and melancholy, undertook to relieve the general
monotony of the ride by offering him a chew of tobacco. With a plain
"No, sir, thank you; I never chew," Lincoln declined, and a long period
of silence followed. Later in the day the stranger, pulling from his
pocket a leather-covered case, offered Lincoln a cigar, which he also
politely declined on the ground that he never smoked. Finally, as they
neared the station where horses were to be changed, the Kentuckian,
pouring out a cup of brandy from a flask which had lain concealed in his
satchel, offered it to Lincoln with the remark, "Well, stranger, seeing
you don't smoke or chew, perhaps you'll take a little of this French
brandy. It's a prime article and a good appetizer besides." His tall
and uncommunicative companion declined this last and best evidence
of Kentucky hospitality on the same ground as the tobacco. When they
separated that afternoon, the Kentuckian, transferring to another stage,
bound for Louisville, shook Lincoln warmly by the hand. "See here,
stranger," he said, good-humoredly, "you're a clever, but strange
companion. I may never see you again, and I don't want to offend you,
but I want to say this: my experience has taught me that a man who
has no vices has d------d few virtues. Good-day." Lincoln enjoyed this
reminiscence of the journey, and took great pleasure in relating it.
During this same journey occurred an incident for which Thomas H.
Nelson, of Terre Haute, Indiana, who was appointed Minister to Chili by
Lincoln, when he was President, is authority. "In the spring of 1849,"
relates Nelson, "Judge Abram Hammond, who was afterwards Governor of
Indiana, and I arranged to go from Terre Haute to Indianapolis in the
stage coach. An entire day was usually consumed in the journey. By
daybreak the stage had arrived from the West, and as we stepped in
we discovered that the entire back seat was occupied by a long, lank
individual, whose head seemed to protrude from one end of the coach
and his feet from the other. He was the sole occupant, and was sleeping
soundly. Hammond slapped him familiarly on the shoulder, and asked him
if he had chartered the stage for the day. The stranger, now wide awake,
responded, 'Certainly not,' and at once took the front seat, politely
surrendering to us the place of honor and comfort. We took in our
travelling companion at a glance. A queer, odd-looking fellow he was,
dressed in a well-worn and ill-fitting suit of bombazine, without vest
or cravat, and a twenty-five-cent palm hat on the back of his head.
His very prominent features in repose seemed dull and expressionless.
Regarding him as a good subject for merriment we perpetrated several
jokes. He took them all with the utmost innocence and good-nature, and
joined in the laugh, although at his own expense. At noon we stopped
at a wayside hostelry for dinner. We invited him to eat with us, and he
approached the table as if he considered it a great honor. He sat with
about half his person on a small chair, and held his hat under his arm
during the meal. Resuming our journey after dinner, conversation drifted
into a discussion of the comet, a subject that was then agitating the
scientific world, in which the stranger took the deepest interest. He
made many startling suggestions and asked many questions. We amazed him
with words of learned length and thundering sound. After an astounding
display of wordy pyrotechnics the dazed and bewildered stranger asked:
'What is going to be the upshot of this comet business?' I replied
that I was not certain, in fact I differed from most scientists and
philosophers, and was inclined to the opinion that the world
would follow the darned thing off! Late in the evening we reached
Indianapolis, and hurried to Browning's hotel, losing sight of the
stranger altogether. We retired to our room to brush and wash away the
dust of the journey. In a few minutes I descended to the portico, and
there descried our long, gloomy fellow-traveller in the center of an
admiring group of lawyers, among whom were Judges McLean and Huntington,
Edward Hannigan, Albert S. White, and Richard W. Thompson, who seemed
to be amused and interested in a story he was telling. I enquired of
Browning, the landlord, who he was. "Abraham Lincoln, of Illinois,
a member of Congress," was the response. I was thunderstruck at the
announcement. I hastened upstairs and told Hammond the startling news,
and together we emerged from the hotel by a back door and went down
an alley to another house, thus avoiding further contact with our now
distinguished fellow-traveller. Curiously enough, years after this,
Hammond had vacated the office of Governor of Indiana a few days
before Lincoln arrived in Indianapolis, on his way to Washington to be
inaugurated President. I had many opportunities after the stage ride to
cultivate Mr. Lincoln's acquaintance, and was a zealous advocate of his
nomination and election to the Presidency. Before leaving his home for
Washington, Mr. Lincoln caused John P. Usher and myself to be invited to
accompany him. We agreed to join him in Indianapolis. On reaching that
city the Presidential party had already arrived, and upon inquiry we
were informed that the President-elect was in the dining-room of
the hotel, at supper. Passing through, we saw that every seat at the
numerous tables was occupied, but failed to find Mr. Lincoln. As we were
nearing the door to the office of the hotel, a long arm reached to my
shoulder and a shrill voice exclaimed, 'Hello, Nelson! do you think,
after all, the world is going to follow the darned thing off?' It was
Mr. Lincoln."
The benefits and advantages of the territorial posts offered by
President Taylor to Lincoln were freely discussed by the latter's
friends. Some urged his acceptance on the usual ground that when Oregon
was admitted as a State, he might be its first Senator. Lincoln himself
had some inclination to accept. He told me himself that he felt by his
course in Congress he had committed political suicide, and wanted to try
a change of locality--hence the temptation to go to Oregon. But when
he brought the proposition home to his fireside, his wife put her foot
squarely down on it with a firm and emphatic No. That always ended
it with Lincoln. The result of the whole thing proved a fortunate
deliverance for him, the propriety of which became more apparent as the
years rolled by.*
* About this time Grant Goodrich, a lawyer in Chicago,
proposed to take Lincoln into partnership with him. Goodrich
had an extensive and paying practice there, but Lincoln
refused the offer, giving as a reason that he tended to
consumption, and if he removed to a city like Chicago, he
would have to sit down and study harder than ever. The close
application required of him and the confinement in the
office, he contended, would soon kill him. He preferred
going around on the circuit, and even if he earned smaller
fees he felt much happier.
While a member of Congress and otherwise immersed in politics Lincoln
seemed to lose all interest in the law. Of course, what practice he
himself controlled passed into other hands. I retained all the business
I could, and worked steadily on until, when he returned, our practice
was as extensive as that of any other firm at the bar. Lincoln realized
that much of this was due to my efforts, and on his return he therefore
suggested that he had no right to share in the business and profits
which I had made. I responded that, as he had aided me and given me
prominence when I was young and needed it, I could afford now to be
grateful if not generous. I therefore recommended a continuation of the
partnership, and we went on as before. I could notice a difference in
Lincoln's movement as a lawyer from this time forward. He had begun
to realize a certain lack of discipline--a want of mental training and
method. Ten years had wrought some change in the law, and more in the
lawyers, of Illinois. The conviction had settled in the minds of the
people that the pyrotechnics of court room and stump oratory did not
necessarily imply extensive or profound ability in the lawyer who
resorted to it. The courts were becoming graver and more learned, and
the lawyer was learning as a preliminary and indispensable condition to
success that he must be a close reasoner, besides having at command
a broad knowledge of the principles on which the statutory law is
constructed. There was of course the same riding on circuit as before,
but the courts had improved in tone and morals, and there was less
laxity--at least it appeared so to Lincoln. Political defeat had wrought
a marked effect on him. It went below the skin and made a changed man
of him. He was not soured at his seeming political decline, but still he
determined to eschew politics from that time forward and devote himself
entirely to the law. And now he began to make up for time lost in
politics by studying the law in earnest. No man had greater power of
application than he. Once fixing his mind on any subject, nothing could
interfere with or disturb him. Frequently I would go out on the circuit
with him. We, usually, at the little country inns occupied the same bed.
In most cases the beds were too short for him, and his feet would hang
over the foot-board, thus exposing a limited expanse of shin bone.
Placing a candle on a chair at the head of the bed, he would read and
study for hours. I have known him to study in this position till two
o'clock in the morning. Meanwhile, I and others who chanced to occupy
the same room would be safely and soundly asleep. On the circuit in
this way he studied Euclid until he could with ease demonstrate all
the propositions in the six books. How he could maintain his mental
equilibrium or concentrate his thoughts on an abstract mathematical
proposition, while Davis, Logan, Swett, Edwards, and I so industriously
and volubly filled the air with our interminable snoring was a problem
none of us could ever solve. I was on the circuit with Lincoln
probably one-fourth of the time. The remainder of my time was spent in
Springfield looking after the business there, but I know that life on
the circuit was a gay one. It was rich with incidents, and afforded the
nomadic lawyers ample relaxation from all the irksome toil that fell to
their lot. Lincoln loved it. I suppose it would be a fair estimate to
state that he spent over half the year following Judges Treat and Davis
around on the circuit. On Saturdays the court and attorneys, if within a
reasonable distance, would usually start for their homes. Some went for
a fresh supply of clothing, but the greater number went simply to spend
a day of rest with their families. The only exception was Lincoln, who
usually spent his Sundays with the loungers at the country tavern, and
only went home at the end of the circuit or term of court. "At first,"
* relates one of his colleagues on the circuit, "we wondered at it,
but soon learned to account for his strange disinclination to go home.
Lincoln himself never had much to say about home, and we never felt free
to comment on it. Most of us had pleasant, inviting homes, and as we
struck out for them I'm sure each one of us down in our hearts had a
mingled feeling of pity and sympathy for him."
* David Davis, MS.
If the day was long and he was oppressed, the feeling was soon relieved
by the narration of a story. The tavern loungers enjoyed it, and his
melancholy, taking to itself wings, seemed to fly away. In the role of
a story-teller I am prone to regard Mr. Lincoln as without an equal. I
have seen him surrounded by a crowd numbering as many as two and in some
cases three hundred persons, all deeply interested in the outcome of a
story which, when he had finished it, speedily found repetition in every
grocery and lounging place within reach. His power of mimicry, as I have
before noted, and his manner of recital, were in many respects unique,
if not remarkable. His countenance and all his features seemed to take
part in the performance. As he neared the pith or point of the joke or
story every vestige of seriousness disappeared from his face. His little
gray eyes sparkled; a smile seemed to gather up, curtain like, the
corners of his mouth; his frame quivered with suppressed excitement; and
when the point--or "nub" of the story, as he called it--came, no one's
laugh was heartier than his. These backwoods allegories are out of date
now, and any lawyer, ambitious to gain prominence, would hardly dare
thus to entertain a crowd, except at the risk of his reputation; but
with Lincoln it gave him, in some mysterious way, a singularly firm hold
on the people.
Lincoln was particularly strong in Menard county, and while on the
circuit there he met with William Engle and James Murray, two men who
were noted also for their story-telling proclivities. I am not now
asserting for the country and the period what would at a later day be
considered a very high standard of taste. Art had not such patrons as
to-day, but the people loved the beautiful as Nature furnished it, and
the good as they found it, with as much devotion as the more refined
classes now are joined to their idols. Newspapers were scarce, and the
court-house, with its cluster of itinerant lawyers, disseminated much of
the information that was afterwards broken up into smaller bits at the
pioneer's fireside. A curious civilization indeed, but one through which
every Western State distant from the great arterial river or seaboard
lias had to pass.
When Lincoln, Murray, and Engle met, there was sure to be a crowd. All
were more or less masters in their art. I have seen the little country
tavern where these three were wont to meet after an adjournment of
court, crowded almost to suffocation with an audience of men who
had gathered to witness the contest among the members of the strange
triumvirate. The physician of the town, all the lawyers, and not
unfrequently a preacher could be found in the crowd that filled the
doors and windows. The yarns they spun and the stories, they told would
not bear repetition here, but many of them had morals which, while
exposing the weaknesses of mankind, stung like a whip-lash. Some were
no doubt a thousand years old, with just enough "verbal varnish" and
alterations of names and dates to make them new and crisp. By virtue of
the last-named application, Lincoln was enabled to draw from Balzac a
"droll story," and locating it in "Egypt"* or in Indiana, pass it off
for a purely original conception. Every recital was followed by its
"storm of laughter and chorus of cheers." After this had all died down,
some unfortunate creature, through whose thickened skull the point had
just penetrated, would break out in a guffaw, starting another wave
of laughter which, growing to the proportions of a billow, would come
rolling in like a veritable breaker.
* The word Egypt, so frequently used in this book, refers to
that portion of Illinois which lies south of the famous
National Road.
I have known these story-telling jousts to continue long after
midnight--in some cases till the very small hours of the morning. I have
seen Judge Treat, who was the very impersonation of gravity itself, sit
up till the last and laugh until, as he often expressed it, "he almost
shook his ribs loose." The next day he would ascend the bench and
listen to Lincoln in a murder trial, with all the seeming severity of an
English judge in wig and gown. Amid such surroundings, a leading
figure in such society, alternately reciting the latest effusion of the
bar room or mimicking the clownish antics of the negro minstrel, he
who was destined to be an immortal emancipator, was steadily and
unconsciously nearing the great trial of his life. We shall see further
on how this rude civilization crystallized both his logic and his wit
for use in another day.
Reverting again to Mr. Lincoln as a lawyer, it is proper to add that he
detested the mechanical work of the office. He wrote few papers--less
perhaps than any other man at the bar. Such work was usually left to me
for the first few years we were together. Afterwards we made good use of
students who came to learn the law in our office. A Chicago lawyer,* in
a letter to me about Mr. Lincoln, in 1866, says: "Lincoln once told
me that he had taken you in as a partner, supposing you had system and
would keep things in order, but that he found out you had no more system
than he had, but that you were in reality a good lawyer, so that he was
doubly disappointed." Lincoln knew no such thing as order or method in
his law practice. He made no preparation in advance, but trusted to
the hour for its inspiration and to Providence for his supplies. In
the matter of letter-writing** he made no distinction between one of a
business nature or any other kind.
* W. C. Whitney, MS.
** "I wish you would learn of Everett what he would take,
over and above a discharge, for all trouble we have been at
to take his business out of our hands and give it to
somebody else. It is impossible to collect money on that or
any other claim here, now, and although you know I am not a
very petulant man, I declare that I am almost out of
patience with Mr. Everett's endless importunities. It seems
like he not only writes all the letters he can himself, but
he gets everybody else in Louisville and vicinity to be
constantly writing to us about his claim. I have always said
that Mr. Everett is a very clever fellow, and I am very
sorry he cannot be obliged; but it does seem to me he ought
to know we are interested to collect his claim, and
therefore would do it if we could. I am neither joking nor
in a pet when I say we would thank him to transfer his
business to some other, without any compensation for what we
have done, provided he will see the court costs paid for
which we are security."--MS. letter to Joshua F. Speed,
March 27, 1842.
If a happy thought or expression struck him he was by no means reluctant
to use it. As early as 1839 wrote to a gentleman about a matter of
business, observing crustily that "a d------d hawk-billed Yankee is
here besetting me at every turn I take, saying that Robert Kenzie never
received the $80 to which he was entitled." In July, 1851, he wrote
a facetious message to one of his clients, saying: "I have news from
Ottawa that we win our case. As the Dutch justice said when he married
folks, 'Now where ish my hundred tol-lars.'"*
* The following unpublished letter in possession of C. F.
Gunther, Esq., Chicago, Ills., shows how he proposed to fill
a vacancy in the office of Clerk of the United States Court
It reads like the letter of a politician in the midst of a
canvass for office:
"Springfield, ILL., December 6,1854.
"Hon. Justice McLean.
"Sir: I understand it is in contemplation to displace the
present Clerk and appoint a new one for the Circuit and
District Courts of Illinois. I am very friendly to the
present incumbent, and both for his own sake and that of his
family, I wish him to be retained so long as it is possible
for the Court to do so.
"In the contingency of his removal, however, I have
recommended William Butler as his successor, and I do not
wish what I write now to be taken as any abatement of that
recommendation.
"William J. Black is also an applicant for the appointment,
and I write this at the solicitation of his friends to say
that he is every way worthy of the office, and that I doubt
not the conferring it upon him will give great satisfaction.
"Your ob't servant,
"A. Lincoln."
He was proverbially careless as to habits. In a letter to a
fellow-lawyer in another town, apologizing for failure to answer sooner,
he explains: "First, I have been very busy in the United States Court;
second, when I received the letter I put it in my old hat and buying a
new one the next day the old one was set aside, and so the letter was
lost sight of for a time." This hat of Lincoln's--a silk plug--was an
extraordinary receptacle. It was his desk and his memorandum-book. In
it he carried his bank-book and the bulk of his letters. Whenever in his
reading or researches he wished to preserve an idea, he jotted it down
on an envelope or stray piece of paper and placed it inside the lining.
Afterwards when the memorandum was needed there was only one place to
look for it.*
How Lincoln appeared and acted in the law office has been graphically
and, I must confess, truthfully told by a gentleman now in New York,
who was for several years a student in our office. I beg to quote a few
lines from him: "My brother met Mr. Lincoln in Ottawa, Ill.,** one day,
and said to him: 'I have a brother whom I would very much like to have
enter your office as a student.' 'All right!' was his reply; 'send him
down and we will take a look at him.' I was then studying law at Grand
Rapids, Mich., and on hearing from my brother I immediately packed
up and started for Springfield. I arrived there on Saturday night. On
Sunday Mr. Lincoln was pointed out to me. I well remember this first
sight of him. He was striding along, holding little Tad, then about six
years old, by the hand, who could with the greatest difficulty keep up
with his father."
* Lincoln had always on the top of our desk a bundle of
papers into which he slipped anything he wished to keep and
afterwards refer to. It was a receptacle of general
information. Some years ago, on removing the furniture from
the office, I took down the bundle and blew from the top the
liberal coat of dust that had accumulated thereon.
Immediately uuderneath the string was a slip bearing this
endorsement, in his hand: "When you can't find it anywhere
else, look in this."
** John H. Littlefield, Brooklyn Eagle, October 16, 1887.
"In the morning I applied at the office of Lincoln and Herndon for
admission as a student. The office was on the second floor of a brick
building on the public square, opposite the court-house. You went up
one flight of stairs and then passed along a hallway to the rear office,
which was a medium-sized room. There was one long table in the center of
the room, and a shorter one running in the opposite direction, forming a
T, and both were covered with green baize. There were two windows which
looked into the back yard. In one corner was an old-fashioned secretary
with pigeonholes and a drawer, and here Mr. Lincoln and his partner
kept their law papers. There was also a book-case containing about 200
volumes of law as well as miscellaneous books. The morning I entered the
office Mr. Lincoln and his partner, Mr. Herndon, were both present. Mr.
Lincoln addressed his partner thus: 'Billy, this is the young man of
whom I spoke to you. Whatever arrangement you make with him will be
satisfactory to me.' Then, turning to me, he said, 'I hope you will not
become so enthusiastic in your studies of Blackstone and Kent as did two
young men whom we had here. Do you see that spot over there?' pointing
to a large ink stain on the wall. 'Well, one of these young men got so
enthusiastic in his pursuit of legal lore that he fired an inkstand at
the other one's head, and that is the mark he made.' I immediately began
to clean up about the office a little. Mr. Lincoln had been in Congress
and had the usual amount of seeds to distribute to the farmers. These
were sent out with Free Soil and Republican documents. In my efforts to
clean up, I found that some of the seeds had sprouted in the dirt that
had collected in the office. Judge Logan and Milton Hay occupied the
front offices on the same floor with Lincoln and Herndon, and one day
Mr. Hay came in and said with apparent astonishment: 'What's happened
here?' 'Oh, nothing,' replied Lincoln, pointing to me, 'only this
young man has been cleaning up a little.' One of Lincoln's striking
characteristics was his simplicity, and nowhere was this trait more
strikingly exhibited than in his willingness to receive instruction from
anybody and everybody. One day he came into the office and addressing
his partner, said: 'Billy, what's the meaning of antithesis?' Mr.
Herndon gave him the definition of the word, and I said: 'Mr. Lincoln,
if you will allow me, I will give you an example.' 'All right, John, go
ahead,' said Mr. Lincoln in his hearty manner. 'Phillips says, in his
essay on Napoleon, "A pretended patriot, he impoverished the country; a
professed Catholic, he imprisoned the Pope,'" etc. Mr. Lincoln thanked
me and seemed very much pleased. Returning from off the circuit once he
said to Mr. Herndon: 'Billy, I heard a good story while I was up in the
country. Judge D------ was complimenting the landlord on the excellence
of his beef. "I am surprised," he said, "that you have such good beef.
You must have to kill a whole critter when you want any." "Yes," said
the landlord, "we never kill less than a whole critter." "Lincoln's
favorite position when unravelling some knotty law point was to stretch
both of his legs at full length upon a chair in front of him. In this
position, with books on the table near by and in his lap, he worked up
his case. No matter how deeply interested in his work, if any one came
in he had something humorous and pleasant to say, and usually wound up
by telling a joke or an anecdote. I have heard him relate the same story
three times within as many hours to persons who came in at different
periods, and every time he laughed as heartily and enjoyed it as if it
were a new story. His humor was infectious. I had to laugh because I
thought it funny that Mr. Lincoln enjoyed a story so repeatedly told.
"There was no order in the office at all. The firm of Lincoln and
Herndon kept no books. They divided their fees without taking any
receipts or making any entries on books. One day Mr. Lincoln received
$5000 as a fee in a railroad case. He came in and said: 'Well, Billy,'
addressing his partner, Mr. Herndon, 'here is our fee; sit down and let
me divide.' He counted out $2,500 to his partner, and gave it to him
with as much nonchalance as he would have given a few cents for a paper.
Cupidity had no abiding place in his nature.
"I took a good deal of pains in getting up a speech which I wanted to
deliver during a political campaign. I told Mr. Lincoln that I would
like to read it to him. He sat down in one chair, put his feet into
another one, and said: 'John, you can fire away with that speech; I
guess I can stand it.' I unrolled the manuscript, and proceeded with
some trepidation. 'That's a good point, John,' he would say, at certain
places, and at others: 'That's good--very good indeed,' until I felt
very much elated over my effort. I delivered the speech over fifty
times during the campaign. Elmer E. Ellsworth, afterwards colonel of
the famous Zouaves, who was killed in Alexandria, early in the war,
was nominally a student in Lincoln's office. His head was so full of
military matters, however, that he thought little of law. Of Ellsworth,
Lincoln said: 'That young man has a real genius for war!'"
During the six years following his retirement from Congress, Lincoln,
realizing in a marked degree his want of literary knowledge, extended
somewhat his research in that direction. He was naturally indisposed to
undertake anything that savored of exertion, but his brief public career
had exposed the limited area of his literary attainments. Along with his
Euclid therefore he carried a well-worn copy of Shakespeare, in which he
read no little in his leisure moments. "In travelling on the circuit,"
relates one of his associates at the bar,* "he was in the habit of
rising earlier than his brothers of the bar. On such occasions he was
wont to sit by the fire, having uncovered the coals, and muse,
and ponder, and soliloquize, inspired, no doubt, by that strange
psychological influence which is so poetically described by Poe in 'The
Raven.'
* Lawrence Weldon, letter, Feb. 10,1866, MS.
On one of these occasions, at the town of Lincoln, sitting in the
position described, he quoted aloud and at length the poem called
'Immortality.' When he had finished he was questioned as to the
authorship and where it could be found. He had forgotten the author, but
said that to him it sounded as much like true poetry as anything he had
ever heard. He was particularly pleased with the last two stanzas."
Beyond a limited acquaintance with Shakespeare, Byron, and Burns, Mr.
Lincoln, comparatively speaking, had no knowledge of literature. He was
familiar with the Bible, and now and then evinced a fancy for some poem
or short sketch to which his attention was called by some one else,
or which he happened to run across in his cursory reading of books or
newspapers. He never in his life sat down and read a book through, and
yet he could readily quote any number of passages from the few volumes
whose pages he had hastily scanned. In addition to his well-known
love for the poem "Immortality" or "Why should the Spirit of Mortal be
Proud," he always had a great fondness for Oliver Wendell Holmes' "Last
Leaf," the fourth stanza of which, beginning with the verse, "The mossy
marbles rest," I have often heard him repeat. He once told me of a song
a young lady had sung in his hearing at a time when he was laboring
under some dejection of spirits. The lines struck his fancy, and
although he did not know the singer--having heard her from the sidewalk
as he passed her house--he sent her a request to write the lines out for
him. Within a day or two he came into the office, carrying in his hand
a delicately perfumed envelope which bore the address, "Mr.
Lincoln--Present," in an unmistakable female hand. In it, written on
gilt-edged paper, were the lines of the song. The plaintive strain of
the piece and its melancholy sentiment struck a responsive chord in
a heart already filled with gloom and sorrow. Though ill-adapted to
dissipate one's depression, something about it charmed Lincoln, and
he read and re-read it with increasing relish. I had forgotten the
circumstance until recently, when, in going over some old papers and
letters turned over to me by Mr. Lincoln, I ran across the manuscript,
and the incident was brought vividly to my mind. The envelope, still
retaining a faint reminder of the perfumed scent given it thirty years
before, bore the laconic endorsement, "Poem--I like this," in the
handwriting of Mr. Lincoln. Unfortunately no name accompanied the
manuscript, and unless the lady on seeing this chooses to make herself
known, we shall probably not learn who the singer was. The composition
is headed, "The Enquiry." I leave it to my musical friends to render it
into song. Following are the lines:
"Tell me, ye winged winds
That round my pathway roar,
Do ye not know some spot
Where mortals weep no more?
Some lone and pleasant vale
Some valley in the West,
Where, free from toil and pain,
The weary soul may rest?
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
And sighed for pity as it answered, No.
"Tell me, thou mighty deep,
Whose billows round me play,
Knows't thou some favored spot,
Some island far away,
Where weary man may find
The bliss for which he sighs;
Where sorrow never lives
And friendship never dies?
The loud waves rolling in perpetual flow
Stopped for awhile and sighed to answer, No.
"And thou, serenest moon,
That with such holy face
Dost look upon the Earth
Asleep in Night's embrace?
Tell me, in all thy round
Hast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable man
Might find a happier lot?
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,
And a voice sweet but sad responded, No.
"Tell me, my secret soul,
Oh, tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting-place
From sorrow, sin, and death?
Is there no happy spot
Where mortals may be blessed,
Where grief may find a balm
And weariness a rest?
Faith, Hope, and Love, best boon to mortals given,
Waved their bright wings and whispered,
Yes, in Heaven."*
* Persons familiar with literature will recognize this as a
poem written by Charles Mackay, an English writer who
represented a London newspaper in the United States during
the Rebellion as its war correspondent. It was set to music
as a chant, and as such was frequently rendered in public by
the famous Hutchinson family of singers. I doubt if Mr.
Lincoln ever knew who wrote it.
Judge S. H. Treat, recently deceased, thus describes Lincoln's first
appearance in the Supreme Court of Illinois. "A case being called for
hearing, Mr. Lincoln stated that he appeared for the appellant and was
ready to proceed with the argument. He then said: 'This is the first
case I have ever had in this court, and I have therefore examined it
with great care. As the Court will perceive by looking at the abstract
of the record, the only question in the case is one of authority. I have
not been able to find any authority to sustain my side of the case, but
I have found several cases directly in point on the other side. I will
now give these authorities to the court, and then submit the case." A
lawyer in Beardstown relates this: * "Lincoln came into my office one
day with the remark: 'I see you've been suing some of my clients,
and I've come down to see about it.' He had reference to a suit I had
brought to enforce the specific performance of a contract. I explained
the case to him, and showed my proofs. He seemed surprised that I should
deal so frankly with him, and said he would be as frank with me; that my
client was justly entitled to a decree, and he should so represent it
to the court; and that it was against his principles to contest a clear
matter of right. So my client got a deed for a farm which, had another
lawyer been in Mr. Lincoln's place, would have been consumed by the
costs of litigation for years, with the result probably the same in the
end."
* J. Henry Shaw, letter, June 13, 1866, MS.
A young man once wrote to Lincoln, enquiring for the best mode of
obtaining a thorough knowledge of the law, "The mode is very simple,"
he responded, "though laborious and tedious. It is only to 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."*
* Letter to J. M. Brockman, Sept. 25, 1859, MS.
Lincoln never believed in suing for a fee. If a client would not pay on
request he never sought to enforce collection. I remember once a man who
had been indicted for forgery or fraud employed us to defend him. The
illness of the prosecuting attorney caused some delay in the case, and
our client, becoming dissatisfied at our conduct of the case, hired some
one else, who superseded us most effectually. The defendant declining to
pay us the fee demanded, on the ground that we had not represented
him at the trial of the cause, I brought suit against him in Lincoln's
absence and obtained judgment for our fee. After Lincoln's return
from the circuit the fellow hunted him up and by means of a carefully
constructed tale prevailed on him to release the judgment without
receiving a cent of pay. The man's unkind treatment of us deserved no
such mark of generosity from Lincoln, and yet he could not resist the
appeal of any one in poverty and want. He could never turn from a woman
in tears. It was no surprise to me or any of his intimate friends
that so many designing women with the conventional widows' weeds and
easy-flowing tears overcame him in Washington. It was difficult for him
to detect an impostor, and hence it is not to be marvelled at that he
cautioned his secretaries: "Keep them away--I cannot stand it."
On many questions I used to grow somewhat enthusiastic, adopting
sometimes a lofty metaphor by way of embellishment. Lincoln once warned
me: "Billy, don't shoot too high--aim lower and the common people will
understand you. They are the ones you want to reach--at least they
are the ones you ought to reach. The educated and refined people will
understand you any way. If you aim too high your ideas will go over the
heads of the masses, and only hit those who need no hitting." While it
is true that from his peculiar construction Lincoln dwelt entirely in
the head and in the land of thought, and while he was physically a lazy
man, yet he was intellectually energetic; he was not only energetic, but
industrious; not only industrious, but tireless; not only tireless,
but indefatigable. Therefore if in debate with him a man stood on a
questionable foundation he might well watch whereon he stood. Lincoln
could look a long distance ahead and calculate the triumph of right.
With him justice and truth were paramount. If to him a thing seemed
untrue he could not in his nature simulate truth. His retention by a man
to defend a lawsuit did not prevent him from throwing it up in its most
critical stage if he believed he was espousing an unjust cause. This
extreme conscientiousness and disregard of the alleged sacredness of the
professional cloak robbed him of much so-called success at the bar. He
once wrote to one of our clients: "I do not think there is the least use
of doing anything more with your lawsuit. I not only do not think you
are sure to gain it, but I do think you are sure to lose it. Therefore
the sooner it ends the better."*
* Letter to H. Keeling, Esq., March 3, 1858, MS.
Messrs. Stuart and Edwards once brought a suit against a client of ours
which involved the title to considerable property. At that time we had
only two or three terms of court, and the docket was somewhat crowded.
The plaintiff's attorneys were pressing us for a trial, and we were
equally as anxious to ward it off. What we wanted were time and a
continuance to the next term. We dared not make an affidavit for
continuance, founded on facts, because no such pertinent and material
facts as the law contemplated existed. Our case for the time seemed
hopeless. One morning, however, I accidentally overheard a remark from
Stuart indicating his fear lest a certain fact should happen to
come into our possession. I felt some relief, and at once drew up a
fictitious plea, averring as best I could the substance of the doubts I
knew existed in Stuart's mind. The plea was as skilfully drawn as I knew
how, and was framed as if we had the evidence to sustain it. The whole
thing was a sham, but so constructed as to work the desired continuance,
because I knew that Stuart and Edwards believed the facts were as I
pleaded them. This was done in the absence and without the knowledge
of Lincoln. The plea could not be demurred to, and the opposing counsel
dared not take the issue on it. It perplexed them sorely. At length,
before further steps were taken, Lincoln came into court. He looked
carefully over all the papers in the case, as was his custom, and seeing
my ingenious subterfuge, asked, "Is this seventh plea a good one?"
Proud of the exhibition of my skill, I answered that it was. "But,"
he inquired, incredulously, "is it founded on fact?" I was obliged to
respond in the negative, at the same time following up my answer with
an explanation of what I had overheard Stuart intimate, and of how these
alleged facts could be called facts if a certain construction were put
upon them. I insisted that our position was justifiable, and that our
client must have time or be ruined. I could see at once it failed to
strike Lincoln as just right. He scratched his head thoughtfully and
asked, "Hadn't we better withdraw that plea? You know it's a sham, and
a sham is very often but another name for a lie. Don't let it go on
record. The cursed thing may come staring us in the face long after this
suit has been forgotten." The plea was withdrawn. By some agency--not
our own--the case was continued and our client's interests were saved.
I only relate this incident to illustrate Lincoln's far-seeing capacity;
it serves to show how over-cautious he seemed to be with regard to how
his record might look in the future. I venture the assertion that he was
the only member of the bar in Springfield who would have taken such a
conscientious view of the matter.
One phase of Lincoln's character, almost lost sight of in the
commonly accepted belief in his humility and kindly feeling under all
circumstances, was his righteous indignation when aroused. In such cases
he was the most fearless man I ever knew. I remember a murder case in
which we appeared for the defence, and during the trial of which the
judge--a man of ability far inferior to Lincoln's--kept ruling against
us. Finally, a very material question, in fact one around which the
entire case seemed to revolve, came up, and again the Court ruled
adversely. The prosecution was jubilant, and Lincoln, seeing defeat
certain unless he recovered his ground, grew very despondent. The notion
crept into his head that the Court's rulings, which were absurd and
almost spiteful, were aimed at him, and this angered him beyond reason.
He told me of his feelings at dinner, and said: "I have determined to
crowd the Court to the wall and regain my position before night." From
that time forward it was interesting to watch him. At the reassembling
of court he arose to read a few authorities in support of his position.
In his comments he kept within the bounds of propriety just far enough
to avoid a reprimand for contempt of court.
He characterized the continued rulings against him as not only unjust
but foolish; and, figuratively speaking, he pealed the Court from
head to foot. I shall never forget the scene. Lincoln had the crowd, a
portion of the bar, and the jury with him. He knew that fact, and it,
together with the belief that injustice had been done him, nerved him
to a feeling of desperation. He was wrought up to the point of madness.
When a man of large heart and head is wrought up and mad, as the old
adage runs, "he's mad all over." Lincoln had studied up the points
involved, but knowing full well the calibre of the judge, relied mostly
on the moral effect of his personal bearing and influence. He was
alternately furious and eloquent, pursuing the Court with broad facts
and pointed inquiries in marked and rapid succession. I remember he made
use of this homely incident in illustration of some point: "In early
days a party of men went out hunting for a wild boar. But the game came
upon them unawares, and scampering away they all climbed the trees save
one, who, seizing the animal by the ears, undertook to hold him, but
despairing of success cried out to his companions in the trees, 'For
God's sake, boys, come down and help me let go.'" The prosecution
endeavored to break him down or even "head him off," but all to no
purpose. His masterly arraignment of law and facts had so effectually
badgered the judge that, strange as it may seem, he pretended to see
the error in his former position, and finally reversed his decision in
Lincoln's favor. The latter saw his triumph, and surveyed a situation of
which he was the master. His client was acquitted, and he had swept the
field.
In the case of Parker _vs._ Hoyt, tried in the United States Court in
Chicago, Lincoln was one of the counsel for the defendant. The suit
was on the merits of an infringement of a patent water wheel. The trial
lasted several days and Lincoln manifested great interest in the case.
In his earlier days he had run, or aided in running, a saw-mill, and
explained in his argument the action of the water on the wheel in
a manner so clear and intelligible that the jury were enabled to
comprehend the points and line of defence without the least difficulty.
It was evident he had carried the jury with him in a most masterly
argument, the force of which could not be broken by the reply of the
opposing counsel. After the jury retired he became very anxious and
uneasy. The jury were in another building, the windows of which opened
on the street, and had been out for some two hours. "In passing along
the street, one of the jurors on whom we very much relied," relates
Lincoln's associate in the case,* "he being a very intelligent man and
firm in his convictions, held up to him one finger. Mr. Lincoln became
very much excited, fearing it indicated that eleven of the jury were
against him. He knew if this man was for him he would never yield his
opinion. He added, if he was like a juryman he had in Tazewell county,
the defendant was safe. He was there employed, he said, to prosecute
a suit for divorce. His client was a pretty, refined, and interesting
little woman, and in court. The defendant, her husband, was a gross,
morose, querulous, fault-finding, and uncomfortable man, and entirely
unfitted for the husband of such a woman; but although he was able
to prove the use of very offensive and vulgar epithets applied by the
husband to his wife, and all sorts of annoyances, yet there were no such
acts of personal violence as were required by the statute to justify a
divorce. Lincoln did the best he could, and appealed to the jury to have
compassion on the woman, and not to bind her to such a man and such a
life as awaited her if required to live longer with him. The jury took
about the same view of it in their deliberations. They desired to find
for his fair client, but could discover no evidence which would really
justify a verdict for her. At last they drew up a verdict for the
defendant, and all signed but one fellow, who on being approached with
the verdict said, coolly: 'Gentlemen, I am going to lie down to sleep,
and when you get ready to give a verdict for that little woman, then
wake me and not until then; for before I will give a verdict against
her I will lie here till I rot and the pismires carry me out through the
key-hole.' 'Now,' observed Lincoln, 'if that juryman will stick like
the man in Tazewell county we are safe.' Strange to relate, the jury did
come in, and with a verdict for the defendant. Lincoln always regarded
this as one of the gratifying triumphs of his professional life."
* Grant Goodrich, letter, Nov. 9, 1866, MS.