FOLLOWING strictly the chronological order hitherto observed in the
course of this narrative, we should be compelled to break off the story
of Mr. Lincoln's love-affairs at New Salem, and enter upon his public
career in the Legislature and before the people. But, while by that
means we should preserve continuity in one respect, we should lose it in
another; and the reader would perhaps prefer to take in at one view
all of Mr. Lincoln's courtships, save only that one which resulted in
marriage.
Three-quarters of a mile, or nearly so, north of Bowlin Greene's, and
on the summit of a hill, stood the house of Bennett Able, a small frame
building eighteen by twenty feet. Able and his wife were warm friends
of Mr. Lincoln; and many of his rambles through the surrounding country,
reading and talking to himself, terminated at their door, where he
always found the latch-string on the outside, and a hearty welcome
within. In October, 1833, Mr. Lincoln met there Miss Mary Owens, a
sister of Mrs. Able, and, as we shall presently learn from his own
words, admired her, although not extravagantly. She remained but four
weeks, and then went back to her home in Kentucky.
Miss Owens's mother being dead, her father married again; and Miss
Owens, for good reasons of her own, thought she would rather live with
her sister than with her stepmother. Accordingly, in the fall of 1836,
she re-appeared at Able's, passing through New Salem on the day of the
presidential election, where the men standing about the polls stared and
wondered at her "beauty." Twenty eight or nine years of age, "she was,"
in the language of Mr. L. M. Greene, "tall and portly; weighed about
one hundred and twenty pounds, and had large blue eyes, with the finest
trimmings I ever saw. She was jovial, social, loved wit and humor, had a
liberal English education, and was considered wealthy. Bill," continues
our excellent friend, "I am getting old; have seen too much trouble to
give a lifelike picture of this woman. I won't try it. None of the
poets or romance-writers has ever given to us a picture of a heroine so
beautiful as a good description of Miss Owens in 1836 would be."
Mrs. Hardin Bale, a cousin to Miss Owens, says "she was blue-eyed,
dark-haired, handsome,--not pretty,--was rather large and tall,
handsome, truly handsome, matronly looking, over ordinary size in height
and weight.... Miss Owens was handsome, that is to say, noble-looking,
matronly seeming."
Respecting her age and looks, Miss. Owens herself makes the following
note, Aug. 6, 1866:---
"Born in the year eight; fair skin, deep-blue eyes, with dark curling
hair; height five feet five inches, weighing about one hundred and fifty
pounds."
Johnson G. Greene is Miss Owens's cousin; and, whilst on a visit to her
in 1866, he contrived to get her version of the Lincoln courtship at
great length. It does not vary in any material part from the account
currently received in the neighborhood, and given by various persons,
whose oral or written testimony is preserved in Mr. Herndon's collection
of manuscripts. Greene (J. G.) described her in terms about the same
as those used by Mrs. Bale, adding that "she was a nervous and muscular
woman," very "intellectual,"--"the most intellectual woman he ever
saw,"--"with a forehead massive and angular, square, prominent, and
broad."
After Miss Owens's return to New Salem, in the fall of 1813, Mr. Lincoln
was unremitting in his attentions; and wherever she went he was at
her side. She had many relatives in the neighborhood,--the Bales, the
Greenes, the Grahams: and, if she went to spend an afternoon or an
evening with any of these, Abe was very likely to be on hand to conduct
her home. He asked her to marry him; but she prudently evaded a positive
answer until she could make up her mind about questionable points of his
character. She did not think him coarse or cruel; but she did think
him thoughtless, careless, not altogether as polite as he might be,--in
short, "deficient," as she expresses it, "in those little links which
make up the great chain of woman's happiness." His heart was good, his
principles were high, his honor sensitive; but still, in the eyes of
this refined, young lady, he did not seem to be quite the gentleman. "He
was lacking in the smaller attentions;" and, in fact, the whole affair
is explained when she tells us that "_his education was different from"
hers_.
One day Miss Owens and Mrs. Bowlin Greene were making their way slowly
and tediously up the hill to Able's house, when they were joined by
Lincoln. Mrs. Bowlin Greene was carrying "a great big fat child, heavy,
and crossly disposed." Although the woman bent pitiably under her
burden, Lincoln offered her no assistance, but, dropping behind with
Miss Owens, beguiled the way according to his wishes. When they reached
the summit, "Miss Owens said to Lincoln laughingly, 'You would not make
a good husband. Abe.' They sat on the fence; and one word brought on
another, till a split or breach ensued."
Immediately after this misunderstanding, Lincoln went off toward Havana
on a surveying expedition, and was absent about three weeks. On the
first day of his return, one of Able's boys was sent up "to town" for
the mail. Lincoln saw him at the post-office, and "asked if Miss Owens
was at Mr. Able's." The boy said "Yes."--"Tell her," said Lin-join,
"that I'll be down to see her in a few minutes." Now, Miss Owens had
determined to spend that evening at Minter Graham's; and when the boy
gave in the report, "she thought a moment, and said to herself, 'If
I can draw Lincoln up there to Graham's, it will be all right.'" This
scheme was to operate as a test of Abe's love; but it shared the fate of
some of "the best-laid schemes of mice and men," and went "all agley."
Lincoln, according to promise, went down to Able's, and asked if Miss
Owens was in. Mrs. Able replied that she had gone to Graham's, about one
and a half miles from Able's due south-west. Lincoln said, "Didn't she
know I was coming?" Mrs. Able answered, "No;" but one of the children
said, "Yes, ma, she did, for I heard Sam tell her so." Lincoln sat a
while, and then went about his business. "The fat was now in the fire.
Lincoln thought, as he was extremely poor, and Miss Owens very rich, it
was a fling on him on that account. Abe was mistaken in his guesses,
for wealth cut no figure in Miss Owens's eyes. Miss Owens regretted her
course. Abe would not bend; and Miss Owens wouldn't. She said, if she
had it to do over again she would play the cards differently.... She had
two sons in the Southern army. She said that if either of them had got
into difficulty, she would willingly have gone to old Abe for relief."
In Miss Owens's letter of July 22, 1866, it will be observed! that she
tacitly admitted to Mr. Gaines Greene "the circumstances in connection
with Mrs. Greene and child." Although she here denies the precise words
alleged to have been used by her in the little quarrel at the top of the
hill, she does not deny the impression his conduct left upon her mind,
but presents additional evidence of it by the relation of another
incident of similar character, from which her inferences were the same.
Fortunately we are not compelled, to rely upon tradition, however
authentic, for the facts concerning this interesting episode in Mr.
Lincoln's life. Miss Owens is still alive to tell her own tale, and
we have besides his letters to the lady herself. Mr. Lincoln wrote his
account of it as early as 1838. As in duty bound, we shall permit the
lady to speak first. At her particular request, her present name and
residence are suppressed.
------, May 1, 1866.
Mr. W. H. Herndon.
Dear Sir,--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.
As regards Miss Rutledge, I cannot tell you any thing, she having died
previous to my acquaintance with Mr. Lincoln; and I do not now recollect
of ever hearing him mention her name. Please return the letters at your
earliest convenience.
Very respectfully yours,
Mary S.------.
------, 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 Madam 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 1833 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,
Mart S.------.
------, July 22, 1866.
Mr. W. H. Herndon.
Dear Sir,--I do not think that 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 toward 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
over safely. 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 towards 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.------.
Vandalia, Dec. 13, 1836.
Mary,--I have been sick ever since my arrival, or I should have written
sooner. It is but little difference, however, as I have very little
even yet to write. And more, the longer I can avoid the mortification
of looking in the post-office for your letter, and not finding it, the
better. You see I am mad about that _old letter_ yet. I don't like very
well to risk you again. I'll try you once more, anyhow.
The new State House is not yet finished, and consequently the
Legislature is doing little or nothing. The Governor delivered an
inflammatory political message, and it is expected there will be some
sparring between the parties about it as soon as the two Houses get to
business. Taylor delivered up his petitions for the new county to one
of our members this morning. I am told he despairs of its success, on
account of all the members from Morgan County opposing it. There are
names enough on the petition, I think, to justify the members from our
county in going for it; but if the members from Morgan oppose it, which
they say they will, the chance will be bad.
Our chance to take the seat of government to Springfield is better than
I expected. An internal-improvement convention was held here since we
met, which recommended a loan of several million of dollars, on the
faith of the State, to construct railroads. Some of the Legislature are
for it, and some against it: which has the majority I cannot tell.
There is great strife and struggling for the office of the United States
Senator here at this time. It is probable we shall ease their pains in
a few days. The opposition men have no candidate of their own; and
consequently they will smile as complacently at the angry snarl of the
contending Van-Buren candidates and their respective friends, as the
Christian does at Satan's rage. You recollect that 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 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 that I am ashamed to send it, but with my present
feelings I cannot do any better.
Give my best respects to Mr. and Mrs. Able and family.
Your friend,
Lincoln.
Springfield, May 7, 1837.
Miss Mary S. Owens.
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 was not 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, nor probably shall not be soon. I
stay away because I am conscious I should not know how to behave myself.
I am often thinking about 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 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 any 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 the way of 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, that you had better not do it. You have not been
accustomed to hardship, and it may be more severe than you now 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 to me 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, &c.,
Lincoln.
Springfield, Aug. 16, 1837.
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 toward 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 any thing 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 further, and say, that, if
it will add any thing 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 constitute 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 than to believe you 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 only 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
any thing you think, just in the manner you think it.
My respects to your sister. Your friend,
Lincoln.
After his second meeting with Mary, Mr. Lincoln had little time to
prosecute his addresses in person; for early in December he was called
away to his seat in the Legislature; but, if his tongue was silent in
the cause, his pen was busy.
During the session of the Legislature of 1886-7, Mr. Lincoln made the
acquaintance of Mrs. O. H. Browning, whose husband was also a member.
The acquaintance ripened into friendship, and that winter and the next
Mr. Lincoln spent a great deal of time in social intercourse with the
Brownings. Mrs. Browning knew nothing as yet of the affair with Miss
Owens; but as the latter progressed, and Lincoln became more and more
involved, she noticed the ebb of his spirits, and often rallied him
as the victim of some secret but consuming passion. With this for his
excuse, Lincoln wrote her, after the adjournment of the Legislature, a
full and connected account of the manner in which he had latterly been
making "a fool of" himself. For many reasons the publication of this
letter is an extremely painful duty. If it could be withheld, 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 temptations arise? and
where shall the process cease? A biography worth writing at all is worth
writing fully and honestly; and the writer who suppresses or mangles
the truth is no better than he who bears false witness in any other
capacity. In April, 1838, Miss Owens finally departed from Illinois;
and in that same month Mr. Lincoln wrote Mrs. Browning:--
Springfield, April 1, 1838.
Dear Madam,--Without appologising 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 inteligible 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 & 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 inteligent 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 any thing concerning me ever having been
mentioned to her; and so I concluded, that, if no other objection
presented itself, I would consent to wave 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 oversize, 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 appelation; 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 that 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 sett 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 attempting to come to any positive
understanding with her, I sat 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 intelect 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 planing 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 I now 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 consumation 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 repeled 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 verry 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 so long 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.