CHAPTER XIX.

IT was now but a few weeks until Mr. Lincoln was to become the

constitutional ruler of one of the great nations of the earth, and to

begin to expend appropriations, to wield armies, to apportion patronage,

powers, offices, and honors, such as few sovereigns have ever had at

command. The eyes of all mankind were bent upon him to see how he would

solve a problem in statesmanship to which the philosophy of Burke and

the magnanimity of Wellington might have been unequal. In the midst of

a political canvass in his own State but a few years before, impressed

with the gravity of the great issues which then loomed but just above

the political horizon, he had been the first to announce, amid the

objections and protestations of his friends and political associates,

the great truth, that "a house divided against itself cannot stand;"

that the perpetuity of the Union depended upon its becoming devoted

either to the interests of freedom or slavery. And now, by a turn of

fortune unparalleled in history, he had been chosen to preside over the

interests of the nation; while, as yet unseen to him, the question that

perplexed the founders of the government, which ever since had been a

disturbing element in the national life, and had at last arrayed section

against section, was destined to reach its final settlement through

the fierce struggle of civil war. In many respects his situation was

exceptionally trying. He was the first President of the United States

elected by a strictly sectional vote. The party which elected him, and

the parties which had been defeated, were inflamed by the heat of the

canvass. The former, with faith in their principles, and a natural

eagerness for the prizes now within their reach, were not disposed to

compromise their first success by any lowering of their standard or any

concession to the beaten; while many of the latter saw in the success

of the triumphant party an attack on their most cherished rights, and

refused in consequence to abide by the result of the contest. To meet so

grave an exigency, Mr. Lincoln had neither precedents nor experience

to guide him, nor could he turn elsewhere for greater wisdom than he

possessed. The leaders of the new party were as yet untried in the great

responsibilities which had fallen upon him and them. There were men

among them who had earned great reputation as leaders of an opposition;

but their eloquence had been expended upon a single subject of national

concern. They knew how to depict the wrongs of a subject race, and also

how to set forth the baleful effects of an institution like slavery on

national character. But was it certain that they were equally able to

govern with wisdom and prudence the mighty people whose affairs were now

given to their keeping?

Until the day of his overthrow at Chicago, Mr. Seward had been the

recognized chief of the party; had, like Mr. Lincoln, taught the

existence of an irrepressible conflict between the North and the South,

and had also inculcated the idea of a law higher than the Constitution,

which was of more binding force than any human enactment, until many of

his followers had come to regard the Constitution with little respect.

It was this Constitution which Mr. Lincoln, having sworn to preserve,

protect, and defend, was to attempt to administer to the satisfaction

of the minority which had elected him, and which was alone expected

to support him. To moderate the passions of his own partisans, to

conciliate his opponents in the North, and divide and weaken his enemies

in the South, was a task which no mere politician was likely to perform,

yet one which none but the most expert of politicians and wisest

of statesmen was fitted to undertake. It required moral as well as

intellectual qualities of the highest order. William of Orange, with a

like duty and similar difficulties, was ready at one time and another

to give up the effort in despair, although aided by "the divinity that

hedges round a king." Few men believed that Mr. Lincoln possessed a

single qualification for his great office. His friends had indicated

what they considered his chief merit, when they insisted that he was

a very common, ordinary man, just like the rest of "the people,"--"Old

Abe," a rail-splitter and a story-teller. They said he was good and

honest and well-meaning; but they took care not to pretend that he was

great. He was thoroughly convinced that there was too much truth in this

view of his character. He felt deeply and keenly his lack of experience

in the conduct of public affairs. He spoke then and afterwards about the

duties of the Presidency with much diffidence, and said, with a story

about a justice of the peace in Illinois, that they constituted his

"great first case misunderstood." He had never been a ministerial or an

executive officer. His most intimate friends feared that he possessed

no administrative ability; and in this opinion he seems to have shared

himself, at least in his calmer and more melancholy moments.

Having put his house in order, arranged all his private business, made

over his interest in the practice of Lincoln & Herndon to Mr. Herndon,

and requested "Billy," as a last favor, to leave his name on the old

sign for four years at least, Mr. Lincoln was ready for the final

departure from home and all familiar things. And this period of

transition from private to public life--a period of waiting and

preparing for the vast responsibilities that were to bow down his

shoulders during the years to come--affords us a favorable opportunity

to turn back and look at him again as his neighbors saw him from 1837 to

1861.

Mr. Lincoln was about six feet four inches high,--the length of his legs

being out of all proportion to that of his body. When he sat down on a

chair, he seemed no taller than an average man, measuring from the chair

to the crown of his head; but his knees rose high in front, and a marble

placed on the cap of one of them would roll down a steep descent to

the hip. He weighed about a hundred and eighty pounds; but he was thin

through the breast, narrow across the shoulders, and had the general

appearance of a consumptive subject. Standing up, he stooped slightly

forward; sitting down, he usually crossed his long legs, or threw them

over the arms of the chair, as the most convenient mode of disposing of

them. His "head was long, and tall from the base of the brain and the

eyebrow;" his forehead high and narrow, but inclining backward as

it rose. The diameter of his head from ear to ear was six and a half

inches, and from front to back eight inches. The size of his hat

was seven and an eighth. His ears were large, standing out almost at

right-angles from his head; his cheek-bones high and prominent; his

eyebrows heavy, and jutting forward over small, sunken blue eyes; his

nose long, large, and blunt, the tip of it rather ruddy, and slightly

awry toward the right-hand side; his chin, projecting far and sharp,

curved upward to meet a thick, material, lower lip, which hung downward;

his cheeks were flabby, and the loose skin fell in wrinkles, or folds;

there was a large mole on his right cheek, and an uncommonly prominent

Adam's apple on his throat; his hair was dark brown in color, stiff,

unkempt, and as yet showing little or no sign of advancing age or

trouble; his complexion was very dark, his skin yellow, shrivelled,

and "leathery." In short, to use the language of Mr. Herndon, "he was a

thin, tall, wiry, sinewy, grizzly, raw-boned man," "looking woe-struck."

His countenance was haggard and careworn, exhibiting all the marks of

deep and protracted suffering. Every feature of the man--the hollow

eyes, with the dark rings beneath; the long, sallow, cadaverous face,

intersected by those peculiar deep lines; his whole air; his walk; his

long, silent reveries, broken at long intervals by sudden and startling

exclamations, as if to confound an observer who might suspect the nature

of his thoughts--showed he was a man of sorrows,--not sorrows of to-day

or yesterday, but long-treasured and deep,--bearing with him a continual

sense of weariness and pain.

He was a plain, homely, sad, weary-looking man, to whom one's heart

warmed involuntarily, because he seemed at once miserable and kind.

On a winter's morning, this man could be seen wending his way to the

market, with a basket on his arm, and a little boy at his side, whose

small feet rattled and pattered over the ice-bound pavement, attempting

to make up by the number of his short steps for the long strides of his

father. The little fellow jerked at the bony hand which held his, and

prattled and questioned, begged and grew petulant, in a vain effort to

make his father talk to him. But the latter was probably unconscious of

the other's existence, and stalked on, absorbed in his own reflections.

He wore on such occasions an old gray shawl, rolled into a coil, and

wrapped like a rope around his neck. The rest of his clothes were in

keeping. "He did not walk cunningly,--Indian-like,--but cautiously and

firmly." His tread was even and strong. He was a little pigeon-toed; and

this, with another peculiarity, made his walk very singular. He set his

whole foot flat on the ground, and in turn lifted it all at once,--not

resting momentarily upon the toe as the foot rose, nor upon the heel as

it fell. He never wore his shoes out at the heel and the toe more,

as most men do, than at the middle of the sole; yet his gait was not

altogether awkward, and there was manifest physical power in his step.

As he moved along thus silent, abstracted, his thoughts dimly reflected

in his sharp face, men turned to look after him as an object of sympathy

as well as curiosity: "his melancholy," in the words of Mr. Herndon,

"dripped from him as he walked." If, however, he met a friend in the

street, and was roused by a loud, hearty "Good-morning, Lincoln!" he

would grasp the friend's hand with one or both of his own, and, with his

usual expression of "Howdy, howdy," would detain him to hear a story:

something reminded him of it; it happened in Indiana, and it must be

told, for it was wonderfully pertinent.

After his breakfast-hour, he would appear at his office, and go about

the labors of the day with all his might, displaying prodigious industry

and capacity for continuous application, although he never was a fast

worker. Sometimes it happened that he came without his breakfast; and

then he would have in his hands a piece of cheese, or Bologna sausage,

and a few crackers, bought by the way. At such times he did not speak

to his partner or his friends, if any happened to be present: the tears

were, perhaps, struggling into his eyes, while his pride was struggling

to keep them back. Mr. Herndon knew the whole story at a glance: there

was no speech between them; but neither wished the visitors to the

office to witness the scene; and, therefore, Mr. Lincoln retired to the

back office, while Mr. Herndon locked the front one, and walked away

with the key in his pocket. In an hour or more the latter would return,

and perhaps find Mr. Lincoln calm and collected; otherwise he went out

again, and waited until he was so. Then the office was opened, and every

thing went on as usual.

When Mr. Lincoln had a speech to write, which happened very often,

he would put down each thought, as it struck him, on a small strip of

paper, and, having accumulated a number of these, generally carried them

in his hat or his pockets until he had the whole speech composed in this

odd way, when he would sit down at his table, connect the fragments,

and then write out the whole speech on consecutive sheets in a plain,

legible handwriting.

His house was an ordinary two-story frame-building, with a stable and a

yard: it was a bare, cheerless sort of a place. He planted no fruit or

shade trees, no shrubbery or flowers. He did on one occasion set out a

few rose-bushes in front of his house; but they speedily perished, or

became unsightly for want of attention. Mrs. Wallace, Mrs. Lincoln's

sister, undertook "to hide the nakedness" of the place by planting some

flowers; but they soon withered and died. He cultivated a small garden

for a single year, working in it himself; but it did not seem to

prosper, and that enterprise also was abandoned. He had a horse and a

cow: the one was fed and curried, and the other fed and milked, by his

own hand. When at home, he chopped and sawed all the wood that was used

in his house. Late one night he returned home, after an absence of a

week or so. His neighbor, Webber, was in bed; but, hearing an axe in use

at that unusual hour, he rose to see what it meant. The moon was high;

and by its light he looked down into Lincoln's yard, and there saw him

in his shirt-sleeves "cutting wood to cook his supper with." Webber

turned to his watch, and saw that it was one o'clock. Besides this house

and lot, and a small sum of money, Mr. Lincoln had no property, except

some wild land in Iowa, entered for him under warrants, received for his

service in the Black Hawk War.

Mrs. Wallace thinks "Mr. Lincoln was a domestic man by nature." He was

not fond of other people's children, but was extremely fond of his own:

he was patient, indulgent, and generous with them to a fault. On Sundays

he often took those that were large enough, and walked with them into

the country, and, giving himself up entirely to them, rambled through

the green fields or the cool woods, amusing and instructing them for a

whole day at a time. His method of reading is thus quaintly described.

"He would read, generally aloud (couldn't read otherwise),--would read

with great warmth, all funny or humorous things; read Shakspeare that

way. He was a sad man, an abstracted man. He would lean back, his

head against the top of a rocking-chair; sit abstracted that way for

minutes,--twenty, thirty minutes,--and all at once would burst out into

a joke."

Mrs. Col. Chapman, daughter of Dennis Hanks, and therefore a relative

of Mr. Lincoln, made him a long visit previous to her marriage. "You

ask me," says she, "how Mr. Lincoln acted at home. I can say, and that

truly, he was all that a husband, father, and neighbor should be,--kind

and affectionate to his wife and child ('Bob' being the only one they

had when I was with them), and very pleasant to all around him. Never

did I hear him utter an unkind word. For instance: one day he undertook

to correct his child, and his wife was determined that he should not,

and attempted to take it from him; but in this she failed. She then

tried tongue-lashing, but met with the same fate; for Mr. Lincoln

corrected his child as a father ought to do, in the face of his wife's

anger, and that, too, without even changing his countenance or making

any reply to his wife.

"His favorite way of reading, when at home, was lying down on the floor.

I fancy I see him now, lying full-length in the hall of his old house

reading. When not engaged reading law-books, he would read literary

works, and was very fond of reading poetry, and often, when he would

be, or appear to be, in deep study, commence and repeat aloud some piece

that he had taken a fancy to, such as the one you already have in print,

and 'The Burial of Sir John Moore,' and so on. He often told laughable

jokes and stories when he thought we were looking gloomy."

[Illustration: Mr. Lincoln's Home in Springfield, Ill. 519]

Mr. Lincoln was not supremely happy in his domestic relations: the

circumstances of his courtship and marriage alone made that impossible.

His engagement to Miss Todd was one of the great misfortunes of his life

and of hers. He realized the mistake too late; and when he was brought

face to face with the lie he was about to enact, and the wrong he was

about to do, both to himself and an innocent woman, he recoiled with

horror and remorse. For weeks together, he was sick, deranged, and on

the verge of suicide,--a heavy care to his friends, and a source of

bitter mortification to the unfortunate lady, whose good fame depended,

in a great part, upon his constancy. The wedding garments and the

marriage feast were prepared, the very hour had come when the solemn

ceremony was to be performed; and the groom failed to appear! He was

no longer a free agent: he was restrained, carefully guarded, and soon

after removed to a distant place, where the exciting causes of his

disease would be less constant and active in their operation. He

recovered slowly, and at length returned to Springfield. He spoke out

his feelings frankly and truly to the one person most interested in

them. But he had been, from the beginning, except in the case of Ann

Rutledge, singularly inconstant and unstable in his relations with

the few refined and cultivated women who had been the objects of his

attention. He loved Miss Rutledge passionately, and the next year

importuned Miss Owens to be his wife. Failing in his suit, he wrote an

unfeeling letter about her, apparently with no earthly object but to

display his levity and make them both ridiculous. He courted Miss

Todd, and at the moment of success fell in love with her relative, and,

between the two, went crazy, and thought of ending all his woes with a

razor or a pocket-knife. It is not impossible that the feelings of such

a man might have undergone another and more sudden change. Perhaps they

did. At all events, he was conscientious and honorable and just. There

was but one way of repairing the injury he had done Miss Todd, and

he adopted it. They were married; but they understood each other, and

suffered the inevitable consequences, as other people do under similar

circumstances. But such troubles seldom fail to find a tongue; and it is

not strange, that, in this case, neighbors and friends, and ultimately

the whole country, came to know the state of things in that house. Mr.

Lincoln scarcely attempted to conceal it, but talked of it with little

or no reserve to his wife's relatives, as well as his own friends. Yet

the gentleness and patience with which he bore this affliction from day

to day, and from year to year, was enough to move the shade of Socrates.

It touched his acquaintances deeply, and they gave it the widest

publicity. They made no pause to inquire, to investigate, and to

apportion the blame between the parties, according to their deserts.

Almost ever since Mr. Lincoln's death, a portion of the press has never

tired of heaping brutal reproaches upon his wife and widow; whilst a

certain class of his friends thought they were honoring his memory by

multiplying outrages and indignities upon her, at the very moment when

she was broken by want and sorrow, defamed, defenceless, in the hands of

thieves, and at the mercy of spies. If ever a woman grievously expiated

an offence not her own, this woman did. In the Herndon manuscripts,

there is a mass of particulars under this head; but Mr. Herndon sums

them all up in a single sentence, in a letter to one of Mr. Lincoln's

biographers: "All that I know ennobles both."

It would be very difficult to recite all the causes of Mr. Lincoln's

melancholy disposition. That it was partly owing to physical causes

there can be no doubt. Mr. Stuart says, that in some respects he was

totally unlike other people, and was, in fact, a "mystery." Blue-pills

were the medicinal remedy which he affected most. But whatever the

history or the cause,--whether physical reasons, the absence of domestic

concord, a series of painful recollections of his mother, of his father

and master, of early sorrows, blows, and hardships, of Ann Rutledge and

fruitless hopes, or all these combined, Mr. Lincoln was the saddest and

gloomiest man of his time. "I do not think that he knew what happiness

was for twenty years," says Mr. Herndon. "Terrible" is the word which

all his friends use to describe him in the black mood. "It was terrible!

It was terrible!" says one and another.

His mind was filled with gloomy forebodings and strong apprehensions of

impending evil, mingled with extravagant visions of personal grandeur

and power. His imagination painted a scene just beyond the veil of the

immediate future, gilded with glory yet tarnished with blood. It was his

"destiny,"--splendid but dreadful, fascinating but terrible. His case

bore little resemblance to those of religious enthusiasts like Bunyan,

Cowper, and others. His was more like the delusion of the fatalist,

conscious of his star. At all events, he never doubted for a moment but

that he was formed for "some great or miserable end." He talked about

it frequently and sometimes calmly. Mr. Herndon remembers many of these

conversations in their office at Springfield, and in their rides around

the circuit. Mr. Lincoln said the impression had grown in him "all

his life;" but Mr. Herndon thinks it was about 1840 that it took the

character of a "religious conviction." He had then suffered much, and,

considering his opportunities, achieved great things. He was already a

leader among men, and a most brilliant career had been promised him

by the prophetic enthusiasm of many friends. Thus encouraged and

stimulated, and feeling himself growing gradually stronger and stronger,

in the estimation of "the plain people," whose voice was more potent

than all the Warwicks, his ambition painted the rainbow of glory in

the sky, while his morbid melancholy supplied the clouds that were to

overcast and obliterate it with the wrath and ruin of the tempest. To

him it was fate, and there was no escape or defence. The presentiment

never deserted him: it was as clear, as perfect, as certain, as any

image conveyed by the senses. He had now entertained it so long, that it

was as much a part of his nature as the consciousness of identity. All

doubts had faded away, and he submitted humbly to a power which he could

neither comprehend nor resist. He was to fall,--fall from a lofty place,

and in the performance of a great work. The star under which he was

born was at once brilliant and malignant: the horoscope was cast, fixed,

irreversible; and he had no more power to alter or defeat it in the

minutest particular than he had to reverse the law of gravitation.

After the election, he conceived that he would not "last" through his

term of office, but had at length reached the point where the sacrifice

would take place. All precautions against assassination he considered

worse than useless. "If they want to kill me," said he, "there is

nothing to prevent." He complained to Mr. Gillespie of the small

body-guard which his counsellors had forced upon him, insisting that

they were a needless encumbrance. When Mr. Gillespie urged the ease and

impunity with which he might be killed, and the value of his life to

the country, he said, "What is the use of putting up the _gap_ when the

fence is down all around?"

"It was just after my election in 1860," said Mr. Lincoln to his

secretary, John Hay, "when the news had been coming in thick and fast

all day, and there had been a great 'hurrah boys!' so that I was well

tired out, and went home to rest, throwing myself upon a lounge in my

chamber.

"Opposite to where I lay was a bureau with a swinging glass upon it; and,

in looking in that glass, I saw myself reflected nearly at full length;

but my face, I noticed, had two separate and distinct images, the tip

of the nose of one being about three inches from the tip of the other.

I was a little bothered, perhaps startled, and got up and looked in the

glass; but the illusion vanished. On lying down again, I saw it a second

time,--plainer, if possible, than before; and then I noticed that one of

the faces was a little paler--say five shades--than the other. I got up,

and the thing melted away; and I went off, and in the excitement of the

hour forgot all about it,--nearly, but not quite, for the thing would

once in a while come up, and give me a little pang, as though something

uncomfortable had happened. When I went home, I told my wife about it:

and a few days after I tried the experiment again, when, sure enough,

the thing came back again; but I never succeeded in bringing the ghost

back after that, though I once tried very industriously to show it to

my wife, who was worried about it somewhat. She thought it was 'a

sign' that I was to be elected to a second term of office, and that

the paleness of one of the faces was an omen that I should not see life

through the last term."

In this morbid and dreamy state of mind, Mr. Lincoln passed the greater

part of his life. But his "sadness, despair, gloom," Mr. Herndon says,

"were not of the kind that leads a badly-balanced mind into misanthropy

and universal hate and scorn. His humor would assert itself from the

hell of misanthropy: it would assert its independence every third hour

or day or week. His abstractedness, his continuity of thought, his

despair, made him, twice in his life, for two weeks at a time, walk that

narrow line that divides sanity from insanity.... This peculiarity of

his nature, his humor, his wit, kept him alive in his mind.... It was

those good sides of his nature that made, to him, his life bearable. Mr.

Lincoln was a weak man and a strong man by turns."

Some of Mr. Lincoln's literary tastes indicated strongly his prevailing

gloominess of mind. He read Byron extensively, especially "Childe

Harold," "The Dream," and "Don Juan." Burns was one of his earliest

favorites, although there is no evidence that he appreciated highly the

best efforts of Burns. On the contrary, "Holy Willie's Prayer" was the

only one of his poems which Mr. Lincoln took the trouble to memorize. He

was fond of Shakspeare, especially "King Lear," and "The Merry Wives of

Windsor." But whatever was suggestive of death, the grave, the sorrows

of man's days on earth, charmed his disconsolate spirit, and captivated

his sympathetic heart. Solemn-sounding rhymes, with no merit but the sad

music of their numbers, were more enchanting to him than the loftiest

songs of the masters. Of these were, "Why should the Spirit of Mortal be

Proud?" and a pretty commonplace little piece, entitled "The Inquiry."

One verse of Holmes's "Last Leaf" he thought was "inexpressibly

touching." This verse we give the reader:--

"The mossy marbles rest

On the lips that he has pressed

In their bloom;

And the names he loved to hear

Have been carved for many a year On the tomb."

Mr. Lincoln frequently said that he lived by his humor, and would have

died without it. His manner of telling a story was irresistibly comical,

the fun of it dancing in his eyes and playing over every feature. His

face changed in an instant: the hard lines faded out of it, and the

mirth seemed to diffuse itself all over him, like a spontaneous tickle.

You could see it coming long before he opened his mouth, and he began

to enjoy the "point" before his eager auditors could catch the faintest

glimpse of it. Telling and hearing ridiculous stories was one of his

ruling passions. He would go a long way out of his road to tell a grave,

sedate fellow a broad story, or to propound to him a conundrum that was

not particularly remarkable for its delicacy. If he happened to hear of

a man who was known to have something fresh in this line, he would hunt

him up, and "swap jokes" with him. Nobody remembers the time when

his fund of anecdotes was not apparently inexhaustible. It was so

in Indiana; it was so in New Salem, in the Black-Hawk War, in the

Legislature, in Congress, on the circuit, on the stump,--everywhere.

The most trifling incident "reminded" him of a story, and that story

reminded him of another, until everybody marvelled "that one small head

could carry all he knew." The "good things" he said were repeated at

second-hand, all over the counties through which he chanced to travel;

and many, of a questionable flavor, were attributed to him, not because

they were his in fact, but because they were like his. Judges, lawyers,

jurors, and suitors carried home with them select budgets of his

stories, to be retailed to itching ears as "Old Abe's last." When the

court adjourned from village to village, the taverns and the groceries

left behind were filled with the sorry echoes of his "best." He

generally located his little narratives with great precision,--in

Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois; and if he was not personally "knowing" to

the facts himself, he was intimately acquainted with a gentleman who

was.

Mr. Lincoln used his stories variously,--to illustrate or convey

an argument; to make his opinions clear to another, or conceal them

altogether; to cut off a disagreeable conversation, or to end an

unprofitable discussion; to cheer his own heart, or simply to amuse

his friends. But most frequently he had a practical object in view, and

employed them simply "as labor-saving contrivances."

It was Judge Davis's opinion, that Mr. Lincoln's hilarity was mainly

simulated, and that "his stories and jokes were intended to whistle

off sadness." "The groundwork of his social nature was sad," says Judge

Scott; "but for the fact that he studiously cultivated the humorous, it

would have been very sad indeed. His mirth to me always seemed to be

put on, and did not properly belong there. Like a plant produced in the

hot-bed, it had an unnatural and luxuriant growth."

Although Mr. Lincoln's walk among men was remarkably pure, the same

cannot be said of his conversation. He was endowed by nature with a

keen sense of humor, and he found great delight in indulging it. But his

humor was not of a delicate quality; it was chiefly exercised in

hearing and telling stories of the grosser sort. In this tendency he was

restrained by no presence and no occasion. It was his opinion that the

finest wit and humor, the best jokes and anecdotes, emanated from the

lower orders of the country people. It was from this source that he

had acquired his peculiar tastes and his store of materials. The

associations which began with the early days of Dennis Hanks continued

through his life at New Salem and his career at the Illinois Bar,

and did not desert him when, later in life, he arrived at the highest

dignities.

Mr. Lincoln indulged in no sensual excesses: he ate moderately, and

drank temperately when he drank at all. For many years he was an ardent

agitator against the use of intoxicating beverages, and made speeches,

far and near, in favor of total abstinence. Some of them were printed;

and of one he was not a little proud. He abstained himself, not so much

upon principle, as because of a total lack of appetite. He had no taste

for spirituous liquors; and, when he took them, it was a punishment to

him, not an indulgence. But he disliked sumptuary laws, and would

not prescribe by statute what other men should eat or drink. When the

temperance men ran to the Legislature to invoke the power of the State,

his voice--the most eloquent among them--was silent. He did not oppose

them, but quietly withdrew from the cause, and left others to manage it.

In 1854 he was induced to join the order called Sons of Temperance, but

never attended a single meeting after the one at which he was initiated.

Morbid, moody, meditative, thinking much of himself and the things

pertaining to himself, regarding other men as instruments furnished to

his hand for the accomplishment of views which he knew were important to

him, and, therefore, considered important to the public, Mr. Lincoln

was a man apart from the rest of his kind, unsocial, cold,

impassive,--neither a "good hater" nor a fond friend. He unbent in the

society of those who gave him new ideas, who listened to and admired

him, whose attachment might be useful, or whose conversation amused him.

He seemed to make boon-companions of the coarsest men on the list of

his acquaintances,--"low, vulgar, unfortunate creatures;" but, as Judge

Davis has it, "he used such men as tools,--things to satisfy him, to

feed his desires." He felt sorry for them, enjoyed them, extracted from

them whatever service they were capable of rendering, discarded and

forgot them. If one of them, presuming upon the past, followed him to

Washington with a view to personal profit, Mr. Lincoln would probably

take him to his private room, lock the doors, revel in reminiscences

of Illinois, new stories and old, through an entire evening, and then

dismiss his enchanted crony with nothing more substantial than his

blessing. It was said that "he had no heart;" that is, no personal

attachments warm and strong enough to govern his actions. It was seldom

that he praised anybody; and, when he did, it was not a rival or an

equal in the struggle for popularity and power. His encomiums were

more likely to be satirical than sincere, and sometimes were artfully

contrived as mere stratagems to catch the applause he pretended to

bestow, or at least to share it in equal parts. No one knew better how

to "damn with faint praise," or to divide the glory of another by being

the first and frankest to acknowledge it. Fully alive to the fact that

no qualities of a public man are so charming to the people as simplicity

and candor, he made simplicity and candor the mask of deep feelings

carefully concealed, and subtle plans studiously veiled from all eyes

but one. He had no reverence for great men, followed no leader with

blind devotion, and yielded no opinion to mere authority. He felt that

he was as great as anybody, and could do what another did. It was,

however, the supreme desire of his heart to be right, and to do justice

in all the relations of life. Although some of his strongest passions

conflicted more or less directly with this desire, he was conscious of

them, and strove to regulate them by self-imposed restraints. He was

not avaricious, never appropriated a cent wrongfully, and did not think

money for its own sake a fit object of any man's ambition. But he knew

its value, its power, and liked to keep it when he had it. He gave

occasionally to individual mendicants, or relieved a case of great

destitution at his very door; but his alms-giving was neither profuse

nor systematic. He never made donations to be distributed to the poor

who were not of his acquaintance and very near at hand. There were few

entertainments at his house. People were seldom asked to dine with him.

To many he seemed inhospitable; and there was something about his house,

an indescribable air of exclusiveness, which forbade the entering guest.

It is not meant to be said that this came from mere economy. It was not

at home that he wished to see company. He preferred to meet his friends

abroad,--on a street-corner, in an office, at the Court House, or

sitting on nail-kegs in a country store.

Mr. Lincoln took no part in the promotion of local enterprises,

railroads, schools, churches, asylums. The benefits he proposed for his

fellow-men were to be accomplished by political means alone. Politics

were his world,--a world filled with hopeful enchantments. Ordinarily

he disliked to discuss any other subject. "In his office," says Mr.

Herndon, "he sat down, or spilt himself, on his lounge, read aloud,

told stories, talked politics,--never science, art, literature, railroad

gatherings, colleges, asylums, hospitals, commerce, education, progress,

nothing that interested the world generally," except politics. He seldom

took an active part in local or minor elections, or wasted his power to

advance a friend. He did nothing out of mere gratitude, and forgot the

devotion of his warmest partisans as soon as the occasion for their

services had passed. What they did for him was quietly appropriated

as the reward of superior merit, calling for no return in kind. He was

always ready to do battle for a principle, after a discreet fashion,

but never permitted himself to be strongly influenced by the claims of

individual men. When he was a candidate himself, he thought the whole

canvass and all the preliminaries ought to be conducted with reference

to his success. He would say to a man, "Your continuance in the field

injures me" and be quite sure that he had given a perfect reason for his

withdrawal. He would have no "obstacles" in his way; coveted honors,

was eager for power, and impatient of any interference that delayed or

obstructed his progress. He worked hard enough at general elections,

when he could make speeches, have them printed, and "fill the speaking

trump of fame" with his achievements; but in the little affairs about

home, where it was all work and no glory, his zeal was much less

conspicuous. Intensely secretive and cautious, he shared his secrets

with no man, and revealed just enough of his plans to allure support,

and not enough to expose their personal application. After Speed left,

he had no intimates to whom he opened his whole mind. This is the

unanimous testimony of all who knew him. Feeling himself perfectly

competent to manage his own affairs, he listened with deceptive patience

to the views of others, and then dismissed the advice with the adviser.

Judge Davis was supposed to have great influence over him; but he

declares that he had literally none. "Once or twice," says he, "he asked

my advice about the almighty dollar, but never about any thing else."

Notwithstanding his overweening ambition, and the breathless eagerness

with which he pursued the objects of it, he had not a particle of

sympathy with the great mass of his fellow-citizens who were engaged in

similar scrambles for place. "If ever," said he, "American society and

the United States Government are demoralized and overthrown, it will

come from the voracious desire of office,--this wriggle to live without

toil, work, and labor, from which I am not free myself." Mr. Lincoln was

not a demagogue or a trimmer. He never deserted a party in disaster, or

joined one in triumph. Nearly the whole of his public life was spent in

the service of a party which struggled against hopeless odds, which met

with many reverses and few victories. It is true, that about the time

he began as a politician, the Whigs in his immediate locality, at first

united with the moderate Democrats, and afterwards by themselves, were

strong enough to help him to the Legislature as often as he chose to go.

But, if the fact had been otherwise, it is not likely that he would have

changed sides, or even altered his position in any essential particular,

to catch the popular favor. Subsequently he suffered many defeats,--for

Congress, for Commissioner of the Land Office, and twice for Senator;

but on this account he never faltered in devotion to the general

principles of the party, or sought to better his fortune by an alliance

with the common enemy. It cannot be denied, that, when he was first a

candidate for the Legislature, his views of public policy were a little

cloudy, and that his addresses to the people were calculated to make

fair weather with men of various opinions; nor that, when first a

candidate for United States Senator, he was willing to make a secret

bargain with the extreme Abolitionists, and, when last a candidate, to

make some sacrifice of opinion to further his own aspirations for the

Presidency. The pledge to Lovejoy and the "House-divided Speech" were

made under the influence of personal considerations, without reference

to the views or the success of those who had chosen and trusted him as a

leader for a far different purpose. But this was merely steering between

sections of his own party, where the differences were slight and easily

reconciled,--manoeuvring for the strength of one faction today and

another to-morrow, with intent to unite them and lead them to a victory,

the benefits of which would inure to all. He was not one to be last in

the fight and first at the feast, nor yet one to be first in the fight

and last at the feast. He would do his whole duty in the field, but

had not the slightest objection to sitting down at the head of the

table,--an act which he would perform with a modest, homely air, that

disarmed envy, and silenced the master when he would say, "Friend, go

down lower." His "master" was the "plain people." To be popular was to

him the greatest good in life. He had known what it was to be without

popularity, and he had known what it was to enjoy it. To gain it or

to keep it, he considered no labor too great, no artifice misused

or misapplied. His ambition was strong; yet it existed in strict

subordination to his sense of party fidelity, and could by no chance or

possibility lure him into downright social or political treasons. His

path may have been a little devious, winding hither and thither, in

search of greater convenience of travel, or the security of a larger

company; but it always went forward in the same general direction, and

never ran off at right-angles toward a hostile camp. The great body of

men who acted with him in the beginning acted with him at the last.

On the whole, he was an honest, although a shrewd, and by no means an

unselfish politician. He

................."Foresaw

Which way the world began to draw,"

and instinctively drew with it. He had convictions, but preferred to

choose his time to speak. He was not so much of a Whig that he could not

receive the support of the "nominal" Jackson men, until party lines were

drawn so tight that he was compelled to be one thing or the other. He

was not so much of a Whig that he could not make a small diversion

for White in 1836, nor so much of a White man that he could not lead

Harrison's friends in the Legislature during the same winter. He was a

firm believer in the good policy of high "protective tariffs;" but, when

importuned to say so in a public letter, he declined on the ground that

it would do him no good. He detested Know-Nothingism with all his heart;

but, when Know-Nothingism swept the country, he was so far from being

obtrusive with his views, that many believed he belonged to the order.

He was an anti-slavery man from the beginning of his service in the

Legislature; but he was so cautious and moderate in the expression of

his sentiments, that, when the anti-Nebraska party disintegrated, the

ultra-Republicans were any thing but sure of his adherence; and even

after the Bloomington Convention he continued to pick his way to the

front with wary steps, and did not take his place among the boldest of

the agitators until 1858, when he uttered the "House-divided Speech,"

just in time to take Mr. Seward's place on the Presidential ticket of

1860.

Any analysis of Mr. Lincoln's character would be defective that did not

include his religious opinions. On such matters he thought deeply; and

his opinions were positive. But perhaps no phase of his character has

been more persistently misrepresented and variously misunderstood, than

this of his religious belief. Not that the conclusive testimony of many

of his intimate associates relative to his frequent expressions on such

subjects has ever been wanting; but his great prominence in the world's

history, and his identification with some of the great questions of our

time, which, by their moral import, were held to be eminently religious

in their character, have led many good people to trace in his motives

and actions similar convictions to those held by themselves. His

extremely general expressions of religious faith called forth by the

grave exigencies of his public life, or indulged in on occasions of

private condolence, have too often been distorted out of relation to

their real significance or meaning to suit the opinions or tickle the

fancies of individuals or parties.

Mr. Lincoln was never a member of any church, nor did he believe in the

divinity of Christ, or the inspiration of the Scriptures in the sense

understood by evangelical Christians. His theological opinions were

substantially those expounded by Theodore Parker. Overwhelming testimony

out of many mouths, and none stronger than that out of his own, place

these facts beyond controversy.

When a boy, he showed no sign of that piety which his many biographers

ascribe to his manhood. His stepmother--herself a Christian, and longing

for the least sign of faith in him--could remember no circumstance that

supported her hope. On the contrary, she recollected very well that he

never went off into a corner, as has been said, to ponder the sacred

writings, and to wet the page with his tears of penitence. He was fond

of music; but Dennis Hanks is clear to the point that it was songs of a

very questionable character that cheered his lonely pilgrimage through

the woods of Indiana. When he went to church at all, he went to mock,

and came away to mimic. Indeed, it is more than probable that the

sort of "religion" which prevailed among the associates of his boyhood

impressed him with a very poor opinion of the value of the article. On

the whole, he thought, perhaps, a person had better be without it.

When he came to New Salem, he consorted with freethinkers, joined with

them in deriding the gospel history of Jesus, read Volney and Paine,

and then wrote a deliberate and labored essay, wherein he reached

conclusions similar to theirs. The essay was burnt, but he never denied

or regretted its composition. On the contrary, he made it the subject

of free and frequent conversations with his friends at Springfield, and

stated, with much particularity and precision, the origin, arguments,

and objects of the work.

It was not until after Mr. Lincoln's death, that his alleged orthodoxy

became the principal topic of his eulogists; but since then the effort

on the part of some political writers and speakers to impress the

public mind erroneously seems to have been general and systematic. It is

important that the question should be finally determined; and, in order

to do so, the names of some of his nearest friends are given below,

followed by clear and decisive statements, for which they are separately

responsible. Some of them are gentlemen of distinction, and all of

them men of high character, who enjoyed the best opportunities to form

correct opinions.

James H. Matheny says in a letter to Mr. Herndon:--

"I knew Mr. Lincoln as early as 1834-7; know he was an infidel. He and

W. D. Herndon used to talk infidelity in the clerk's office in this

city, about the years 1837-40. Lincoln attacked the Bible and the

New Testament on two grounds: first, from the inherent or apparent

contradictions under its lids; second, from the grounds of reason.

Sometimes he ridiculed the Bible and New Testament, sometimes seemed

to scoff it, though I shall not use that word in its full and literal

sense. I never heard that Lincoln changed his views, though his personal

and political friend from 1834 to 1860. Sometimes Lincoln bordered on

atheism. He went far that way, and often shocked me. I was then a young

man, and believed what my good mother told me. Stuart & Lincoln's office

was in what was called Hoffman's Row, on North Fifth Street, near the

public square. It was in the same building as the clerk's office, and on

the same floor. Lincoln would come into the clerk's office, where I and

some young men--Evan Butler, Newton Francis, and others--were writing or

staying, and would bring the Bible with him; would read a chapter; argue

against it. Lincoln then had a smattering of geology, if I recollect it.

Lincoln often, if not wholly, was an atheist; at least, bordered on it.

Lincoln was enthusiastic in his infidelity. As he grew older, he grew

more discreet, didn't talk much before strangers about his religion; but

to friends, close and bosom ones, he was always open and avowed, fair

and honest; but to strangers, he held them off from policy. Lincoln used

to quote Burns. Burns helped Lincoln to be an infidel, as I think; at

least, he found in Burns a like thinker and feeler. Lincoln quoted 'Tam

O'Skanter.' 'What! send one to heaven, and ten to hell!' &c.

"From what I know of Mr. Lincoln and his views of Christianity, and from

what I know as honest and well-founded rumor; from what I have heard his

best friends say and regret for years; from what he never denied when

accused, and from what Lincoln has hinted and intimated, to say no

more,--he did write a little book on infidelity at or near New Salem, in

Menard County, about the year 1834 or 1835. I have, stated these things

to you often. Judge Logan, John T. Stuart, yourself, know what I know,

and some of you more.

"Mr. Herndon, you insist on knowing something which you know I possess,

and got as a secret, and that is, about Lincoln's little book on

infidelity. Mr. Lincoln did tell me that he did write a little book

on infidelity. This statement I have avoided heretofore; but, as you

strongly insist upon it,--probably to defend yourself against charges of

misrepresentations,--I give it you as I got it from Lincoln's mouth."

From Hon. John T. Stuart:--

"I knew Mr. Lincoln when he first came here, and for years afterwards.

He was an avowed and open infidel, sometimes bordered on atheism. I

have often and often heard Lincoln and one W. D. Herndon, who was

a freethinker, talk over this subject. Lincoln went further against

Christian beliefs and doctrines and principles than any man I ever

heard: he shocked me. I don't remember the exact line of his argument:

suppose it was against the inherent defects, so called, of the Bible,

and on grounds of reason. Lincoln always denied that Jesus was the

Christ of God,--denied that Jesus was the Son of God, as understood

and maintained by the Christian Church. The Rev. Dr. Smith, who wrote

a letter, tried to convert Lincoln from infidelity so late as 1858, and

couldn't do it."

William H. Herndon, Esq.:--

"As to Mr. Lincoln's religious views, he was, in short, an infidel,... a

theist. He did not believe that Jesus was God, nor the Son of God,--was

a fatalist, denied the freedom of the will. Mr. Lincoln told me a

thousand times, that he did not believe the Bible was the revelation of

God, as the Christian world contends. The points that Mr. Lincoln tried

to demonstrate (in his book) were: First, That the Bible was not God's

revelation; and, Second, That Jesus was not the Son of God. I assert

this on my own knowledge, and on my veracity. Judge Logan, John T.

Stuart, James H. Matheny, and others, will tell you the truth. I say

they will confirm what I say, with this exception,--they all make it

blacker than I remember it. Joshua F. Speed of Louisville, I think, will

tell you the same thing."

Hon. David Davis:--

"I do not know any thing about Lincoln's religion, and do not think

anybody knew. The idea that Lincoln talked to a stranger about his

religion or religious views, or made such speeches, remarks, &c., about

it as are published, is to me absurd. I knew the man so well: he was

the most reticent, secretive man I ever saw, or expect to see. He had

no faith, in the Christian sense of the term,--had faith in laws,

principles, causes, and effects--philosophically: you [Herndon] know

more about his religion than any man. You ought to know it, of course."

William H. Hannah, Esq.:--

"Since 1856 Mr. Lincoln told me that he was a kind of immortalist; that

he never could bring himself to believe in eternal punishment; that

man lived but a little while here; and that, if eternal punishment were

man's doom, he should spend that little life in vigilant and ceaseless

preparation by never-ending prayer."

Mrs. Lincoln:--

"Mr. Lincoln had no hope and no faith in the usual acceptance of those

words."

Dr. C. H. Ray:--

"I do not know how I can aid you. You [Herndon] knew Mr. Lincoln far

better than I did, though I knew him well; and you have served up his

leading characteristics in a way that I should despair of doing, if

I should try. I have only one thing to ask: that you do not give

Calvinistic theology a chance to claim him as one of its saints and

martyrs. He went to the Old-School Church; but, in spite of that outward

assent to the horrible dogmas of the sect, _I have reason from, himself_

to know that his 'vital purity' if that means belief in the impossible,

was of a negative sort."

I. W. Keys, Esq.:--

"In my intercourse with Mr. Lincoln, I learned that he believed in a

Creator of all things, who had neither beginning nor end, and possessing

all power and wisdom, established a principle, in obedience to which

worlds move, and are upheld, and animal and vegetable life come into

existence. A reason he gave for his belief was, that, in view of the

order and harmony of all nature which we behold, it would have been more

miraculous to have come about by chance than to have been created and

arranged by some great thinking power. As to the Christian theory, that

Christ is God, or equal to the Creator, he said that it had better be

taken for granted; for, by the test of reason, we might become infidels

on that subject, for evidence of Christ's divinity came to us in a

somewhat doubtful shape; but that the system of Christianity was an

ingenious one at least, and perhaps was calculated to do good."

Mr. Jesse W. Fell of Illinois, who had the best opportunities of knowing

Mr. Lincoln intimately, makes the following statement of his religious

opinions, derived from repeated conversations with him on the subject:--

"Though every thing relating to the character and history of this

extraordinary personage is of interest, and should be fairly stated to

the world, I enter upon the performance of this duty--for so I regard

it--with some reluctance, arising from the fact, that, in stating

my convictions on the subject, I must necessarily place myself in

opposition to quite a number who have written on this topic before me,

and whose views largely pre-occupy the public mind. This latter fact,

whilst contributing to my embarrassment on this subject, is, perhaps,

the strongest reason, however, why the truth in this matter should be

fully disclosed; and I therefore yield to your request. If there were

any traits of character that stood out in bold relief in the person

of Mr. Lincoln, they were those of truth and candor. He was utterly

incapable of insincerity, or professing views on this or any other

subject he did not entertain. Knowing such to be his true character,

that insincerity, much more duplicity, were traits wholly foreign to his

nature, many of his old friends were not a little surprised at finding,

in some of the biographies of this great man, statements concerning his

religious opinions so utterly at variance with his known sentiments.

True, he may have changed or modified those sentiments after his removal

from among us, though this is hardly reconcilable with the history

of the man, and his entire devotion to public matters during his four

years' residence at the national capital. It is possible, however, that

this may be the proper solution of this conflict of opinions; or, it may

be, that, with no intention on the part of any one to mislead the

public mind, those who have represented him as believing in the

popular theological views of the times may have misapprehended him, as

experience shows to be quite common where no special effort has been

made to attain critical accuracy on a subject of this nature. This is

the more probable from the well-known fact, that Mr. Lincoln seldom

communicated to any one his views on this subject. But, be this as it

may, I have no hesitation whatever in saying, that, whilst he held many

opinions in common with the great mass of Christian believers, _he did

not believe_ in what are regarded as the orthodox or evangelical views

of Christianity.

"On the innate depravity of man, the character and office of the great

Head of the Church, the atonement, the infallibility of the written

revelation, the performance of miracles, the nature and design of

present and future rewards and punishments (as they are popularly

called), and many other subjects, he held opinions utterly at variance

with what are usually taught in the Church. I should say that his

expressed views on these and kindred topics were such as, in the

estimation of most believers, would place him entirely outside the

Christian pale. Yet, to my mind, such was not the true position, since

his principles and practices and the spirit of his whole life were of

the very kind we universally agree to call Christian; and I think this

conclusion is in no wise affected by the circumstance that he never

attached himself to any religious society whatever.

"His religious views were eminently practical, and are summed up, as

I think, in these two propositions: 'the Fatherhood of God, and

the brotherhood of man.' He fully believed in a superintending and

overruling Providence, that guides and controls the operations of the

world, but maintained that law and order, and not their violation

or suspension, are the appointed means by which this providence is

exercised.

"I will not attempt any specification of either his belief or disbelief

on various religious topics, as derived from conversations with him

at different times during a considerable period; but, as conveying a

general view of his religious or theological opinions, will state

the following facts. Some eight or ten years prior to his death, in

conversing with him upon this subject, the writer took occasion to

refer, in terms of approbation, to the sermons and writings generally of

Dr. W. E. Channing; and, finding he was considerably interested in the

statement I made of the opinions held by that author, I proposed to

present him (Lincoln) a copy of Channing's entire works, which I soon

after did. Subsequently, the contents of these volumes, together with

the writings of Theodore Parker, furnished him, as he informed me, by

his friend and law-partner, Mr. Herndon, became naturally the topics of

conversation with us; and though far from believing there was an entire

harmony of views on his part with either of those authors, yet they were

generally much admired and approved by him.

"No religious views with him seemed to find any favor, except of the

practical and rationalistic order; and if, from my recollections on

this subject, I was called upon to designate an author whose views

most nearly represented Mr. Lincoln's on this subject, I would say that

author was Theodore Parker.

"As you have asked from me a candid statement of my recollections on

this topic, I have thus briefly given them, with the hope that they may

be of some service in rightly settling a question about which--as I have

good reason to believe--the public mind has been greatly misled.

"Not doubting that they will accord, substantially, with your own

recollections, and that of his other intimate and confidential friends,

and with the popular verdict after this matter shall have been properly

canvassed, I submit them."

John G. Nicolay, his private secretary at the White House:--

"Mr. Lincoln did not, to my knowledge, in any way change his religious

views, opinions, or beliefs, from the time he left Springfield to the

day of his death. I do not know just what they were, never having

heard him explain them in detail; but I am very sure he gave no outward

indication of his mind having undergone any change in that regard while

here."

The following letter from Mr. Herndon was, about the time of its date,

extensively published throughout the United States, and met with no

contradiction from any responsible source.

Springfield, Feb. 18, 1870.

Mr. Abbott,---Some time since I promised you that I would send a letter

in relation to Mr. Lincoln's religion. I do so now. Before entering on

that question, one or two preliminary remarks will help us to understand

why he disagreed with the Christian world in its principles, as well

as in its theology. In the first place, Mr. Lincoln's mind was a purely

logical mind; secondly, Mr. Lincoln was purely a practical man. He

had no fancy or imagination, and not much emotion. He was a realist

as opposed to an idealist. As a general rule, it is true that a purely

logical mind has not much hope, if it ever has _faith in the unseen and

unknown_. Mr. Lincoln had not much hope and no faith in things that

lie outside of the domain of demonstration: he was so constituted, so

organized, that he could believe nothing unless his senses or logic

could reach it. I have often read to him a law point, a decision, or

something I fancied: he could not understand it until he took the

book out of my hand, and read the thing for himself. He was terribly,

vexatiously sceptical. He could scarcely understand any thing, unless he

had time and place fixed in his mind.

I became acquainted with Mr. Lincoln in 1834, and I think I knew him

well to the day of his death. His mind, when a boy in Kentucky, showed a

certain gloom, an unsocial nature, a peculiar abstractedness, a bold and

daring scepticism. In Indiana, from 1817 to 1830, it manifested the same

qualities or attributes as in Kentucky: it only intensified, developed

itself, along those lines, in Indiana. He came to Illinois in 1830, and,

after some little roving, settled in New Salem, now in Menard County and

State of Illinois. This village lies about twenty miles north-west of

this city. It was here that Mr. Lincoln became acquainted with a class

of men the world never saw the like of before or since. They were large

men,--large in body and large in mind; hard to whip, and never to be

fooled. They were a bold, daring, and reckless sort of men; they were

men of their own minds,--believed what was demonstrable; were men of

great common sense. With these men Mr. Lincoln was thrown; with them

he lived, and with them he moved, and almost had his being. They were

sceptics all,--scoffers some. These scoffers were good men, and their

scoffs were protests against theology,--loud protests against the

follies of Christianity: they had never heard of theism and the

newer and better religious thoughts of this age. Hence, being natural

sceptics, and being bold, brave men, they uttered their thoughts freely:

they declared that Jesus was an illegitimate child.... They were on all

occasions, when opportunity offered, debating the various questions of

Christianity among themselves: they took their stand on common sense and

on their own souls; and, though their arguments were rude and rough, no

man could overthrow their homely logic. They riddled all divines, and

not unfrequently made them sceptics,--disbelievers as bad as themselves.

They were a jovial, healthful, generous, social, true, and manly set of

people.

It was here, and among these people, that Mr. Lincoln was thrown. About

the year 1834, he chanced to come across Volney's "Ruins," and some

of Paine's theological works. He at once seized hold of them, and

assimilated them into his own being. Volney and Paine became a part of

Mr. Lincoln from 1834 to the end of his life. In 1835 he wrote out a

small work on "Infidelity," and intended to have it published. The book

was an attack upon the whole grounds of Christianity, and especially

was it an attack upon the idea that Jesus was the Christ, the true and

only-begotten Son of God, as the Christian world contends. Mr. Lincoln

was at that time in New Salem, keeping store for Mr. Samuel Hill,

a merchant and postmaster of that place. Lincoln and Hill were very

friendly. Hill, I think, was a sceptic at that time. Lincoln, one day

after the book was finished, read it to Mr. Hill, his good friend. Hill

tried to persuade him not to make it public, not to publish it. Hill

at that time saw in Mr. Lincoln a rising man, and wished him success.

Lincoln refused to destroy it, said it should be published. Hill

swore it should never see light of day. He had an eye, to Lincoln's

popularity,--his present and future success; and believing, that if the

book were published, it would kill Lincoln forever, he snatched it from

Lincoln's hand, when Lincoln was not expecting it, and ran it into

an old-fashioned tin-plate stove, heated as hot as a furnace; and so

Lincoln's book went up to the clouds in smoke. It is confessed by all

who heard parts of it, that it was at once able and eloquent; and, if I

may judge of it from Mr. Lincoln's subsequent ideas and opinions, often

expressed to me and to others in my presence, it was able, strong,

plain, and fair. His argument was grounded on the internal mistakes of

the Old and New Testaments, and on reason, and on the experiences and

observations of men. The criticisms from internal defects were sharp,

strong, and manly.

Mr. Lincoln moved to this city in 1837, and here became acquainted

with various men of his own way of thinking. At that time they called

themselves _free-thinkers, or free-thinking men_. I remember all these

things distinctly; for I was with them, heard them, and was one of them.

Mr. Lincoln here found other works,--Hume, Gibbon, and others,--and

drank them in: he made no secret of his views, no concealment of his

religion. He boldly avowed himself an infidel. When Mr. Lincoln was a

candidate for our Legislature, he was accused of being an infidel, and

of having said that Jesus Christ was an illegitimate child: he never

denied his opinions, nor flinched from his religious views; he was a

true man, and yet it may be truthfully said, that in 1837 his religion

was low indeed. In his moments of gloom he would _doubt, if he did

not sometimes deny, God_. He made me once erase the name of God from a

speech which I was about to make in 1854; and he did this in the city

of Washington to one of his friends. I cannot now name the man, nor the

place he occupied in Washington: it will be known sometime. I have the

evidence, and intend to keep it.

Mr. Lincoln ran for Congress, against the Rev. Peter Cartwright, in the

year 1847 or 1848. In that contest he was accused of being an infidel,

if not an atheist; he never denied the charge; would not; "_would die

first_:" in the first place, because he knew it could and would be

proved on him; and in the second place he was too true to his own

convictions, to his own soul, to deny it. From what I know of Mr.

Lincoln, and from what I have heard and verily believe, I can say,

First, That he _did not believe in a special creation, his idea being

that all creation was an evolution under law_; Secondly, That he did

not believe that the Bible was a special revelation from God, as the

Christian world contends; Thirdly, He did not believe in miracles, as

understood by the Christian world; Fourthly, He believed in universal

inspiration and miracles under law; Fifthly, He did not believe that

Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God, as the Christian world contends;

Sixthly, He believed that all things, both matter and mind, were

governed by laws, universal, absolute, and eternal. All his speeches and

remarks in Washington conclusively prove this. _Law was to Lincoln every

thing, and special interferences shams and delusions_. I know whereof I

speak. I used to loan him Theodore Parker's works: I loaned him Emerson

sometimes, and other writers; and he would sometimes read, and sometimes

would not, as I suppose,--nay, know.

When Mr. Lincoln left this city for Washington, I know he had undergone

no change in his religious opinions or views. He held many of the

Christian ideas in abhorrence, and among them there was this one;

namely, that God would forgive the sinner for a violation of his laws.

_Lincoln maintained that God could not forgive; that punishment has to

follow the sin; that Christianity was wrong in teaching forgiveness_;

that it tended to make man sin in the hope that God would excuse, and

so forth. Lincoln contended that the minister should teach that God has

affixed punishment to sin, and that _no repentance could bribe him to

remit it_. In one sense of the word, Mr. Lincoln was a Universalist,

and in another sense he was a Unitarian; but he was a theist, as we now

understand that word: he was so fully, freely, unequivocally, boldly,

and openly, when asked for his views. Mr. Lincoln was supposed, by many

people in this city, to be an atheist; and some still believe it. I can

put that supposition at rest forever. I hold a letter of Mr. Lincoln in

my hand, addressed to his step-brother, John D. Johnston, and dated

the twelfth day of January, 1851. He had heard from Johnston that his

father, Thomas Lincoln, was sick, and that no hopes of his recovery were

entertained. Mr. Lincoln wrote back to Mr. Johnston these words:--

"I sincerely hope that father may yet recover his health; but, at all

events, tell him to remember to call upon and confide in One great

and good and merciful Maker, who will not turn away from him in any

extremity. He notes the fall of a sparrow, and numbers the hairs of our

heads; and he will not forget the dying man who puts his trust in him.

Say to him, that, if we could meet now, it is doubtful whether it would

not be more painful than pleasant; but that, if it be his lot to go now,

he will soon have a joyous meeting with many loved ones gone before,

and where the rest of us, through the help of God, hope ere long to join

them.

"A. Lincoln."

So it seems that Mr. Lincoln believed in God and immortality as well as

heaven,--a place. He believed in no hell and no punishment in the future

world. It has been said to me that Mr. Lincoln wrote the above letter

to an old man simply to cheer him up in his last moments, and that the

writer did not believe what he said. The question is, Was Mr. Lincoln

an honest and truthful man? If he was, he wrote that letter honestly,

believing it. It has to me the sound, the ring, of an honest utterance.

I admit that Mr. Lincoln, in his moments of melancholy and

terrible gloom, was living on the borderland between theism and

atheism,--sometimes quite wholly dwelling in atheism. In his happier

moments he would swing back to theism, and dwell lovingly there. It is

possible that Mr. Lincoln was not always responsible for what he said

or thought, so deep, so intense, so terrible, was his melancholy. I send

you a lecture of mine which will help you to see what I mean. I maintain

that Mr. Lincoln was a deeply-religious man at all times and places, in

spite of his transient doubts.

Soon after Mr. Lincoln was assassinated, Mr. Holland came into my

office, and made some inquiries about him, stating to me his purpose

of writing his life. I freely told him what he asked, and much more. He

then asked me what I thought about Mr. Lincoln's religion, meaning

his views of Christianity. I replied, "The less said, the better."

Mr. Holland has recorded my expression to him (see Holland's "Life of

Lincoln," p. 241). I cannot say what Mr. Holland said to me, as that

was private. It appears that he went and saw Mr. Newton Bateman,

Superintendent of Public Instruction in this State. It appears that Mr.

Bateman told Mr. Holland many things, if he is correctly represented in

Holland's "Life of Lincoln" (pp. 236-241, inclusive). I doubt whether

Mr. Bateman said in full what is recorded there: I doubt a great deal

of it. I know the whole story is untrue,--untrue in substance, untrue

in fact and spirit. As soon as the "Life of Lincoln" was out, on reading

that part here referred to, I instantly sought Mr. Bateman, and found

him in his office. I spoke to him politely and kindly, and he spoke to

me in the same manner. I said substantially to him that Mr. Holland, in

order to make Mr. Lincoln a technical Christian, made him a hypocrite;

and so his "Life of Lincoln" quite plainly says. I loved Mr. Lincoln,

and was mortified, if not angry, to see him made a hypocrite. I cannot

now detail what Mr. Bateman said, as it was a private conversation, and

I am forbidden to make use of it in public. If some good gentleman can

only get the seal of secrecy removed, I can show what was said and done.

On my word, the world may take it for granted that Holland is wrong,

that he does not state Mr. Lincoln's views correctly. Mr. Bateman, if

correctly represented in Holland's "Life of Lincoln," is the only man,

the sole and only man, who dare say that Mr. Lincoln believed in Jesus

as the Christ of God, as the Christian world represents. This is not

a pleasant situation for Mr. Bateman. I have notes and dates of our

conversation; and the world will sometime know who is truthful, and

who is otherwise. I doubt whether Bateman is correctly represented

by Holland. My notes bear date Dec. 3, 12, and 28, 1866. Some of our

conversations were in the spring of 1866 and the fall of 1865.

I do not remember ever seeing the words Jesus or Christ in print, as

uttered by Mr. Lincoln. If he has used these words, they can be found.

He uses the word God but seldom. I never heard him use the name of

Christ or Jesus but to confute the idea that he was the Christ, the only

and truly begotten Son of God, as the Christian world understands it.

The idea that Mr. Lincoln carried the New Testament or Bible in his

bosom or boots, to draw on his opponent in debate, is ridiculous.

My dear sir, I now have given you my knowledge, speaking from my own

experience, of Mr. Lincoln's religious views. I speak likewise from the

evidences, carefully gathered, of his religious opinions. I likewise

speak from the ears and mouths of many in this city; and, after all

careful examination, I declare to your numerous readers, that Mr.

Lincoln is correctly represented here, so far as I know what truth is,

and how it should be investigated.

If ever there was a moment when Mr. Lincoln might have been expected to

express his faith in the atonement, his trust in the merits of a living

Redeemer, it was when he undertook to send a composing and comforting

message to a dying man. He knew, moreover, that his father had been

"converted" time and again, and that no exhortation would so effectually

console his weak spirit in the hour of dismay and dissolution as one

which depicted, in the strongest terms, the perfect sufficiency of Jesus

to save the perishing soul. But he omitted it wholly: he did not even

mention the name of Jesus, or intimate the most distant suspicion of

the existence of a Christ. On the contrary, he is singularly careful to

employ the word "One" to qualify the word "Maker." It is the Maker, and

not the Saviour, to whom he directs the attention of a sinner in the

agony of death.

While it is very clear that Mr. Lincoln was at all times an infidel in

the orthodox meaning of the term, it is also very clear that he was not

at all times equally willing that everybody should know it. He never

offered to purge or recant; but he was a wily politician, and did not

disdain to regulate his religious manifestations with some reference to

his political interests. As he grew older, he grew more cautious; and

as his New Salem associates, and the aggressive deists with whom he

originally united at Springfield, gradually dispersed, or fell away from

his side, he appreciated more and more keenly the violence and extent of

the religious prejudices which freedom in discussion from his standpoint

would be sure to arouse against him. He saw the immense and augmenting

power of the churches, and in times past had practically felt it. The

imputation of infidelity had seriously injured him in several of his

earlier political contests; and, sobered by age and experience, he was

resolved that that same imputation should injure him no more. Aspiring

to lead religious communities, he foresaw that he must not appear as an

enemy within their gates; aspiring to public honors under the auspices

of a political party which persistently summoned religious people to

assist in the extirpation of that which is denounced as the "nation's

sin," he foresaw that he could not ask their suffrages whilst aspersing

their faith. He perceived no reason for changing his convictions, but he

did perceive many good and cogent reasons for not making them public.

Col. Matheny alleges, that, from 1854 to 1860, Mr. Lincoln "played a

sharp game" upon the Christians of Springfield, "treading their toes,"

and saying, "Come and convert me." Mr. Herndon is inclined to coincide

with Matheny; and both give the obvious explanation of such conduct;

that is to say, his morbid ambition; coupled with a mortal fear that his

popularity would suffer by an open avowal of his deistic convictions.

At any rate, Mr. Lincoln permitted himself to be misunderstood and

misrepresented by some enthusiastic ministers and exhorters with whom he

came in contact. Among these was the Rev. Mr. Smith, then pastor of

the First Presbyterian Church of Springfield, and afterwards Consul at

Dundee, in Scotland, under Mr. Lincoln's appointment. The abilities of

this gentleman to discuss such a topic to the edification of a man

like Mr. Lincoln seem to have been rather slender; but the chance of

converting so distinguished a person inspired him with a zeal which he

might not have felt for the salvation of an obscurer soul. Mr. Lincoln

listened to his exhortations in silence, apparently respectful, and

occasionally sat out his sermons in church with as much patience as

other people. Finding these oral appeals unavailing, Mr. Smith composed

a heavy tract out of his own head to suit the particular case. "The

preparation of that work," says he, "cost me long and arduous labor;"

but it does not appear to have been read. Mr. Lincoln took the "work" to

his office, laid it down without writing his name on it, and never took

it up again to the knowledge of a man who inhabited that office with

him, and who saw it lying on the same spot every day for months.

Subsequently Mr. Smith drew from Mr. Lincoln an acknowledgment that

his argument was unanswerable,--not a very high compliment under the

circumstances, but one to which Mr. Smith often referred afterwards

with great delight. He never asserted, as some have supposed, that Mr.

Lincoln was converted from the error of his ways; that he abandoned his

infidel opinions, or that he united himself with any Christian church.

On the contrary, when specially interrogated on these points by Mr.

Herndon, he refused to answer, on the ground that Mr. Herndon

was not a proper person to receive such a communication from

Mr. Newton Bateman is reported to have said that a few days before the

Presidential election of 1860, Mr. Lincoln came into his office, closed

the door against intrusion, and proposed to examine a book which had

been furnished him, at his own request, "containing a careful canvass of

the city of Springfield, showing the candidate for whom each citizen

had declared his intention to vote at the approaching election.

He ascertained that only three ministers of the gospel, out of

twenty-three, would vote for him, and that, of the prominent

church-members, a very large majority were against him." Mr. Bateman

does not say so directly, but the inference is plain that Mr. Lincoln

had not previously known what were the sentiments of the Christian

people who lived with him in Springfield: he had never before taken

the trouble to inquire whether they were for him or against him. At

all events, when he made the discovery out of the book, he wept, and

declared that he "did not understand it at all." He drew from his bosom

a pocket New Testament, and, "with a trembling voice and his cheeks wet

with tears," quoted it against his political opponents generally, and

especially against Douglas. He professed to believe that the opinions

adopted by him and his party were derived from the teachings of Christ;

averred that Christ was God; and, speaking of the Testament which

he carried in his bosom, called it "this rock, on which him

I stand." When Mr. Bateman expressed surprise, and told him that his

friends generally were ignorant that he entertained such sentiments,

he gave this answer quickly: "I know they are: I am obliged to appear

different to them." Mr. Bateman is a respectable citizen, whose general

reputation for truth and veracity is not to be impeached; but his story,

as reported in Holland's Life, is so inconsistent with Mr. Lincoln's

whole character, that it must be rejected as altogether incredible.

From the time of the Democratic split in the Baltimore Convention, Mr.

Lincoln, as well as every other politician of the smallest sagacity,

knew that his success was as certain as any future event could be. At

the end of October, most of the States had clearly voted in a way which

left no lingering doubts of the final result of November. If there ever

was a time in his life when ambition charmed his whole heart,--if it

could ever be said of him that "hope elevated and joy brightened his

crest," it was on the eve of that election which he saw was to lift him

at last to the high place for which he had sighed and struggled so long.

It was not then that he would mourn and weep because he was in danger

of not getting the votes of the ministers and members of the churches he

had known during many years for his steadfast opponents: he did not need

them, and had not expected them. Those who understood him best are very

sure that he never, under any circumstances, could have fallen into

such weakness--not even when his fortunes were at the lowest point

of depression--as to play the part of a hypocrite for their support.

Neither is it possible that he was at any loss about the reasons which

religious men had for refusing him their support; and, if he said that

he could not understand it at all, he must have spoken falsely. But the

worst part of the tale is Mr. Lincoln's acknowledgment that his "friends

generally were deceived concerning his religious sentiments, and that he

was obliged to appear different to them."

According to this version, which has had considerable currency, he

carried a Testament in his bosom, carefully hidden from his intimate

associates: he believed that Christ was God; yet his friends understood

him to deny the verity of the gospel: he based his political doctrines

on the teachings of the Bible; yet before all men, except Mr. Bateman,

he habitually acted the part of an unbeliever and reprobate, because he

was "obliged to appear different to them." How obliged? What compulsion

required him to deny that Christ was God if he really believed him to be

divine? Or did he put his political necessities above the obligations

of truth, and oppose Christianity against his convictions, that he

might win the favor of its enemies? It may be that his mere silence

was sometimes misunderstood; but he never made an express avowal of

any religious opinion which he did not entertain. He did not "appear

different" at one time from what he was at another, and certainly

he never put on infidelity as a mere mask to conceal his Christian

character from the world. There is no dealing with Mr. Bateman, except

by a flat contradiction. Perhaps his memory was treacherous, or his

imagination led him astray, or, peradventure, he thought a fraud no

harm if it gratified the strong desire of the public for proofs of Mr.

Lincoln's orthodoxy. It is nothing to the purpose that Mr. Lincoln said

once or twice that he thought this or that portion of the Scripture was

the product of divine inspiration; for he was one of the class who hold

that all truth is inspired, and that every human being with a mind and a

conscience is a prophet. He would have agreed much more readily with one

who taught that Newton's discoveries, or Bacon's philosophy, or one of

his own speeches, were the works of men divinely inspired above their

fellows.1

1 "As we have bodily senses to lay hold on matter, and

supply bodily wants, through which we obtain, naturally, all

needed material things; so we have spiritual faculties to

lay hold on God and supply spiritual wants: through them we

obtain all needed spiritual things. As we observe the

conditions of the body, we have nature on our side: as we

observe the law of the soul, we have God on our side. He

imparts truth to all men who observe these conditions: we

have direct access to him through reason, conscience, and

the religious faculty, just as we have direct access to

nature through the eye, the ear, or the hand. Through these

channels, and by means of a law, certain, regular, and

universal as gravitation, God inspires men, makes revelation

of truth; for is not truth as much a phenomenon of God as

motion of matter? Therefore, if God be omnipresent and

omniactive, this inspiration is no miracle, but a regular

mode of God's action on conscious spirit, as gravitation on

unconscious matter. It is not a rare condescension of God,

but a universal uplifting of man. To obtain a knowledge of

duty, a man is not sent away, outside of himself, to ancient

documents: for the only rule of faith and practice, the

Word, is very nigh him, even in his heart, and by this Word

he is to try all documents whatsoever. Inspiration, like

God's omnipresence, is not limited to the few writers

claimed by the Jews, Christians, or Mohammedans, but is co-

extensive with the race. As God fills all space, so all

spirit; as he influences and constrains unconscious and

necessitated matter, so he inspires and helps free,

unconscious man.

"This theory does not make God limited, partial, or

capricious: it exalts man. While it honors the excellence of

a religious genius of a Moses or a Jesus, it does not

pronounce their character monstrous, as the supernatural,

nor fanatical, as the rationalistic theory; but natural,

human, and beautiful, revealing the possibility of mankind.

Prayer--whether voluntative or spontaneous, a word or a

feeling, felt in gratitude, or penitence, or joy, or

resignation--is not a soliloquy of the man, not a

physiological function, nor an address to a deceased man,

but a sally into the infinite spiritual world, whence we

bring back light and truth. There are windows towards God,

as towards the world. There is no intercessor, angel,

mediator, between man and God; for man can speak, and God

hear, each for himself. He requires no advocate to plead for

men, who need not pray by attorney. Each man stands close to

the omnipresent God; may feel his beautiful presence, and

have familiar access to the All-Father; get truth at first

hand from its Author. Wisdom, righteousness, and love are

the Spirit of God in the soul of man: wherever these are,

and just in proportion to their power, there is inspiration

from God. Thus God is not the author of confusion, but

concord. Faith and knowledge and revelation and reason tell

the same tale, and so legitimate and confirm each one

another.

"God's action on matter and on man is, perhaps, the same

thing to him, though it appear differently modified to us.

But it is plain, from the nature of things, that there can

be but one kind of inspiration, as of truth, faith, or love:

it is the direct and intuitive perception of some truth,

either of thought or of sentiment. There can be but one mode

of inspiration: it is the action of the Highest within the

soul, the divine presence imparting light; this presence, as

truth, justice, holiness, love, infusing itself into the

soul, giving it new life; the breathing-in of the Deity; the

in-come of God to the soul, in the form of truth through the

reason, of right through the conscience, of love and faith

through the affections and religious element. Is inspiration

confined to theological matter alone? Most certainly not."--

--Parker's Discourse pertaining to Religion.

But he never told any one that he accepted Jesus as the Christ, or

performed a single one of the acts which necessarily follow upon such

a conviction. At Springfield and at Washington he was beset on the one

hand by political priests, and on the other by honest and prayerful

Christians. He despised the former, respected the latter, and had use

for both. He said with characteristic irreverence, that he would not

undertake to "run the churches by military authority;" but he was,

nevertheless, alive to the importance of letting the churches "run"

themselves in the interest of his party. Indefinite expressions about

"Divine Providence," the "justice of God," "the favor of the Most High,"

were easy, and not inconsistent with his religious notions. In this,

accordingly, he indulged freely; but never in all that time did he let

fall from his lips or his pen an expression which remotely implied the

slightest faith in Jesus as the Son of God and the Saviour of men.

The effect of Mr. Lincoln's unbelief did not affect his constitutional

love of justice. Though he rejected the New Testament as a book of

divine authority, he accepted the practical part of its precepts as

binding upon him by virtue of the natural law. The benevolence of his

impulses served to keep him, for the most part, within the limits to

which a Christian is confined by the fear of God. It is also true

beyond doubt that he was greatly influenced by the reflected force of

Christianity. If he did not believe it, the masses of the "plain people"

did; and no one ever was more anxious to do "whatsoever was of good

report among men." To qualify himself as a witness or an officer it was

frequently necessary that he should take oaths; and he always appealed

to the Christian's God either by laying his hand upon the Gospels, or

by some other form of invocation common among believers. Of course the

ceremony was superfluous, for it imposed no religious obligation upon

him; but his strong innate sense of right was sufficient to make him

truthful without that high and awful sanction which faith in divine

revelation would have carried with it.

Mr. Lincoln was by no means free from a kind of belief in the

supernatural. While he rejected the great facts of Christianity,

as wanting the support of authentic evidence, his mind was readily

impressed with the most absurd superstitions.1 He lived constantly in

the serious conviction that he was himself the subject of a special

decree, made by some unknown and mysterious power, for which he had

no name. The birth and death of Christ, his wonderful works, and his

resurrection as "the first-fruits of them that slept," Mr. Lincoln

denied, because they seemed naturally improbable, or inconsistent with

his "philosophy so called;" but his perverted credulity terrified him

when he saw two images of himself in a mirror.

1 "He had great faith in the strong sense of country people;

and he gave them credit for greater intelligence than most

men do. If he found an idea prevailing generally amongst

them, he believed there was something in it, although it

might not harmonize with science.

"He had great faith in the virtues of the 'mad-stone'

although he could give no reason for it, and confessed that

it looked like superstition. But, he said, he found the

people in the neighborhood of these stones fully impressed

with a belief in their virtues from actual experiment; and

that was about as much as we could ever know of the

properties of medicines."--Gillespie.

"When his son 'Bob' was supposed to have been bitten by a

rabid dog, Mr. Lincoln took him to Terre Haute, La., where

there was a mad-stone, with the intention of having it

applied, and, it is presumed, did so."--Mrs. Wallace.

It is very probable that much of Mr. Lincoln's unhappiness, the

melancholy that "dripped from him as he walked," was due to his want

of religious faith. When the black fit was on him, he suffered as

much mental misery as Bunyan or Cowper in the deepest anguish of their

conflicts with the evil one. But the unfortunate conviction fastened

upon him by his early associations, that there was no truth in the

Bible, made all consolation impossible, and penitence useless. To a

man of his temperament, predisposed as it was to depression of spirits,

there could be no chance of happiness, if doomed to live without hope

and without God in the world. He might force himself to be merry with

his chosen comrades; he might "banish sadness" in mirthful conversation,

or find relief in a jest; gratified ambition might elevate his feelings,

and give him ease for a time: but solid comfort and permanent peace

could come to him only through "a correspondence fixed with heaven." The

fatal misfortune of his life, looking at it only as it affected him

in this world, was the influence at New Salem and Springfield which

enlisted him on the side of unbelief. He paid the bitter penalty in a

life of misery.

"It was a grievous sin in Cæsar;

And grievously hath Cæsar answered it."

Very truly,

W. H. Herndon.