When the death of Ann Rutledge came upon Lincoln, for a time
threatening to destroy his ambition and blast his life, he was in a
most encouraging position. Master of a profession in which he had an
abundance of work and earned fair wages, hopeful of being admitted
in a few months to the bar, a member of the State Assembly with every
reason to believe that, if he desired it, his constituency would
return him--few men are as far advanced at twenty-six as was Abraham
Lincoln.
Intellectually he was far better equipped than he believed himself to
be, better than he has ordinarily been credited with being. True,
he had had no conventional college training, but he had by his own
efforts attained the chief result of all preparatory study, the
ability to take hold of a subject and assimilate it. The fact that in
six weeks he had acquired enough of the science of surveying to enable
him to serve as deputy surveyor shows how well-trained his mind was.
The power to grasp a large subject quickly and fully is never an
accident. The nights Lincoln spent in Gentryville lying on the floor
in front of the fire figuring on the fire-shovel, the hours he passed
in poring over the Statutes of Indiana, the days he wrestled with
Kirkham's Grammar, alone made the mastery of Flint and Gibson
possible. His struggle with Flint and Gibson made easier the volumes
he borrowed from Major Stuart's law library.
[Illustration: GRAVE OF ANN RUTLEDGE IN OAKLAND CEMETERY.
From a photograph made for McCLURE'S MAGAZINE by C.S. McCullough,
Petersburg, Illinois, in September, 1895. On the 15th of May, 1890,
the remains of Ann Rutledge were removed from the long-neglected grave
in the Concord grave-yard to a new and picturesque burying-ground a
mile southwest of Petersburg, called Oakland cemetery. The old grave,
though marked by no stone, was easily identified from the fact that
Ann was buried by the side of her younger brother, David, who died in
1842, upon the threshold of what promised to be a brilliant career
as a lawyer. The removal was made by Samuel Montgomery, a prominent
business man of Petersburg. He was accompanied to the grave by James
McGrady Rutledge and a few others, who located the grave beyond doubt.
In the new cemetery, the grave occupies a place somewhat apart from
others. A young maple tree is growing beside it, and it is marked
by an unpolished granite stone bearing the simple inscription "Ann
Rutledge."--_J. McCan Davis._]
Lincoln had a mental trait which explains his rapid growth in
mastering subjects--seeing clearly was essential to him. He was
unable to put a question aside until he understood it. It pursued him,
irritated him until solved. Even in his Gentryville days his comrades
noted that he was constantly searching for reasons and that he
"explained so clearly." This characteristic became stronger with
years. He was unwilling to pronounce himself on any subject until he
understood it, and he could not let it alone until he had reached a
conclusion which satisfied him.
This seeing clearly became a splendid force in Lincoln; because when
he once had reached a conclusion he had the honesty of soul to suit
his actions to it. No consideration could induce him to abandon the
course his reason told him was logical. Not that he was obstinate
and having taken a position, would not change it if he saw on further
study that he was wrong. In his first circular to the people of
Sangamon County is this characteristic passage: "Upon the subjects I
have treated, I have spoken as I thought. I may be wrong in any or
all of them; but, holding it a sound maxim that it is better only
sometimes to be right than at all times to be wrong, so soon as I
discover my opinions to be erroneous, I shall be ready to renounce
them."
Joined to these strong mental and moral qualities was that power of
immediate action which so often explains why one man succeeds in life
while another of equal intelligence and uprightness fails. As soon
as Lincoln saw a thing to do he did it. He wants to know; here is a
book--it may be a biography, a volume of dry statutes, a collection of
verse; no matter, he reads and ponders it until he has absorbed all it
has for him. He is eager to see the world; a man offers him a position
as a "hand" on a Mississippi flatboat; he takes it without a moment's
hesitation over the toil and exposure it demands. John Calhoun
is willing to make him a deputy surveyor; he knows nothing of the
science; in six weeks he has learned enough to begin his labors.
Sangamon County must have representatives, why not he? and his
circular goes out. Ambition alone will not explain this power of
instantaneous action. It comes largely from that active imagination
which, when a new relation or position opens, seizes on all its
possibilities and from them creates a situation so real that one
enters with confidence upon what seems to the unimaginative the
rashest undertaking. Lincoln saw the possibilities in things and
immediately appropriated them.
But the position he filled in Sangamon County in 1835 was not all
due to these qualities; much was due to his personal charm. By all
accounts he was big, awkward, ill-clad, shy--yet his sterling honor,
his unselfish nature, his heart of the true gentleman, inspired
respect and confidence. Men might laugh at his first appearance, but
they were not long in recognizing the real superiority of his nature.
Such was Abraham Lincoln at twenty-six, when the tragic death of Ann
Rutledge made all that he had attained, all that he had planned, seem
fruitless and empty. He was too sincere and just, too brave a man, to
allow a great sorrow permanently to interfere with his activities.
He rallied his forces, and returned to his law, his surveying,
his politics. He brought to his work a new power, that insight and
patience which only a great sorrow can give.
(_Begun in the November number 1895; to be continued_)
LINCOLN'S BEARD--THE LETTER OF MRS. BILLINGS REFERRED TO ON
PAGE 217.
DELPHOS, KANSAS, _December 6, 1895_.
MISS TARBELL:
In reply to your letter of recent date inquiring about the
incident of my childhood and connected with Mr. Lincoln, I
would say that at the time of his first nomination to the
Presidency I was a child of eleven years, living with my
parents in Chautauqua County, N.Y.
My father was an ardent Republican, and possessed of a
profound admiration for the character of the grand man who
was the choice of his party. We younger children accepted his
opinions with unquestioning faith, and listened with great
delight to the anecdotes of his life current at that time, and
were particularly interested in reading of the difficulties he
encountered in getting an education; so much did it appeal to
our childish imaginations that _we_ were firmly persuaded that
if we could only study our lessons prone before the glow and
cheer of an open fire in a great fireplace, _we_ too might
rise to heights which now we could never attain. My father
brought to us, one day, a large poster, and my mind still
holds a recollection of its crude, coarse work and glaring
colors. About the edges were grouped in unadorned and
exaggerated ugliness the pictures of our former Presidents,
and in the midst of them were the faces of "Lincoln and
Hamlin," surrounded by way of a frame with a rail fence.
We are all familiar with the strong and rugged face of Mr.
Lincoln, the deep lines about the mouth, and the eyes have
much the same sorrowful expression in all the pictures I
have seen of him. I think I must have felt a certain
disappointment, for I said to my mother that he would look
much nicer if he wore whiskers, and straightway gave him the
benefit of my opinion in a letter, describing the poster and
hinting, rather broadly, that his appearance might be improved
if he would let his whiskers grow. Not wishing to wound his
feelings, I added that the rail fence around his picture
looked real pretty! I also asked him if he had any little
girl, and if so, and he was too busy to write and tell me what
he thought about it, if he would not let her do so; and ended
by assuring him I meant to try my best to induce two erring
brothers of the Democratic faith to cast their votes for him.
I think the circumstance would have speedily passed from my
mind but for the fact that I confided to an elder sister that
I had written to Mr. Lincoln, and had she not expressed a
doubt as to whether I had addressed him properly. To prove
that I had, and was not as ignorant as she thought me, I
re-wrote the address for her inspection: "_Hon. Abraham
Lincoln Esquire_."
My mortification at the laughter and ridicule excited was
somewhat relieved by my mother's remarking that "there should
be no mistake as to whom the letter belonged." The reply to
my poor little letter came in due time, and the following is a
copy of the original, which is _still in my possession_.
"_Private_.
"SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS, _October 19, 1860_.
"MISS GRACE BEDELL.
"_My Dear little Miss_:--Your very agreeable letter of the
15th inst. is received. I regret the necessity of saying I
have no daughter. I have three sons; one seventeen, one
nine, and one seven years of age. They, with their mother,
constitute my whole family. As to the whiskers, having never
worn any, do you not think people would call it a piece of
silly affectation if I were to begin wearing them now? Your
very sincere well-wisher,
"A. LINCOLN."
Probably the frankness of the child appealed to the humorous
side of his nature, for the suggestion was acted upon.
After the election, and on his journey from Springfield to
Washington, he inquired of Hon. G.W. Patterson, who was one of
the party who accompanied him on that memorable trip, and who
was a resident of our town, if he knew of a family bearing the
name of Bedell. Mr. Patterson replying in the affirmative,
Mr. Lincoln said he "had received a letter from a little girl
called Grace Bedell, advising me to wear whiskers, as she
thought it would improve my looks." He said the character
of the "letter was so unique and so different from the many
self-seeking and threatening ones he was daily receiving that
it came to him as a relief and a pleasure." When the train
reached Westfield, Mr. Lincoln made a short speech from
the platform of the car, and in conclusion said he had a
correspondent there, relating the circumstance and giving my
name, and if she were present he would like to see her. I
was present, but in the crowd had neither seen nor heard the
speaker; but a gentleman helped me forward, and Mr. Lincoln
stepped down to the platform where I stood, shook my hand,
kissed me, and said: "You see I let these whiskers grow for
you, Grace." The crowd cheered, Mr. Lincoln reentered the car,
and I ran quickly home, looking at and speaking to no one,
with a much dilapidated bunch of roses in my hand, which I
had hoped might be passed up to Mr. Lincoln with some other
flowers which were to be presented, but which in my confusion
I had forgotten. Gentle and genial, simple and warm-hearted,
how full of anxiety must have been his life in the days which
followed. These words seem to fitly describe him: "A man of
sorrows and acquainted with grief." Very sincerely,