graced the waistband of his pantaloons, and with a kick off came that
easy-fitting garment.
But, meanwhile, Mr. Lizard had passed the equatorial line of the
waistband, and was calmly exploring that part of the preacher's
anatomy which lay underneath the back of his shirt.
Things were now growing interesting, but the sermon was still grinding
on. The next movement on the preacher's part was for the collar
button, and with one sweep of his arm off came the tow linen shirt.
The congregation sat for an instant as if dazed; at length one old
lady in the rear part of the room rose up, and, glancing at the
excited object in the pulpit, shouted at the top of her voice: "If you
represent Christ, then I'm done with the Bible."
=SATISFACTION TO THE SOUL=
In the far-away days when "Abe" went to school in Indiana, they had
exercises, exhibitions and speaking-meetings in the schoolhouse or
the church, and "Abe" was the "star." His father was a Democrat, and
at that time "Abe" agreed with his parent. He would frequently make
political and other speeches to the boys and explain tangled questions.
Booneville was the county seat of Warrick county, situated about
fifteen miles from Gentryville. Thither "Abe" walked to be present at
the sittings of the court, and listened attentively to the trials and
the speeches of the lawyers.
One of the trials was that of a murderer. He was defended by Mr.
John Breckenridge, and at the conclusion of his speech "Abe" was so
enthusiastic that he ventured to compliment him. Breckenridge looked
at the shabby boy, thanked him and passed on his way.
Many years afterwards, in 1862, Breckenridge called on the President,
and he was told, "It was the best speech that I, up to that time, had
ever heard. If I could, as I then thought, make as good a speech as
that, my soul would be satisfied."
=HIS TEETH CHATTERED=
During the Lincoln-Douglas debates of 1858, the latter accused Lincoln
of having, when in Congress, voted against the appropriation for
supplies to be sent the United States soldiers in Mexico. In reply,
Lincoln said: "This is a perversion of the facts. I was opposed to
the policy of the administration in declaring war against Mexico;
but when war was declared I never failed to vote for the support
of any proposition looking to the comfort of our poor fellows who
were maintaining the dignity of our flag in a war that I thought
unnecessary and unjust."
He gradually became more and more excited; his voice thrilled and his
whole frame shook. Sitting on the stand was O. B. Ficklin, who had
served in Congress with Lincoln in 1847. Lincoln reached back, took
Ficklin by the coat-collar, back of his neck, and in no gentle manner
lifted him from his seat as if he had been a kitten, and roared:
"Fellow-citizens, here is Ficklin, who was at that time in Congress
with me, and he knows it is a lie."
He shook Ficklin until his teeth chattered. Fearing he would shake
Ficklin's head off, Ward Lamon grasped Lincoln's hand and broke his
grip.
After the speaking was over, Ficklin, who had warm personal friendship
with him, said: "Lincoln, you nearly shook all the Democracy out of me
today."
=PROFANITY AS A SAFETY-VALVE=
Lincoln never indulged in profanity, but confessed that when Lee was
beaten at Malvern Hill, after seven days of fighting, and Richmond,
but twelve miles away, was at McClellan's mercy, he felt very much
like swearing when he learned that the Union general had retired to
Harrison's Landing.
Lee was so confident his opponent would not go to Richmond that he
took his army into Maryland--a move he would not have made had an
energetic fighting man been in McClellan's place.
It is true McClellan followed and defeated Lee in the bloodiest battle
of the War--Antietam--afterwards following him into Virginia; but
Lincoln could not bring himself to forgive the general's inaction
before Richmond.
=A STAGE-COACH STORY=
The following is told by Thomas H. Nelson, of Terre Haute, Indiana,
who was appointed minister to Chili by Lincoln:
Judge Abram Hammond, afterwards Governor of Indiana, and myself, had
arranged to go from Terre Haute to Indianapolis in a stage-coach.
As we stepped in we discovered that the entire back seat was occupied
by a long, lank individual, whose head seemed to protrude from one end
of the coach and his feet from the other. He was the sole occupant and
was sleeping soundly. Hammond slapped him familiarly on the shoulder,
and asked him if he had chartered the coach that day.
"Certainty not," and he at once took the front seat, politely giving
us the place of honor and comfort. An odd-looking fellow he was, with
a twenty-five cent hat, without vest or cravat. Regarding him as a
good subject for merriment, we perpetrated several jokes.
He took them all with utmost innocence and good nature, and joined in
the laugh, although at his own expense.
After an astounding display of wordy pyrotechnics, the dazed and
bewildered stranger asked: "What will be the upshot of this comet
business?"
Late in the evening we reached Indianapolis, and hurried to Browning's
hotel, losing sight of the stranger altogether.
We retired to our room to brush our clothes. In a few minutes I
descended to the portico, and there descried our long, gloomy fellow
traveler in the center of an admiring group of lawyers, among whom
were Judges McLean and Huntington, Albert S. White and Richard W.
Thompson, who seemed to be amused and interested in a story he was
telling. I inquired of Browning, the landlord, who he was. "Abraham
Lincoln, of Illinois, a member of Congress," was his response.
I was thunderstruck at the announcement. I hastened upstairs and told
Hammond the startling news, and together we emerged from the hotel by
a back door, and went down an alley to another house, thus avoiding
further contact with our distinguished fellow traveler.
Years afterward, when the President-elect was on his way to
Washington, I was in the same hotel looking over the distinguished
party, when a long arm reached to my shoulder and a shrill voice
exclaimed, "Hello, Nelson! do you think, after all, the whole world is
going to follow the darned thing off?" The words were my own in answer
to his question in the stage-coach. The speaker was Abraham Lincoln.
=SENTINEL OBEYED ORDERS=
A slight variation of the traditional sentry story is related by C. C.
Buel. It was a cold, blusterous winter night. Says Mr. Buel:
"Mr. Lincoln emerged from the front door, his lank figure bent over
as he drew tightly about his shoulders the shawl which he employed
for such protection; for he was on his way to the War Department, at
the west corner of the grounds, where in times of battle he was wont
to get the midnight dispatches from the field. As the blast struck
him he thought of the numbness of the pacing sentry, and, turning to
him, said: 'Young man, you've got a cold job tonight; step inside, and
stand guard there.'
"'My orders keep me out here,' the soldier replied.
"'Yes,' said the President, in his argumentative tone; 'but your duty
can be performed just as well inside as out here, and you'll oblige me
by going in.'
"'I have been stationed outside,' the soldier answered, and resumed
his beat.
"'Hold on there!' said Mr. Lincoln, as he turned back again; 'it
occurs to me that I am Commander-in-Chief of the army, and I order you
to go inside.'"
="WUZ GOIN' TER BE 'HITCHED'"=
"Abe's" nephew--or one of them--related a story in connection with
Lincoln's first love (Anne Rutledge), and his subsequent marriage
to Miss Mary Todd. This nephew was a plain, every-day farmer, and
thought everything of his uncle, whose greatness he quite thoroughly
appreciated, although he did not pose to any extreme as the relative
of a President of the United States.
Said he one day, in telling his story:
"Us child'en, w'en we heerd Uncle 'Abe' wuz a-goin' to be married,
axed Gran'ma ef Uncle 'Abe' never hed a gal afore, an' she says, sez
she, 'Well, "Abe" wuz never a han' nohow to run 'round visitin' much,
or go with the gals, neither, but he did fall in love with a Anne
Rutledge, who lived out near Springfield, an' after she died he'd come
home an' ev'ry time he'd talk 'bout her, he cried dreadful. He never
could talk of her nohow 'thout he'd jes' cry an' cry, like a young
feller.'
"Onct he tol' Gran'ma they wuz goin; ter be hitched, they havin'
promised each other, an' thet is all we ever heered 'bout it. But,
so it wuz, that arter Uncle 'Abe' hed got over his mournin', he wuz
married ter a woman w'ich hed lived down in Kentuck.
"Uncle 'Abe' hisself tol' us he wuz married the nex' time he come up
ter our place, an' w'en we ast him why he didn't bring his wife up to
see us, he said: 'She's very busy and can't come.'
"But we knowed better'n that. He wuz too proud to bring her up, 'cause
nothin' would suit her, nohow. She wuzn't raised the way we wuz, an'
wuz different from us, and we heerd, tu, she wuz as proud as cud be.
"No, an' he never brought none uv the child'en, neither.
"But then, Uncle 'Abe,' he wuzn't to blame. We never thought he wuz
stuck up."
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes
Minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected.
Page 92: Changed "Lincon" to "Lincoln."
(Orig: Lincon said: "This is a perversion of the facts.)
Page 93: Changed "yoice" to "voice."
(Orig: his voice thrilled and his whole frame shook)