HIS SIMPLICITY.
Political definitions have undergone some curious changes in this
country since the beginning of the present century. In the year 1801,
Thomas Jefferson was the first "republican" President of the United
States, as the term was then defined. Sixty years later, Abraham Lincoln
was hailed as our first Republican President. The Sage of Monticello
was, indeed, the first to introduce at the Executive Mansion a genuine
republican code of social and official etiquette. It was a wide
departure from the ceremonial and showy observances for which Hamilton,
his great rival, had so long contended, and which were peculiarly
distasteful to the hardy freemen of the new Republic.
Mr. Lincoln profoundly admired the Virginian. Nothing in the career or
the policy of Jefferson was nearer his heart than the homely and
healthful republicanism implied in the term "Jeffersonian simplicity."
While Mr. Lincoln occupied the White House, his intercourse with his
fellow-citizens was fashioned after the Jeffersonian idea. He believed
that there should be the utmost freedom of intercourse between the
people and their President. Jefferson had the truly republican idea
that he was the servant of the people, not their master. That was
Lincoln's idea also. Jefferson welcomed to the White House the humble
mechanic and the haughty aristocrat with the same unaffected cordiality.
Mr. Lincoln did the same. "There is no smell of royalty about this
establishment," was a jocular expression which I have heard Mr. Lincoln
use many times; and it was thoroughly characteristic of the man.
"Lincolnian simplicity" was, in fact, an improvement on the code of his
illustrious predecessor. The doors of the White House were always open.
Mr. Lincoln was always ready to greet visitors, no matter what their
rank or calling,--to hear their complaints, their petitions, or their
suggestions touching the conduct of public affairs. The ease with which
he could be approached vastly increased his labor. It also led to many
scenes at the White House that were strangely amusing and sometimes
dramatic.
Early in the year 1865, certain influential citizens of Missouri, then
in Washington, held a meeting to consider the disturbed state of the
border counties, and to formulate a plan for securing Executive
interference in behalf of their oppressed fellow-citizens. They
"where-ased" and "resolved" at great length, and finally appointed a
committee charged with the duty of visiting Mr. Lincoln, of stating
their grievances, and of demanding the removal of General Fisk and the
appointment of Gen. John B. McPherson in his place. The committee
consisted of an ex-governor and several able and earnest gentlemen
deeply impressed with the importance of their mission.
They entered the White House with some trepidation. It was at a critical
period of the war, and they supposed it would be difficult to get the
ear of the President. Grant was on the march to Richmond, and Sherman's
army was returning from the sea. The committee knew that Mr. Lincoln
would be engaged in considering the momentous events then developing,
and they were therefore greatly surprised to find the doors thrown open
to them. They were cordially invited to enter Mr. Lincoln's office.
The ex-governor took the floor in behalf of the oppressed Missourians.
He first presented the case of a certain lieutenant, who was described
as a very lonely Missourian, an orphan, his family and relatives having
joined the Confederate army. Through evil reports and the machinations
of enemies this orphan had got into trouble. Among other things the
orator described the orphan's arrest, his trial and conviction on the
charge of embezzling the money of the government; and he made a moving
appeal to the President for a reopening of the case and the restoration
of the abused man to his rank and pay in the army. The papers in the
case were handed to Mr. Lincoln, and he was asked to examine them for
himself.
The bulky package looked formidable. Mr. Lincoln took it up and began
reading aloud: "Whereas, conduct unbecoming an officer and a
gentleman"--"Whereas, without resentment the said lieutenant received a
letter from a man named ----, stating that the President must be a
negro;" and "Whereas, the said lieutenant corruptly received while an
officer on duty, from a man in ----, the sum of forty dollars--"
"Stop there!" exclaimed the lieutenant, who was at that moment behind
the ex-governor's chair. "Why, Mr. Lincoln--beg pardon--Mr. President,
it wa'n't but thirty dollars."
"Yes," said the governor, "that charge, Mr. President, is clearly wrong.
It was only thirty dollars, as we can prove."
"Governor," said Mr. Lincoln, who was by this time thoroughly amused,
but grave as a judge, "that reminds me of a man in Indiana, who was in a
battle of words with a neighbor. One charged that the other's daughter
had three illegitimate children. 'Now,' said the man whose family was so
outrageously scandalized, 'that's a lie, and I can prove it, for she
only has two.' This case is no better. Whether the amount was thirty
dollars or thirty thousand dollars, the culpability is the same." Then,
after reading a little further, he said: "I believe I will leave this
case where it was left by the officers who tried it."
The ex-governor next presented a very novel case. With the most solemn
deliberation he began: "Mr. President, I want to call your attention to
the case of Betsy Ann Dougherty,--a good woman. She lived in ----
County, and did my washing for a long time. Her husband went off and
joined the rebel army, and I wish you would give her a protection
paper." The solemnity of this appeal struck Mr. Lincoln as uncommonly
ridiculous.
The two men looked at each other,--the governor desperately in earnest,
and the President masking his humor behind the gravest exterior. At last
Mr. Lincoln asked with inimitable gravity, "Was Betsy Ann a good
washerwoman?"
"Oh, yes, sir; she was indeed."
"Was your Betsy Ann an obliging woman?"
"Yes, she was certainly very kind," responded the governor, soberly.
"Could she do other things than wash?" continued Mr. Lincoln, with the
same portentous gravity.
"Oh, yes; she was very kind--very."
"Where is Betsy Ann?"
"She is now in New York, and wants to come back to Missouri; but she is
afraid of banishment."
"Is anybody meddling with her?"
"No; but she is afraid to come back unless you will give her a
protection paper."
Thereupon Mr. Lincoln wrote on a visiting card the following:--
Let Betsy Ann Dougherty alone as long as she behaves herself.
A. LINCOLN.
He handed this card to her advocate, saying, "Give this to Betsy Ann."
"But, Mr. President, couldn't you write a few words to the officers that
would insure her protection?"
"No," said Mr. Lincoln, "officers have no time now to read letters. Tell
Betsy Ann to put a string in this card and hang it round her neck. When
the officers see this, they will keep their hands off your Betsy Ann."
A critical observer of this ludicrous scene could not fail to see that
Mr. Lincoln was seeking needed relaxation from overburdening cares,
relief from the severe mental strain he was daily undergoing. By giving
attention to mirth-provoking trifles along with matters of serious
concern, he found needed diversion. We can never know how much the
country profited by the humor-loving nature of this wonderful man.
After patiently hearing all the Missouri committee had to say, and
giving them the best assurances circumstances would allow, he dismissed
them from his presence, enjoyed a hearty laugh, and then relapsed into
his accustomed melancholy, contemplative mood, as if looking for
something else,--looking for the end. He sat for a time at his desk
thinking, then turning to me he said: "This case of our old friend, the
governor, and his Betsy Ann, is a fair sample of the trifles I am
constantly asked to give my attention to. I wish I had no more serious
questions to deal with. If there were more Betsy Anns and fewer fellows
like her husband, we should be better off. She seems to have laundered
the governor to his full satisfaction, but I am sorry she didn't keep
her husband washed cleaner."
Mr. Lincoln was by nature singularly merciful. The ease with which he
could be reached by persons who might profit by his clemency gave rise
to many notable scenes in the White House during the war.
Mr. Wheeler tells of a young man who had been convicted by a military
court of sleeping at his post,--a grave offence, for which he had been
sentenced to death. He was but nineteen years of age, and the only son
of a widowed mother. He had suffered greatly with homesickness, and
overpowered at night with cold and watching, was overcome by sleep. He
had always been an honest, faithful, temperate soldier. His comrades
telegraphed his mother of his fate. She at once went to Orlando Kellogg,
whose kind heart promptly responded to her request, and he left for
Washington by the first train. He arrived in that city at midnight. The
boy was to be executed on the afternoon of the next day. With the aid of
his friend, Mr. Wheeler, he passed the military guard about the White
House and reached the doorkeeper, who, when he knew Mr. Kellogg's
errand, took him to Mr. Lincoln's sleeping-room. Arousing Mr. Lincoln,
Mr. Kellogg made known the emergency in a few words. Without stopping to
dress, the President went to another room and awakened a messenger. Then
sitting down, still in undress, he wrote a telegram to the officer
commanding at Yorktown to suspend the execution of the boy until further
orders. The telegram was sent at once to the War Department, with
directions to the messenger to remain until an answer was received.
Getting uneasy at the seeming delay, Mr. Lincoln dressed, went to the
Department, and remained until the receipt of his telegram was
acknowledged. Then turning to Kellogg, with trembling voice he said,
"Now you just telegraph that mother that her boy is safe, and I will go
home and go to bed. I guess we shall all sleep better for this night's
work."
A somewhat similar proof of Mr. Lincoln's mercy is the story told of a
very young man living in one of the southern counties of Kentucky, who
had been enticed into the rebel army. After remaining with it in
Tennessee a few months he became disgusted or weary, and managed to make
his way back to his home. Soon after his arrival, some of the military
stationed in the town heard of his return and arrested him as a rebel
spy, and, after a military trial, he was condemned to be hanged. His
family was overwhelmed with distress and horror. Mr. Lincoln was seen by
one of his friends from Kentucky, who explained his errand and asked for
mercy. "Oh, yes, I understand; some one has been crying, and worked upon
your feelings, and you have come here to work on mine."
His friend then went more into detail, and assured him of his belief in
the truth of the story. After some deliberation, Mr. Lincoln, evidently
scarcely more than half convinced, but still preferring to err on the
side of mercy, replied: "If a man had more than one life, I think a
little hanging would not hurt this one; but after he is once dead we
cannot bring him back, no matter how sorry we may be; so the boy shall
be pardoned." And a reprieve was given on the spot.
The following incident will illustrate another phase of Mr. Lincoln's
character. A man who was then in jail at Newburyport, Mass., as a
convicted slave-trader, and who had been fined one thousand dollars and
sentenced to imprisonment for five years, petitioned for a pardon. The
petition was accompanied by a letter to the Hon. John B. Alley, a member
of Congress from Lynn, Mass. Mr. Alley presented the papers to the
President, with a letter from the prisoner acknowledging his guilt and
the justice of his sentence. He had served out the term of sentence of
imprisonment, but was still held on account of the fine not being paid.
Mr. Lincoln was much moved by the pathetic appeal. He then, after
pausing some time, said to Mr. Alley: "My friend, this appeal is very
touching to my feelings, and no one knows my weakness better than you.
It is, if possible, to be too easily moved by appeals for mercy; and I
must say that if this man had been guilty of the foulest murder that the
arm of man could perpetrate, I might forgive him on such an appeal. But
the man who could go to Africa and rob her of her children, and then
sell them into interminable bondage, with no other motive than that
which is furnished by dollars and cents, is so much worse than the most
depraved murderer that he can never receive pardon at my hand. No, sir;
he may stay in jail forever before he shall have liberty by any act of
mine."
After the war had been fairly inaugurated, and several battles had been
fought, a lady from Alexandria visited Mr. Lincoln, and importuned him
to give an order for the release of a certain church in that place which
had been seized and used as a hospital. He asked and was told the name
of the church, and that there were but three or four wounded persons
occupying it, and that the inhabitants wanted it to worship in. Mr.
Lincoln asked her if she had applied to the post surgeon at Alexandria
to give it up. She answered that she had, and that she could do nothing
with him. "Well, madam," said he, "that is an end of it then. We put him
there to attend to just such business, and it is reasonable to suppose
that he knows better what should be done under the circumstances than I
do."
More for the purpose of testing the sentiments of this visitor than for
any other reason, Mr. Lincoln said: "You say you live in Alexandria. How
much would you be willing to subscribe towards building a hospital
there?"
She replied: "You may be aware, Mr. Lincoln, that our property has been
very much embarrassed by the war, and I could not afford to give much
for such a purpose."
"Yes," said Mr. Lincoln, "and this war is not over yet; and I expect we
shall have another fight soon, and that church may be very useful as a
hospital in which to nurse our poor wounded soldiers. It is my candid
opinion that God wants that church for our wounded fellows. So, madam,
you will excuse me. I can do nothing for you."
Afterward, in speaking of this incident, Mr. Lincoln said that the lady
as a representative of her class in Alexandria reminded him of the story
of the young man who had an aged father and mother owning considerable
property. The young man being an only son, and believing that the old
people had lived out their usefulness, assassinated them both. He was
accused, tried, and convicted of the murder. When the judge came to pass
sentence upon him, and called upon him to give any reason he might have
why the sentence of death should not be passed upon him, he with great
promptness replied that he hoped the court would be lenient upon him
because he was a poor orphan!
Two ladies from Tennessee called at the White House one day, and begged
Mr. Lincoln to release their husbands, who were rebel prisoners at
Johnson's Island. One of the fair petitioners urged as a reason for the
liberation of her husband that he was a very religious man; and she rang
the changes on this pious plea _ad nauseam_. "Madam," said Mr. Lincoln,
"you say your husband is a religious man. Perhaps I am not a good judge
of such matters, but in my opinion the religion that makes men rebel and
fight against their government is not the genuine article; nor is the
religion the right sort which reconciles them to the idea of eating
their bread in the sweat of other men's faces. It is not the kind to get
to heaven on." After another interview, however, the order of release
was made,--Mr. Lincoln remarking, with impressive solemnity, that he
would expect the ladies to subdue the rebellious spirit of their
husbands, and to that end he thought it would be well to reform their
religion. "True patriotism," said he, "is better than the wrong kind of
piety."
This is in keeping with a significant remark made by him to a clergyman,
in the early days of the war. "Let us have faith, Mr. President," said
the minister, "that the Lord is on our side in this great struggle." Mr.
Lincoln quietly answered: "I am not at all concerned about that, for I
know that the Lord is always on the side of the right; but it is my
constant anxiety and prayer that I and this nation may be on the Lord's
side."
Clergymen were always welcomed by Mr. Lincoln at the White House with
the respectful courtesy due to their sacred calling. During the progress
of the war, and especially in its earlier stages, he was visited almost
daily by reverend gentlemen, sometimes as single visitors, but more
frequently in delegations. He was a patient listener to the words of
congratulation, counsel, admonition, exhortation, and sometimes reproof,
which fell from the lips of his pious callers, and generally these
interviews were entertaining and agreeable on both sides. It sometimes
happened, however, that these visits were painfully embarrassing to the
President. One delegation, for example, would urge with importunate zeal
a strict observance of the Sabbath day by the army; others would insist
upon a speedy proclamation of emancipation; while some recounted the
manifold errors of commanding generals, complained of the tardy action
of the government in critical emergencies, and proposed sweeping changes
of policy in the conduct of the war.
There was scarcely a day when there were not several delegations of this
kind to visit him, and a great deal of the President's valuable time was
employed in this unimportant manner. One day he was asked by one of
these self-constituted mentors, how many men the rebels had in the
field? Mr. Lincoln promptly but seriously answered, "Twelve hundred
thousand, according to the best authority." His listeners looked aghast.
"Good heavens!" they exclaimed in astonishment. "Yes, sir; twelve
hundred thousand, no doubt of it. You see, all of our generals when they
get whipped say the enemy outnumbers them from three or five to one, and
I must believe them. We have four hundred thousand men in the field, and
three times four make twelve,--don't you see it? It is as plain to be
seen as the nose on a man's face; and at the rate things are now going,
with the great amount of speculation and the small crop of fighting, it
will take a long time to overcome twelve hundred thousand rebels in
arms. If they can get subsistence they have everything else, except a
just cause. Yet it is said that 'thrice is he armed that hath his
quarrel just.' I am willing, however, to risk our advantage of thrice in
justice against their thrice in numbers."
On but one occasion that I can now recall was Mr. Lincoln's habitual
good humor visibly overtaxed by these well-meaning but impatient
advisers. A committee of clergymen from the West called one day; and the
spokesman, fired with uncontrollable zeal, poured forth a lecture which
was fault-finding in tone from beginning to end. It was delivered with
much energy, and the shortcomings of the Administration were rehearsed
with painful directness. The reverend orator made some keen thrusts,
which evoked hearty applause from other gentlemen of the committee.
Mr. Lincoln's reply was a notable one. With unusual animation, he said:
"Gentlemen, suppose all the property you possess were in gold, and you
had placed it in the hands of Blondin to carry across the Niagara River
on a rope. With slow, cautious, steady step he walks the rope, bearing
your all. Would you shake the cable, and keep shouting to him, 'Blondin!
stand up a little straighter! Blondin! stoop a little more; go a little
faster; lean more to the south! Now lean a little more to the
north!'--would that be your behavior in such an emergency? No; you would
hold your breath, every one of you, as well as your tongues. You would
keep your hands off until he was safe on the other side. This
government, gentlemen, is carrying an immense weight; untold treasures
are in its hands. The persons managing the ship of state in this storm
are doing the best they can. Don't worry them with needless warnings and
complaints. Keep silence, be patient, and we will get you safe across.
Good day, gentlemen. I have other duties pressing upon me that must be
attended to."
This incident made Mr. Lincoln a little shy of preachers for a time.
"But the latch-string is out," said he, "and they have the right to come
here and preach to me if they will go about it with some gentleness and
moderation." He firmly believed that--
"To speak his thoughts is every freeman's right,
In peace and war, in council and in fight."
And from this republican idea he would suffer not the slightest
departure while he was President.
Soon after the affair just described, a man of remarkable appearance
presented himself at the White House and requested an audience with Mr.
Lincoln. He was a large, fleshy man, of a stern but homely countenance,
and of a solemn and dignified carriage. He was dressed in a
neatly-fitting swallow-tailed coat, ruffled shirt of faultless fabric,
white cravat, and orange-colored gloves. An immense fob chain, to which
was attached a huge topaz seal, swung from his watch-pocket, and he
carried a large gold-headed cane. His whole appearance was that of a man
of great intellect, of stern qualities, of strong piety, and of
dignified uncomeliness. He looked in every way like a minister of the
gospel, whose vigorous mind was bent on godly themes, and whose present
purpose was to discourse to Mr. Lincoln on matters of grave import.
"I am in for it now," thought the President. "This pious man means
business. He is no common preacher. Evidently his gloomy mind is big
with a scheme of no ordinary kind."
The ceremony of introduction was unusually formal, and the few words of
conversation that followed were constrained. The good man spoke with
great deliberation, as if feeling his way cautiously; but the evident
restraint which his manner imposed upon Mr. Lincoln seemed not to please
him. The sequel was amazing.
Quitting his chair, the portly visitor extended his hand to Mr. Lincoln,
saying as the latter rose and confronted him: "Well, Mr. President, I
have no business with you, none whatever. I was at the Chicago
convention as a friend of Mr. Seward. I have watched you narrowly ever
since your inauguration, and I called merely to pay my respects. What I
want to say is this: I think you are doing everything for the good of
the country that is in the power of man to do. You are on the right
track. As one of your constituents I now say to you, do in future as you
damn please, and I will support you!" This was spoken with tremendous
effect.
"Why," said Mr. Lincoln in great astonishment, "I took you to be a
preacher. I thought you had come here to tell me how to take Richmond,"
and he again grasped the hand of his strange visitor. Accurate and
penetrating as Mr. Lincoln's judgment was concerning men, for once he
had been wholly mistaken. The scene was comical in the extreme. The two
men stood gazing at each other. A smile broke from the lips of the
solemn wag and rippled over the wide expanse of his homely face like
sunlight overspreading a continent, and Mr. Lincoln was convulsed with
laughter.
"Sit down, my friend," said the President; "sit down. I am delighted to
see you. Lunch with us to-day. Yes, you must stay and lunch with us, my
friend, for I have not seen enough of you yet."
The stranger did lunch with Mr. Lincoln that day. He was a man of rare
and racy humor,--and the good cheer, the fun, the wit, the anecdotes and
sparkling conversation that enlivened the scene was the work of two of
the most original characters ever seen in the White House.
Shortly after the election of Mr. Lincoln, I talked with him earnestly
about the habits, manners, customs, and style of the people with whom he
had now to associate, and the difference between his present
surroundings and those of his Illinois life, and wherein his plain,
practical, common-sense actions differed from the polite, graceful, and
elegant bearing of the cultivated diplomat and cultured gentlemen of
polite society. Thanks to his confidence in my friendship and his
affectionate forbearance with me, he would listen to me with the most
attentive interest, always evincing the strongest desire to correct
anything in which he failed to be and appear like the people with whom
he acted; for it was one of the cardinal traits of his character to be
like, of, and for the people, whether in exalted or humble life.
A New Hampshire lady having presented to him a soft felt hat of her own
manufacture, he was at a loss what to do on his arrival in Washington,
as the felt hat seemed unbecoming for a President-elect. He therefore
said to me: "Hill, this hat of mine won't do. It is a felt one, and I
have been uncomfortable in it ever since we left Harrisburg. Give me
that plug of yours, until you can go out in the city and buy one either
for yourself or for me. I think your hat is about the style. I may have
to do some trotting around soon, and if I can't feel natural with a
different hat, I may at least look respectable in it."
I went to a store near by and purchased a hat, and by the ironing
process soon had it shaped to my satisfaction; and I must say that when
Mr. Lincoln put it on, he looked more presentable and more like a
President than I had ever seen him. He had very defective taste in the
choice of hats, the item of dress that does more than any other for the
improvement of one's personal appearance.
After the hat reform, I think Mr. Lincoln still suffered much annoyance
from the tyranny of fashion in the matter of gloves. His hat for years
served the double purpose of an ornamental head-gear and a kind of
office or receptacle for his private papers and memoranda. But the
necessity to wear gloves he regarded as an affliction, a violation of
the statute against "cruelty to animals." Many amusing stories could be
told of Mr. Lincoln and his gloves. At about the time of his third
reception he had on a tight-fitting pair of white kids, which he had
with difficulty got on. He saw approaching in the distance an old
Illinois friend named Simpson, whom he welcomed with a genuine Sangamon
County shake, which resulted in bursting his white-kid glove with an
audible sound. Then raising his brawny hand up before him, looking at it
with an indescribable expression, he said,--while the whole procession
was checked, witnessing this scene,--"Well, my old friend, this is a
general bustification. You and I were never intended to wear these
things. If they were stronger they might do well enough to keep out the
cold, but they are a failure to shake hands with between old friends
like us. Stand aside, Captain, and I'll see you shortly." The procession
then advanced. Simpson stood aside, and after the unwelcome pageantry
was terminated, he rejoined his old Illinois friend in familiar
intercourse.
Mr. Lincoln was always delighted to see his Western friends, and always
gave them a cordial welcome; and when the proprieties justified it, he
met them on the old familiar footing, entertaining them with anecdotes
in unrestrained, free-and-easy conversation. He never spoke of himself
as President,--always referred to his office as "this place;" would
often say to an old friend, "Call me Lincoln: 'Mr. President' is
entirely too formal for us." Shortly after the first inauguration, an
old and respected friend accompanied by his wife visited Washington, and
as a matter of course paid their respects to the President and his
family, having been on intimate social terms with them for many years.
It was proposed that at a certain time Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln should call
at the hotel where they were stopping and take them out for a ride in
the Presidential carriage,--a gorgeous and grandly caparisoned coach,
the like of which the visitors had seldom seen before that time. As
close as the intimacy was, the two men had never seen each other with
gloves on in their lives, except as a protection from the cold. Both
gentlemen, realizing the propriety of their use in the changed condition
of things, discussed the matter with their respective wives, who decided
that gloves were the proper things. Mr. Lincoln reluctantly yielded to
this decree, and placed his in his pocket, to be used or not according
to circumstances. On arriving at the hotel he found his friend, who
doubtless had yielded to his wife's persuasion, gloved in the most
approved style. The friend, taking in the situation, was hardly seated
in the carriage when he began to take off the clinging kids; and at the
same time Mr. Lincoln began to draw his on,--seeing which they both
burst into a hearty laugh, when Mr. Lincoln exclaimed, "Oh, why should
the spirit of mortals be proud?" Then he added, "I suppose it is polite
to wear these things, but it is positively uncomfortable for me to do
so. Let us put them in our pockets; that is the best place for them, and
we shall be able to act more like folks in our bare hands." After this
the ride was as enjoyable as any one they had ever taken in early days
in a lumber wagon over the prairies of Illinois.
An instance showing that the deserving low-born commanded Mr. Lincoln's
respect and consideration as well as the high-born and distinguished,
may be found in what he said on one occasion to an Austrian count
during the rebellion. The Austrian minister to this government
introduced to the President a count, subject of the Austrian government,
who was desirous of obtaining a position in the American army. Being
introduced by the accredited minister of Austria, he required no further
recommendation to secure the appointment; but fearing that his
importance might not be fully appreciated by the republican President,
the count was particular in impressing the fact upon him that he bore
that title, and that his family was ancient and highly respectable. Mr.
Lincoln listened with attention, until this unnecessary commendation was
mentioned; then, with a merry twinkle in his eye, he tapped the
aristocratic sprig of hereditary nobility on the shoulder in the most
fatherly way, as if the gentleman had made a confession of some
unfortunate circumstance connected with his lineage, for which he was in
no way responsible, saying, "Never mind, you shall be treated with just
as much consideration for all that. I will see to it that your bearing a
title sha'n't hurt you."