am, wholly, unexpectedly, completely out of the "scrape," and I now want
to know if you can guess how I got out of it--out, clear, in every sense
of the term--no violation of word, honour, or conscience. I don't
believe you can guess, and so I might as well tell you at once. As the
lawyer says, it was done in the manner following, to wit: After I had
delayed the matter as long as I thought I could in honour do (which, by
the way, had brought me round into the last fall), I concluded I might
as well bring it to a consummation without further delay, and so I
mustered my resolution and made the proposal to her direct; but,
shocking to relate, she answered, No. At first I supposed she did it
through an affectation of modesty, which I thought but ill became her
under the peculiar circumstances of the case, but on my renewal of the
charge I found she repelled it with greater firmness than before. I
tried it again and again, but with the same success, or rather with the
same want of success.
I finally was forced to give it up, at which I very unexpectedly found
myself mortified almost beyond endurance. I was mortified, it seemed to
me, in a hundred different ways. My vanity was deeply wounded by the
reflection that I had so long been too stupid to discover her
intentions, and at the same time never doubting that I understood them
perfectly; and also that she, whom I had taught myself to believe nobody
else would have, had actually rejected me with all my fancied greatness.
And, to cap the whole, I then for the first time began to suspect that I
was really a little in love with her. But let it all go! I'll try and
outlive it. Others have been made fools of by the girls, but this can
never in truth be said of me. I most emphatically, in this instance,
made a fool of myself. I have now come to the conclusion never again to
think of marrying, and for this reason--I can never be satisfied with
any one who would be blockhead enough to have me.
When you receive this, write me a long yarn about something to amuse me.
Give my respects to Mr. Browning.
_From a Debate between Lincoln, E.D. Baker, and others against Douglas,
Lamborn, and others. Springfield. December 1839_
* * * * *
... Mr. Lamborn insists that the difference between the Van Buren party
and the Whigs is, that although the former sometimes err in practice,
they are always correct in principle, whereas the latter are wrong in
principle; and the better to impress this proposition, he uses a
figurative expression in these words: "The Democrats are vulnerable in
the heel, but they are sound in the heart and in the head." The first
branch of the figure--that is, that the Democrats are vulnerable in the
heel--I admit is not merely figuratively but literally true. Who that
looks but for a moment at their Swartwouts, their Prices, their
Harringtons, and their hundreds of others, scampering away with the
public money to Texas, to Europe, and to every spot of the earth where a
villain may hope to find refuge from justice, can at all doubt that they
are most distressingly affected in their heels with a species of running
fever? It seems that this malady of their heels operates on the
sound-headed and honest-hearted creatures very much like the cork leg in
the song did on its owner, which, when he had once got started on it,
the more he tried to stop it, the more it would run away. At the hazard
of wearing this point threadbare, I will relate an anecdote which seems
to be too strikingly in point to be omitted. A witty Irish soldier who
was always boasting of his bravery when no danger was near, but who
invariably retreated without orders at the first charge of the
engagement, being asked by his captain why he did so, replied, "Captain,
I have as brave a heart as Julius Cæsar ever had; but somehow or other,
whenever danger approaches, my cowardly legs will run away with it." So
it is with Mr. Lamborn's party. They take the public money into their
hands for the most laudable purpose that wise heads and honest hearts
can dictate, but before they can possibly get it out again, their
rascally vulnerable heels will run away with them....
_Letter to W.G. Anderson. Lawrenceville, Illinois. October 31, 1840_
Dear Sir, Your note of yesterday is received. In the difficulty between
us of which you speak, you say you think I was the aggressor. I do not
think I was. You say my "words imported insult." I meant them as a fair
set-off to your own statements, and not otherwise; and in that light
alone I now wish you to understand them. You ask for my present
"feelings on the subject." I entertain no unkind feelings to you, and
none of any sort upon the subject, except a sincere regret that I
permitted myself to get into such an altercation.
_Extract from a Letter to John T. Stuart. Springfield Illinois. January
23, 1841_
For not giving you a general summary of news, you must pardon me; it is
not in my power to do so. I am now the most miserable man living. If
what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there
would not be one cheerful face on earth. Whether I shall ever be better,
I cannot tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is
impossible; I must die or be better, it appears to me. The matter you
speak of on my account you may attend to as you say, unless you shall
hear of my condition forbidding it. I say this because I fear I shall be
unable to attend to any business here, and a change of scene might help
me. If I could be myself, I would rather remain at home with Judge
Logan. I can write no more.
_From an Address before the Washingtonian Temperance Society.
Springfield, Illinois. February 22, 1842_
Although the temperance cause has been in progress for nearly twenty
years, it is apparent to all that it is just now being crowned with a
degree of success hitherto unparalleled.
The list of its friends is daily swelled by the additions of fifties, of
hundreds, and of thousands. The cause itself seems suddenly transformed
from a cold abstract theory to a living, breathing, active and powerful
chieftain, going forth conquering and to conquer. The citadels of his
great adversary are daily being stormed and dismantled; his temples and
his altars, where the rites of his idolatrous worship have long been
performed, and where human sacrifices have long been wont to be made,
are daily desecrated and deserted. The trump of the conqueror's fame is
sounding from hill to hill, from sea to sea, and from land to land, and
calling millions to his standard at a blast.
* * * * *
"But," say some, "we are no drunkards, and we shall not acknowledge
ourselves such by joining a reform drunkard's society, whatever our
influence might be." Surely no Christian will adhere to this objection.
If they believe, as they profess, that Omnipotence condescended to take
on himself the form of sinful man, and, as such, to die an ignominious
death for their sakes, surely they will not refuse submission to the
infinitely lesser condescension for the temporal and perhaps eternal
salvation of a large, erring, and unfortunate class of their
fellow-creatures; nor is the condescension very great. In my judgment,
such of us as have never fallen victims have been spared more from the
absence of appetite, than from any mental or moral superiority over
those who have. Indeed I believe, if we take habitual drunkards as a
class, their heads and their hearts will bear an advantageous comparison
with those of any other class. There seems ever to have been a proneness
in the brilliant and warm-blooded to fall into this vice. The demon of
intemperance ever seems to have delighted in sucking the blood of genius
and generosity. What one of us but can call to mind some relative more
promising in youth than all his fellows, who has fallen a sacrifice to
his rapacity? He ever seems to have gone forth like the Egyptian angel
of death, commissioned to slay, if not the first, the fairest born of
every family. Shall he now be arrested in his desolating career? In that
arrest all can give aid that will; and who shall be excused that can and
will not? Far around as human breath has ever blown, he keeps our
fathers, our brothers, our sons, and our friends prostrate in the chains
of moral death....
When the conduct of men is designed to be influenced, persuasion, kind,
unassuming persuasion, should ever be adopted. It is an old and a true
maxim "that a drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall."
So with men. If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him
that you are his sincere friend. Therein is a drop of honey that catches
his heart, which, say what you will, is the great high-road to his
reason, and which, when once gained, you will find but little trouble in
convincing his judgment of the justice of your cause, if indeed that
cause really be a just one. On the contrary, assume to dictate to his
judgment, or to command his action, or to mark him as one to be shunned
and despised, and he will retreat within himself, close all the avenues
to his head and his heart; and though your cause be naked truth itself,
transformed to the heaviest lance, harder than steel, and sharper than
steel can be made, and though you throw it with more than herculean
force and precision, you shall be no more able to pierce him than to
penetrate the hard shell of a tortoise with a rye straw. Such is man,
and so must he be understood by those who would lead him, even to his
own best interests....
Another error, as it seems to me, into which the old reformers fell, was
the position that all habitual drunkards were utterly incorrigible, and
therefore must be turned adrift and damned without remedy in order that
the grace of temperance might abound, to the temperate then, and to all
mankind some hundreds of years thereafter. There is in this something so
repugnant to humanity, so uncharitable, so cold-blooded and feelingless,
that it never did, nor never can enlist the enthusiasm of a popular
cause. We could not love the man who taught it--we could not hear him
with patience. The heart could not throw open its portals to it, the
generous man could not adopt it--it could not mix with his blood. It
looked so fiendishly selfish, so like throwing fathers and brothers
overboard to lighten the boat for our security, that the noble-minded
shrank from the manifest meanness of the thing. And besides this, the
benefits of a reformation to be effected by such a system were too
remote in point of time to warmly engage many in its behalf. Few can be
induced to labour exclusively for posterity; and none will do it
enthusiastically. Posterity has done nothing for us; and theorize on it
as we may, practically we shall do very little for it, unless we are
made to think we are at the same time doing something for ourselves.
What an ignorance of human nature does it exhibit, to ask or expect a
whole community to rise up and labour for the temporal happiness of
others, after themselves shall be consigned to the dust, a majority of
which community take no pains whatever to secure their own eternal
welfare at no more distant day! Great distance in either time or space
has wonderful power to lull and render quiescent the human mind.
Pleasures to be enjoyed, or pains to be endured, after we shall be dead
and gone, are but little regarded even in our own cases, and much less
in the cases of others. Still, in addition to this there is something so
ludicrous in promises of good or threats of evil a great way off as to
render the whole subject with which they are connected easily turned
into ridicule. "Better lay down that spade you are stealing, Paddy; if
you don't you'll pay for it at the day of judgment." "Be the powers, if
ye'll credit me so long I'll take another jist."
_From the Circular of the Whig Committee. An Address to the People of
Illinois. March 4, 1843_
... The system of loans is but temporary in its nature, and must soon
explode. It is a system not only ruinous while it lasts, but one that
must soon fail and leave us destitute.
As an individual who undertakes to live by borrowing soon finds his
original means devoured by interest, and next, no one left to borrow
from, so must it be with a government.
We repeat, then, that a tariff sufficient for revenue, or a direct tax,
must soon be resorted to; and, indeed, we believe this alternative is
now denied by no one. But which system shall be adopted? Some of our
opponents in theory admit the propriety of a tariff sufficient for
revenue, but even they will not in practice vote for such a tariff;
while others boldly advocate direct taxation. Inasmuch, therefore, as
some of them boldly advocate direct taxation, and all the rest--or so
nearly all as to make exceptions needless--refuse to adopt the tariff,
we think it is doing them no injustice to class them all as advocates of
direct taxation. Indeed, we believe they are only delaying an open
avowal of the system till they can assure themselves that the people
will tolerate it. Let us, then, briefly compare the two systems. The
tariff is the cheaper system, because the duties, being collected in
large parcels, at a few commercial points, will require comparatively
few officers in their collection; while by the direct tax system the
land must be literally covered with assessors and collectors, going
forth like swarms of Egyptian locusts, devouring every blade of grass
and other green thing. And, again, by the tariff system the whole
revenue is paid by the consumers of foreign goods, and those chiefly the
luxuries and not the necessaries of life. By this system, the man who
contents himself to live upon the products of his own country pays
nothing at all. And surely that country is extensive enough, and its
products abundant and varied enough, to answer all the real wants of its
people. In short, by this system the burden of revenue falls almost
entirely on the wealthy and luxurious few, while the substantial and
labouring many, who live at home and upon home products, go entirely
free. By the direct tax system, none can escape. However strictly the
citizen may exclude from his premises all foreign luxuries, fine cloths,
fine silks, rich wines, golden chains, and diamond rings,--still, for
the possession of his house, his barn, and his homespun he is to be
perpetually haunted and harassed by the tax-gatherer. With these views,
we leave it to be determined whether we or our opponents are more truly
democratic on the subject.
_From a Letter to Martin M. Morris. Springfield, Illinois. March 26,
1843_
It is truly gratifying to me to learn that while the people of Sangamon
have cast me off, my old friends of Menard, who have known me longest
and best, stick to me. It would astonish, if not amuse, the older
citizens to learn that I (a stranger, friendless, uneducated, penniless
boy, working on a flatboat at ten dollars per month) have been put down
here as the candidate of pride, wealth, and aristocratic family
distinction. Yet so, chiefly, it was. There was, too, the strangest
combination of church influence against me. Baker is a Campbellite; and
therefore, as I suppose, with few exceptions, got all that church. My
wife has some relations in the Presbyterian churches, and some with the
Episcopal churches; and therefore, wherever it would tell, I was set
down as either the one or the other, while it was everywhere contended
that no Christian ought to go for me, because I belonged to no church,
was suspected of being a deist, and had talked about fighting a duel.
With all these things, Baker, of course, had nothing to do. Nor do I
complain of them. As to his own church going for him, I think that was
right enough, and as to the influences I have spoken of in the other,
though they were very strong, it would be grossly untrue and unjust to
charge that they acted upon them in a body, or were very near so. I only
mean that those influences levied a tax of a considerable per cent. upon
my strength throughout the religious controversy. But enough of this.
_From a Letter to Joshua F. Speed. Springfield. October 22, 1846_
We have another boy, born the 10th of March. He is very much such a
child as Bob was at his age, rather of a longer order. Bob is "short and
low," and I expect always will be. He talks very plainly--almost as
plainly as anybody. He is quite smart enough. I sometimes fear that he
is one of the little rare-ripe sort that are smarter at about five than
ever after. He has a great deal of that sort of mischief that is the
offspring of such animal spirits. Since I began this letter, a messenger
came to tell me Bob was lost; but by the time I reached the house his
mother had found him and had him whipped, and by now, very likely, he is
run away again.
_From a Letter to William H. Herndon. Washington. January 8, 1848_
Dear William, Your letter of December 27th was received a day or two
ago. I am much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken, and
promise to take in my little business there. As to speech-making, by way
of getting the hang of the House, I made a little speech two or three
days ago on a post-office question of no general interest. I find
speaking here and elsewhere about the same thing. I was about as badly
scared, and no worse, as I am when I speak in court. I expect to make
one within a week or two, in which I hope to succeed well enough to wish
you to see it.
It is very pleasant to learn from you that there are some who desire
that I should be re-elected. I most heartily thank them for their
partiality; and I can say, as Mr. Clay said of the annexation of Texas,
that "personally I would not object" to a re-election, although I
thought at the time, and still think, it would be quite as well for me
to return to the law at the end of a single term. I made the declaration
that I would not be a candidate again, more from a wish to deal fairly
with others, to keep peace among our friends, and to keep the district
from going to the enemy, than for any cause personal to myself; so that,
if it should so happen that nobody else wishes to be elected, I could
refuse the people the right of sending me again. But to enter myself as
a competitor of others, or to authorize any one so to enter me, is what
my word and honour forbid.
_From a Letter to William H. Herndon. Washington. June 22, 1848_
As to the young men. You must not wait to be brought forward by the
older men. For instance, do you suppose that I should ever have got into
notice if I had waited to be hunted up and pushed forward by older men?
You young men get together and form a "Rough and Ready Club," and have
regular meetings and speeches. Take in everybody you can get. Harrison
Grimsley, L.A. Enos, Lee Kimball and C.W. Matheny will do to begin the
thing; but as you go along gather up all the shrewd, wild boys about
town, whether just of age or a little under age--Chris. Logan, Reddick
Ridgley, Lewis Zwizler, and hundreds such. Let every one play the part
he can play best,--some speak, some sing, and all "holler." Your
meetings will be of evenings; the older men, and the women, will go to
hear you; so that it will not only contribute to the election of "Old
Zach," but will be an interesting pastime, and improving to the
intellectual faculties of all engaged. Don't fail to do this.
_From a Letter to William H. Herndon. Washington, July 10, 1848_
The way for a young man to rise is to improve himself every way he can,
never suspecting that anybody wishes to hinder him. Allow me to assure
you that suspicion and jealousy never did help any man in any situation.
There may sometimes be ungenerous attempts to keep a young man down; and
they will succeed, too, if he allows his mind to be diverted from its
true channel to brood over the attempted injury. Cast about, and see if
this feeling has not injured every person you have ever known to fall
into it.
_Letter to John D. Johnston. January 2, 1851_
Dear Johnston, Your request for eighty dollars I do not think it best to
comply with now. At the various times when I have helped you a little
you have said to me, "We can get along very well now"; but in a very
short time I find you in the same difficulty again. Now, this can only
happen by some defect in your conduct. What that defect is, I think I
know. You are not lazy, and still you are an idler. I doubt whether,
since I saw you, you have done a good whole day's work in any one day.
You do not very much dislike to work, and still you do not work much,
merely because it does not seem to you that you could get much for it.
This habit of uselessly wasting time is the whole difficulty; it is
vastly important to you, and still more so to your children, that you
should break the habit. It is more important to them, because they have
longer to live, and can keep out of an idle habit before they are in it,
easier than they can get out after they are in.
You are now in need of some money; and what I propose is, that you shall
go to work, "tooth and nail," for somebody who will give you money for
it. Let father and your boys take charge of your things at home,
prepare for a crop, and make the crop, and you go to work for the best
money wages, or in discharge of any debt you owe, that you can get; and,
to secure you a fair reward for your labour, I now promise you, that for
every dollar you will, between this and the first of May, get for your
own labour, either in money or as your own indebtedness, I will then
give you one other dollar. By this, if you hire yourself at ten dollars
a month, from me you will get ten more, making twenty dollars a month
for your work. In this I do not mean you shall go off to St. Louis, or
the lead mines, or the gold mines in California, but I mean for you to
go at it for the best wages you can get close to home in Coles County.
Now, if you will do this, you will be soon out of debt, and, what is
better, you will have a habit that will keep you from getting in debt
again. But, if I should now clear you out of debt, next year you would
be just as deep in as ever. You say you would almost give your place in
heaven for seventy or eighty dollars. Then you value your place in
heaven very cheap, for I am sure you can, with the offer I make, get the
seventy or eighty dollars for four or five months' work. You say if I
will furnish you the money you will deed me the land, and, if you don't
pay the money back, you will deliver possession. Nonsense! If you can't
now live with the land, how will you then live without it? You have
always been kind to me, and I do not mean to be unkind to you. On the
contrary, if you will but follow my advice, you will find it worth more
than eighty times eighty dollars to you.
_Letter to John D. Johnston. Shelbyville. November 4, 1851_
Dear Brother, When I came into Charleston day before yesterday, I
learned that you are anxious to sell the land where you live and move to
Missouri. I have been thinking of this ever since, and cannot but think
such a notion is utterly foolish. What can you do in Missouri better
than here? Is the land any richer? Can you there, any more than here,
raise corn and wheat and oats without work? Will anybody there, any more
than here, do your work for you? If you intend to go to work, there is
no better place than right where you are; if you do not intend to go to
work, you cannot get along anywhere. Squirming and crawling about from
place to place can do no good. You have raised no crop this year; and
what you really want is to sell the land, get the money, and spend it.
Part with the land you have, and, my life upon it, you will never after
own a spot big enough to bury you in. Half you will get for the land you
will spend in moving to Missouri, and the other half you will eat,
drink, and wear out, and no foot of land will be bought. Now, I feel it
my duty to have no hand in such a piece of foolery. I feel that it is so
even on your own account, and particularly on mother's account. The
eastern forty acres I intend to keep for mother while she lives; if you
will not cultivate it, it will rent for enough to support her--at least,
it will rent for something. Her dower in the other two forties she can
let you have, and no thanks to me. Now, do not misunderstand this
letter; I do not write it in any unkindness. I write it in order, if
possible, to get you to face the truth, which truth is, you are
destitute because you have idled away all your time. Your thousand
pretences for not getting along better are all nonsense; they deceive
nobody but yourself. Go to work is the only cure for your case.