William Wallace Lincoln, I never knew. He died Thursday, February
20th, 1862, nearly two years before my intercourse with the President
commenced. He had just entered upon his twelfth year, and has been
described to me as of an unusually serious and thoughtful disposition.
His death was the most crushing affliction Mr. Lincoln had ever been
called upon to pass through.
After the funeral, the President resumed his official duties, but
mechanically, and with a terrible weight at his heart. The following
Thursday he gave way to his feelings, and shut himself from all
society. The second Thursday it was the same; he would see no one,
and seemed a prey to the deepest melancholy. About this time the Rev.
Francis Vinton, of Trinity Church, New York, had occasion to spend
a few days in Washington. An acquaintance of Mrs. Lincoln and of
her sister, Mrs. Edwards, of Springfield, he was requested by them
to come up and see the President. The setting apart of Thursday for
the indulgence of his grief had gone on for several weeks, and Mrs.
Lincoln began to be seriously alarmed for the health of her husband,
of which fact Dr. Vinton was apprised. Mr. Lincoln received him in
the parlor, and an opportunity was soon embraced by the clergyman to
chide him for showing so rebellious a disposition to the decrees of
Providence. He told him plainly that the indulgence of such feelings,
though natural, was sinful. It was unworthy one who believed in the
Christian religion. He had duties to the living, greater than those of
any other man, as the chosen father, and leader of the people, and he
was unfitting himself for his responsibilities by thus giving way to
his grief. To mourn the departed as _lost_ belonged to heathenism--not
to Christianity. “Your son,” said Dr. Vinton, “is _alive_, in Paradise.
Do you remember that passage in the Gospels: ‘God is not the God of the
_dead_ but of the living, for _all_ live unto him’?” The President
had listened as one in a stupor, until his ear caught the words, “Your
son is alive.” Starting from the sofa, he exclaimed, “Alive! _alive!_
Surely you mock me.” “No, sir, believe me,” replied Dr. Vinton; “it
is a most comforting doctrine of the church, founded upon the words
of Christ himself.” Mr. Lincoln looked at him a moment, and then,
stepping forward, he threw his arm around the clergyman’s neck, and,
laying his head upon his breast, sobbed aloud. “_Alive? alive?_” he
repeated. “My dear sir,” said Dr. Vinton, greatly moved, as he twined
his own arm around the weeping father, “believe this, for it is God’s
most precious truth. Seek not your son among the dead; he is not there;
he lives to-day in Paradise! Think of the full import of the words I
have quoted. The Sadducees, when they questioned Jesus, had no other
conception than that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were dead and buried.
Mark the reply: ‘Now that the dead are raised, even Moses showed at the
bush when he called the Lord the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and
the God of Jacob. For he is not the God of the dead, but of the living,
_for all live unto him_!’ Did not the aged patriarch mourn his sons as
dead?--‘Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin
also.’ But Joseph and Simeon were both living, though he believed it
not. Indeed, Joseph being taken from him, was the eventual means of
the preservation of the whole family. And so God has called your son
into his upper kingdom--a kingdom and an existence as real, more real,
than your own. It may be that he too, like Joseph, has gone, in God’s
good providence, to be the salvation of _his_ father’s household. It
is a part of the Lord’s plan for the ultimate happiness of you and
yours. Doubt it not. I have a sermon,” continued Dr. Vinton, “upon this
subject, which I think might interest you.” Mr. Lincoln begged him
to send it at an early day--thanking him repeatedly for his cheering
and hopeful words. The sermon was sent, and read over and over by the
President, who caused a copy to be made for his own private use before
it was returned. Through a member of the family, I have been informed
that Mr. Lincoln’s views in relation to spiritual things seemed
changed from that hour. Certain it is, that thenceforth he ceased
the observance of the day of the week upon which his son died, and
gradually resumed his accustomed cheerfulness.