One bright morning in May, the Sunday-school children of the city
of Washington, marching in procession on anniversary day, passed in
review through the portico on the north side of the White House. The
President stood at the open window above the door, responding with
a smile and a bow to the lusty cheers of the little folks as they
passed. Hon. Mr. Odell, of Brooklyn, with one or two other gentlemen,
stood by his side as I joined the group. It was a beautiful sight; the
rosy-cheeked boys and girls, in their “Sunday’s best,” with banners
and flowers, all intent upon seeing the President, and, as they caught
sight of his tall figure, cheering as if their very lives depended upon
it. After enjoying the scene for some time, making pleasant remarks
about a face that now and then struck him, Mr. Lincoln said: “Mrs. Ann
S. Stephens told me a story last night about Daniel Webster, when a
lad, which was new to me, and it has been running in my head all the
morning. When quite young, at school, Daniel was one day guilty of a
gross violation of the rules. He was detected in the act, and called
up by the teacher for punishment. This was to be the old-fashioned
‘feruling’ of the hand. His hands happened to be very dirty. Knowing
this, on his way to the teacher’s desk, he _spit_ upon the palm of his
_right_ hand, wiping it off upon the side of his pantaloons. ‘Give me
your hand, sir,’ said the teacher, very sternly. Out went the right
hand, partly cleansed. The teacher looked at it a moment, and said,
‘Daniel, if you will find another hand in this school-room as filthy as
that, I will let you off this time!’ Instantly from behind his back
came the _left_ hand. ‘Here it is, sir,’ was the ready reply. ‘That
will do,’ said the teacher, ‘for this time; you can take your seat,
sir.’”
Mr. Lincoln’s heart was always open to children. I shall never forget
his coming into the “studio” one day, and finding my own little boy of
two summers playing on the floor. A member of the Cabinet was with him,
but laying aside all restraint, he took the little fellow at once in
his arms, and they were soon on the best of terms.
Old Daniel--alluded to on a previous page--gave me a touching
illustration of this element in his character. A poor woman from
Philadelphia had been waiting with a baby in her arms for several days
to see the President. It appeared by her story, that her husband had
furnished a substitute for the army, but sometime afterward, in a state
of intoxication, was induced to enlist. Upon reaching the post assigned
his regiment, he deserted, thinking the government was not entitled to
his services. Returning home, he was arrested, tried, convicted, and
sentenced to be shot. The sentence was to be executed on a Saturday.
On Monday his wife left her home with her baby, to endeavor to see
the President. Said Daniel, “She had been waiting here three days,
and there was no chance for her to get in. Late in the afternoon of
the third day, the President was going through the passage to his
private room to get a cup of tea. On the way he heard the baby cry.
He instantly went back to his office and rang the bell. ‘Daniel,’ said
he, ‘is there a woman with a baby in the anteroom?’ I said there was,
and if he would allow me to say it, it was a case he ought to see; for
it was a matter of life and death. Said he, ‘Send her to me at once.’
She went in, told her story, and the President pardoned her husband. As
the woman came out from his presence, her eyes were lifted and her lips
moving in prayer, the tears streaming down her cheeks.” Said Daniel, “I
went up to her, and pulling her shawl, said, ‘Madam, it was the baby
that did it.’”
When Mr. Lincoln visited New York in 1860, he felt a great interest in
many of the institutions for reforming criminals and saving the young
from a life of crime. Among others, he visited, unattended, the Five
Points’ House of Industry, and the Superintendent of the Sabbath-school
there gave the following account of the event:--
“One Sunday morning, I saw a tall, remarkable-looking man enter the
room and take a seat among us. He listened with fixed attention to our
exercises, and his countenance expressed such genuine interest that I
approached him and suggested that he might be willing to say something
to the children. He accepted the invitation with evident pleasure;
and, coming forward, began a simple address, which at once fascinated
every little hearer and hushed the room into silence. His language was
strikingly beautiful, and his tones musical with intense feeling. The
little faces would droop into sad conviction as he uttered sentences of
warning, and would brighten into sunshine as he spoke cheerful words
of promise. Once or twice he attempted to close his remarks, but the
imperative shout of ‘Go on! Oh, do go on!’ would compel him to resume.
As I looked upon the gaunt and sinewy frame of the stranger, and marked
his powerful head and determined features, now touched into softness
by the impressions of the moment, I felt an irrepressible curiosity to
learn something more about him, and while he was quietly leaving the
room I begged to know his name. He courteously replied, ‘It is Abraham
Lincoln, from Illinois.’”
Mr. Nelson Sizer, one of the gallery ushers of Henry Ward Beecher’s
church in Brooklyn, told me that about the time of the Cooper Institute
speech, Mr. Lincoln was twice present at the morning services of that
church. On the first occasion, he was accompanied by his friend,
George B. Lincoln, Esq., and occupied a prominent seat in the centre
of the house. On a subsequent Sunday morning, not long afterwards, the
church was _packed_, as usual, and the services had proceeded to the
announcement of the text, when the gallery door at the right of the
organ-loft opened, and the tall figure of Mr. Lincoln entered, alone.
Again in the city over Sunday, he started out by himself to find the
church, which he reached considerably behind time. Every seat was
occupied; but the gentlemanly usher at once surrendered his own, and,
stepping back, became much interested in watching the effect of the
sermon upon the western orator. As Mr. Beecher developed his line of
argument, Mr. Lincoln’s body swayed forward, his lips parted, and he
seemed at length entirely unconscious of his surroundings,--frequently
giving vent to his satisfaction, at a well-put point or illustration,
with a kind of involuntary Indian exclamation,--“_ugh!_”--not audible
beyond his immediate presence, but _very_ expressive! Mr. Lincoln
henceforward had a profound admiration for the talents of the famous
pastor of Plymouth Church. He once remarked to the Rev. Henry M. Field,
of New York, in my presence, that “he thought there was not upon
record, in ancient or modern biography, so _productive_ a mind, as had
been exhibited in the career of Henry Ward Beecher!”