A day or two previous to the meeting of the Republican Convention,
the President read me his letter to the “Owen Lovejoy Monument
Association,”--lately written, and not then published,--in which he
expressed his appreciation of Mr. Lovejoy in nearly the same language
I had heard him use on a former occasion. “Throughout my heavy and
perplexing responsibilities here,” ran the letter, “to the day of
his death, it would scarcely wrong any other to say he was my most
generous friend. Let him have the marble monument, along with the well
assured and more enduring one in the hearts of those who love liberty
unselfishly for all men.” A noble tribute, in fitly chosen words!
The evening following the reading of this letter, he said that Mrs.
Lincoln and he had promised half an hour to a sort of “artist” who
wished to “exhibit” before them in the red-room below. “What kind of an
artist?” I inquired. “Oh, not in your line,” he answered; “I think he
is a sort of mountebank, or comic lecturer, or something of the kind.”
On my way to my own room, I met in the passage the well-known “Jeems
Pipes of Pipesville,”--otherwise Stephen Massett,--whom I at once
conjectured to be the individual the President had referred to. The two
rooms communicating by double doors, I could not well avoid overhearing
a portion of the performance, or more properly lecture, which I think
was announced by the title of “Drifting About.” Comic imitations of
various characters were given, among others that of a stammering man,
which appeared greatly to amuse Mr. Lincoln. I could only now and then
catch a word of the burlesque, but the voice and ringing laugh of the
President were perfectly distinguishable. When the “lecture” ceased,
Mr. Lincoln said, “I want to offer a suggestion. I once knew a man
who invariably ‘_whistled_’ with his stammering,” and he then gave an
imitation. “Now,” he continued, “if you could get in a touch of nature
like that it would be irresistibly ludicrous.” “Pipes” applauded the
amendment, rehearsing it several times, until he had mastered it to the
President’s satisfaction; and I dare say the innovation became a part
of all subsequent performances.
About this period numerous delegations from various religious bodies
and associations thronged the White House. Among the number none met
so cordial a reception as that of the “Christian Commission,” composed
of volunteer clergymen who had just returned from the Wilderness
battleground. In the brief address by the chairman of the occasion,
he stated that the group before the President embraced those who had
been first on the field to offer aid and refreshments to the wounded
of that terrible series of battles. In reply Mr. Lincoln expressed his
appreciation of the self-denying services rendered by the Commission,
in feeling terms. He concluded his response in these words: “And I
desire also to add to what I have said, that there is one association
whose object and motives I have never heard in any degree impugned or
questioned; and that is the ‘Christian Commission.’ And in ‘these days
of villany,’ as Shakspeare says, that is a record, gentlemen, of which
you may justly be proud!” Upon the conclusion of the “ceremony,” he
added, in a conversational tone, “I believe, however, it is old ‘Jack
Falstaff’ who talks about ‘villany,’ though of course Shakspeare is
responsible.”
After the customary hand-shaking, which followed, several gentlemen
came forward and asked the President for his autograph. One of them
gave his name as “Cruikshank.” “That reminds me,” said Mr. Lincoln, “of
what I used to be called when a young man--‘long-shanks.’” Hereupon the
rest of the party, emboldened by the success of the few, crowded around
the desk, and the President good naturedly wrote his name for each; the
scene suggesting forcibly to my mind a country schoolmaster’s weekly
distribution of “tickets” among his pupils.