I have alluded, on a previous page, to the public concerts of the
Marine Band,--from the Washington Navy-yard,--given every Saturday
afternoon, during the summer, on the grounds in front of the White
House; which, on such occasions, were thronged with visitors. The
Saturday following the nominations I invited my friend Cropsey, the
landscape-painter, from New York,--who, with his wife, was spending a
few days in the city,--to come up with Mrs. C. to the studio, which
overlooked the pleasure-grounds, and presented a fine opportunity of
enjoying both spectacle and music. The invitation was accepted, and the
afternoon was devoted to my guests.
Towards the close of the concert the door suddenly opened, and the
President came in, as he was in the habit of doing, alone. Mr. and
Mrs. Cropsey had been presented to him in the course of the morning;
and as he came forward, half hesitatingly, Mrs. C., who held a bunch
of beautiful flowers in her hand, tripped forward playfully, and
said: “Allow me, Mr. President, to present you with a bouquet!”
The situation was momentarily embarrassing; and I was puzzled to
know how “His Excellency” would get out of it. With no appearance of
discomposure, he stooped down, took the flowers, and, looking from
them into the sparkling eyes and radiant face of the lady, said, with
a gallantry I was unprepared for,--“Really, madam, if you give them
to _me_, and they are _mine_, I think I cannot possibly make so good
a _use_ of them as to present them to _you_, in return!” Chesterfield
could not have extricated himself from the dilemma with more tact
and address; and the incident, trifling in itself, may serve to
illustrate that there existed in the _ci-devant_ “rail-splitter” and
“flat-boatman”--uncouth and half-civilized as many supposed him--the
essential elements of the true gentleman.
I was always touched by the President’s manner of receiving the salute
of the guard at the White House. Whenever he appeared in the portico,
on his way to or from the War or Treasury Department, or on any
excursion down the avenue, the first glimpse of him was, of course,
the signal for the sentinel on duty to “present arms.” This was always
acknowledged by Mr. Lincoln with a peculiar bow and touch of the hat,
no matter how many times it might occur in the course of a day; and
it always seemed to me as much a compliment to the devotion of the
soldiers, on his part, as it was the sign of duty and deference on the
part of the guard.
The Hon. Mr. Odell gave me a deeply interesting incident, which
occurred in the winter of 1864, at one of the most crowded of the
Presidential levees, illustrating very perfectly Mr. Lincoln’s true
politeness and delicacy of feeling.
On the occasion referred to, the pressure became so great that the
usual ceremony of hand-shaking was, for once, discontinued. The
President had been standing for some time, bowing his acknowledgments
to the thronging multitude, when his eye fell upon a couple who had
entered unobserved,--a wounded soldier, and his plainly dressed mother.
Before they could pass out, he made his way to where they stood,
and, taking each of them by the hand, with a delicacy and cordiality
which brought tears to many eyes, he assured them of his interest and
welcome. Governors, senators, diplomats, passed with simply a nod; but
that pale young face he might never see again. To him, and to others
like him, did the nation owe its life; and Abraham Lincoln was not the
man to forget this, even in the crowded and brilliant assembly of the
distinguished of the land.