No reminiscence of the late President has been given to the public more
thoroughly valuable and characteristic than a sketch which appeared in
the New York “Independent” of September 1st, 1864, from the pen of the
Rev. J. P. Gulliver, of Norwich, Connecticut:--
“It was just after his controversy with Douglas, and some months before
the meeting of the Chicago Convention of 1860, that Mr. Lincoln came
to Norwich to make a political speech. It was in substance the famous
speech delivered in New York, commencing with the noble words: ‘There
is but one political question before the people of this country, which
is this, _Is slavery right, or is it wrong?_’ and ending with the yet
nobler words: ‘Gentlemen, it has been said of the world’s history
hitherto that “might makes right;” it is for us and for our times to
reverse the maxim, and to show that _right makes might_!’
“The next morning I met him at the railroad station, where he was
conversing with our Mayor, every few minutes looking up the track and
inquiring, half impatiently and half quizzically, ‘Where’s that ‘wagon’
of yours? Why don’t the ‘wagon’ come along?’ On being introduced to
him, he fixed his eyes upon me, and said: ‘I have seen you before,
sir!’ ‘I think not,’ I replied; ‘you must mistake me for some other
person.’ ‘No, I don’t; I saw you at the Town Hall, last evening.’ ‘Is
it possible, Mr. Lincoln, that you could observe individuals so closely
in such a crowd?’ ‘Oh, yes!’ he replied, laughing; ‘that is my way. I
don’t forget faces. Were you not there?’ ‘I was, sir, and I was well
paid for going;’ adding, somewhat in the vein of pleasantry he had
started, ‘I consider it one of the most extraordinary speeches I ever
heard.’
“As we entered the cars, he beckoned me to take a seat with him, and
said, in a most agreeably frank way, ‘Were you sincere in what you said
about my speech just now?’ ‘I meant every word of it, Mr. Lincoln.
Why, an old dyed-in-the-wool Democrat, who sat near me, applauded you
repeatedly; and, when rallied upon his conversion to sound principles,
answered, “I don’t believe a word he says, but I can’t help clapping
him, he is so _pat_!” That I call the triumph of oratory,--
“When you convince a man against his will,
Though he is of the same opinion still.”
Indeed, sir, I learned more of the art of public speaking last evening
than I could from a whole course of lectures on Rhetoric.’
“‘Ah! that reminds me,’ said he, ‘of a most extraordinary circumstance
which occurred in New Haven the other day. They told me that the
Professor of Rhetoric in Yale College,--a very learned man, isn’t he?’
“‘Yes, sir, and a fine critic too.’
“‘Well, I suppose so; he ought to be, at any rate,--they told me that
he came to hear me, and took notes of my speech, and gave a lecture on
it to his class the next day; and, not satisfied with that, he followed
me up to Meriden the next evening, and heard me again for the same
purpose. Now, if this is so, it is to my mind very extraordinary. I
have been sufficiently astonished at my success in the West. It has
been most unexpected. But I had no thought of any marked success at the
East, and least of all that I should draw out such commendations from
literary and learned men. Now,’ he continued, ‘I should like very much
to know what it was in my speech you thought so remarkable, and what
you suppose interested my friend, the Professor, so much.’
“‘The clearness of your statements, Mr. Lincoln; the unanswerable
style of your reasoning, and especially your illustrations, which
were romance and pathos, and fun and logic all welded together. That
story about the snakes, for example, which set the hands and feet of
your Democratic hearers in such vigorous motion, was at once queer
and comical, and tragic and argumentative. It broke through all the
barriers of a man’s previous opinions and prejudices at a crash, and
blew up the very citadel of his false theories before he could know
what had hurt him.’
“‘Can you remember any other illustrations,’ said he, ‘of this
peculiarity of my style?’
“I gave him others of the same sort, occupying some half-hour in the
critique, when he said: ‘I am much obliged to you for this. I have been
wishing for a long time to find some one who would make this analysis
for me. It throws light on a subject which has been dark to me. I can
understand very readily how such a power as you have ascribed to me
will account for the effect which seems to be produced by my speeches.
I hope you have not been too flattering in your estimate. Certainly, I
have had a most wonderful success, for a man of my limited education.’
“‘That suggests, Mr. Lincoln, an inquiry which has several times been
upon my lips during this conversation. I want very much to know how you
got this unusual power of “putting things.” It must have been a matter
of education. No man has it by nature alone. What has your education
been?’
“‘Well, as to education, the newspapers are correct; I never went to
school more than six months in my life. But, as you say, this must be a
product of culture in some form. I have been putting the question you
ask me to myself, while you have been talking. I can say this, that
among my earliest recollections I remember how, when a mere child, I
used to get irritated when any body talked to me in a way I could not
understand. I don’t think I ever got angry at anything else in my life.
But that always disturbed my temper, and has ever since. I can remember
going to my little bedroom, after hearing the neighbors talk of an
evening with my father, and spending no small part of the night walking
up and down, and trying to make out what was the exact meaning of some
of their, to me, dark sayings. I could not sleep, though I often tried
to, when I got on such a hunt after an idea, until I had caught it; and
when I thought I had got it, I was not satisfied until I had repeated
it over and over, until I had put it in language plain enough, as I
thought, for any boy I knew to comprehend. This was a kind of passion
with me, and it has stuck by me; for I am never easy now, when I am
handling a thought, till I have bounded it North, and bounded it South,
and bounded it East, and bounded it West. Perhaps that accounts for the
characteristic you observe in my speeches, though I never put the two
things together before.’
“‘Mr. Lincoln, I thank you for this. It is the most splendid
educational fact I ever happened upon. This is _genius_, with all
its impulsive, inspiring, dominating power over the mind of its
possessor, developed by education into _talent_, with its uniformity,
its permanence, and its disciplined strength,--always ready, always
available, never capricious,--the highest possession of the human
intellect. But, let me ask, did you prepare for your profession?’
“‘Oh, yes! I “read law,” as the phrase is, that is, I became a lawyer’s
clerk in Springfield, and copied tedious documents, and picked up
what I could of law in the intervals of other work. But your question
reminds me of a bit of education I had, which I am bound in honesty to
mention. In the course of my law-reading, I constantly came upon the
word _demonstrate_. I thought at first that I understood its meaning,
but soon became satisfied that I did not. I said to myself, “What do
I mean when I _demonstrate_ more than when I _reason_ or _prove_?
How does _demonstration_ differ from any other proof?” I consulted
Webster’s Dictionary. That told of “certain proof,” “proof beyond the
possibility of doubt;” but I could form no idea what sort of proof that
was. I thought a great many things were proved beyond a possibility of
doubt, without recourse to any such extraordinary process of reasoning
as I understood “demonstration” to be. I consulted all the dictionaries
and books of reference I could find, but with no better results. You
might as well have defined _blue_ to a blind man. At last I said,
“Lincoln, you can never make a lawyer if you do not understand what
_demonstrate_ means;” and I left my situation in Springfield, went
home to my father’s house, and stayed there till I could give any
proposition in the six books of Euclid at sight. I then found out what
“demonstrate” means, and went back to my law-studies.’
“I could not refrain from saying, in my admiration at such a
development of character and genius combined: ‘Mr. Lincoln, your
success is no longer a marvel. It is the legitimate result of adequate
causes. You deserve it all, and a great deal more. If you will permit
me, I would like to use this fact publicly. It will be most valuable
in inciting our young men to that patient classical and mathematical
culture which most minds absolutely require. No man can talk well
unless he is able first of all to define to himself what he is
talking about. Euclid, well studied, would free the world of half its
calamities, by banishing half the nonsense which now deludes and curses
it. I have often thought that Euclid would be one of the best books
to put on the catalogue of the Tract Society, if they could only get
people to read it. It would be a means of grace.’
“‘I think so,’ said he, laughing; ‘I vote for Euclid.’
“Just then a gentleman entered the car who was well known as a very
ardent friend of Douglas. Being a little curious to see how Mr. Lincoln
would meet him, I introduced him after this fashion:--‘Mr. Lincoln,
allow me to introduce Mr. L----, a very particular friend of your
particular friend, Mr. Douglas.’ He at once took his hand in a most
cordial manner, saying: ‘I have no doubt you think you are right,
sir.’ This hearty tribute to the honesty of a political opponent,
with the manner of doing it, struck me as a beautiful exhibition of a
large-hearted charity, of which we see far too little in this debating,
fermenting world.
“As we neared the end of our journey, Mr. Lincoln turned to me very
pleasantly, and said: ‘I want to thank you for this conversation. I
have enjoyed it very much.’ I replied, referring to some stalwart
denunciations he had just been uttering of the demoralizing influences
of Washington upon Northern politicians in respect to the slavery
question, ‘Mr. Lincoln, may I say one thing to you before we separate?’
“‘Certainly, anything you please.’
“‘You have just spoken of the tendency of political life in Washington
to debase the moral convictions of our representatives there by the
admixture of considerations of mere political expediency. You have
become, by the controversy with Mr. Douglas, one of our leaders in this
great struggle with slavery, which is undoubtedly _the_ struggle of the
nation and the age. What I would like to say is this, and I say it with
a full heart, _Be true to your principles and we will be true to you,
and God will be true to us all!_’ His homely face lighted up instantly
with a beaming expression, and taking my hand warmly in both of his, he
said: ‘I say _Amen_ to that--AMEN to that!’
“There is a deep excavation in the rock shown to visitors, among
the White Mountains, into which one of the purest of the mountain
streams pours itself, known as ‘The Pool.’ As you stand by its side
at an ordinary time you look down upon a mass of impenetrable green,
lying like a rich emerald in a setting of granite upon the bosom of
the mountain. But occasionally the noon-day sun darts through it a
vertical ray which penetrates to its very bottom, and shows every
configuration of the varied interior. I felt at that moment that a ray
had darted down to the bottom of Abraham Lincoln’s heart, and that I
could see the whole. It seemed to me as beautiful as that emerald pool,
and as pure. I have never forgotten that glimpse. When the strange
revocation came of the most rational and reasonable proclamation of
Fremont,--‘The slaves of Rebels shall be set free,’--I remembered that
hearty ‘_Amen_,’ and stifled my rising apprehensions. I remembered it
in those dark days when McClellan, Nero-like, was fiddling on James
River, and Pope was being routed before Washington, and the report came
that a prominent Cabinet Minister had boasted that he had succeeded in
preventing the issue of the Emancipation Proclamation; I said: ‘Abraham
Lincoln will prove true yet.’ _And he has!_ God bless him! _he has_.
Slow, if you please, but _true_. Unimpassioned, if you please, but
_true_. Jocose, trifling, if you please, but _true_. Reluctant to part
with unworthy official advisers, but _true_ himself--_true as steel_!
I could wish him less a man of facts, and more a man of ideas. I could
wish him more stern and more vigorous: but every man has his faults,
and still I say: _Amen to Abraham Lincoln!_”[22]