Hopeful and cheerful as he ordinarily seemed, there was in Mr. Lincoln's
disposition a strain of deep melancholy. This was not peculiar to him
alone, for the pioneers as a race were somber rather than gay. Their
lives had been passed for generations under the most trying physical
conditions, near malaria-infested streams, and where they breathed the
poison of decaying vegetation. Insufficient shelter, storms, the cold of
winter, savage enemies, and the cruel labor that killed off all but the
hardiest of them, had at the same time killed the happy-go-lucky gaiety
of an easier form of life. They were thoughtful, watchful, wary; capable
indeed of wild merriment: but it has been said that although a pioneer
might laugh, he could not easily be made to smile. Lincoln's mind was
unusually sound and sane and normal. He had a cheerful, wholesome, sunny
nature, yet he had inherited the strongest traits of the pioneers,
and there was in him, moreover, much of the poet, with a poet's great
capacity for joy and pain. It is not strange that as he developed into
manhood, especially when his deeper nature began to feel the stirrings
of ambition and of love, these seasons of depression and gloom came upon
him with overwhelming force.
During his childhood he had known few women, save his mother, and that
kind, God-fearing woman his stepmother, who did so much to make his
childhood hopeful and happy. No man ever honored women more truly than
did Abraham Lincoln; while all the qualities that caused men to like
him--his strength, his ambition, his kindliness--served equally to make
him a favorite with them. In the years of his young manhood three women
greatly occupied his thoughts. The first was the slender, fair-haired
Ann Rutledge, whom he very likely saw for the first time as she stood
with the group of mocking people on the river-bank, near her father's
mill, the day Lincoln's flatboat stuck on the dam at New Salem. It was
her death, two years before he went to live at Springfield, that brought
on the first attack of melancholy of which we know, causing him such
deep grief that for a time his friends feared his sorrow might drive him
insane.
Another friend was Mary Owens, a Kentucky girl, very different from
the gentle, blue-eyed Ann Rutledge, but worthy in every way of a man's
affections. She had visited her sister in New Salem several years
before, and Lincoln remembered her as a tall, handsome, well-educated
young woman, who could be serious as well as gay, and who was considered
wealthy. In the autumn of 1836, her sister, Mrs. Able, then about to
start on a visit to Kentucky, jokingly offered to bring Mary back if
Lincoln would promise to marry her. He, also in jest, agreed to do so.
Much to his astonishment, he learned, a few months later, that she had
actually returned with Mrs. Able, and his sensitive conscience made him
feel that the jest had turned into real earnest, and that he was in
duty bound to keep his promise if she wished him to do so. They had both
changed since they last met; neither proved quite pleasing to the other,
yet an odd sort of courtship was kept up, until, some time after Lincoln
went to live in Springfield, Miss Owens put an end to the affair by
refusing him courteously but firmly. Meantime he lived through much
unhappiness and uncertainty of spirit, and made up his mind "never
again to think of marrying": a resolution which he kept--until another
Kentucky girl drove it from his thoughts.
Springfield had by this time become very lively and enterprising. There
was a deal of "flourishing around in carriages," as Lincoln wrote Miss
Owens, and business and politics and society all played an active part
in the life of the little town. The meetings of the legislature brought
to the new capital a group of young men of unusual talent and ability.
There was friendly rivalry between them, and party disputes ran high,
but social good-humor prevailed, and the presence of these brilliant
young people, later to become famous as Presidential candidates, cabinet
ministers, senators, congressmen, orators, and battle heroes, lent
to the social gatherings of Springfield a zest rarely found in larger
places.
Into the midst of this gaiety came Mary Todd of Kentucky, twenty-one
years old, handsome, accomplished and witty--a dashing and fascinating
figure in dress and conversation. She was the sister of Mrs. Ninian
W. Edwards, whose husband was a prominent Whig member of the
legislature--one of the "Long Nine," as these men were known. Their
added height was said to be fifty-five feet, and they easily made up in
influence what they lacked in numbers. Lincoln was the "tallest" of them
all in body and in mind, and although as poor as a church mouse, was
quite as welcome anywhere as the men who wore ruffled shirts and could
carry gold watches. Miss Todd soon singled out and held the admiration
of such of the Springfield beaux as pleased her somewhat wilful fancy,
and Lincoln, being much at the Edwards house, found himself, almost
before he knew it, entangled in a new love-affair. In the course of a
twelvemonth he was engaged to marry her, but something, nobody knows
what or how, happened to break the engagement, and to plunge him again
in a very sea of wretchedness. Nor is it necessary that we should know
about it further than that a great trouble came upon him, which he bore
nobly, after his kind. Few men have had his stern sense of duty, his
tenderness of heart, his conscience, so easy toward others, so merciless
toward himself. The trouble preyed upon his mind until he could think
of nothing else. He became unable to attend to business, or to take any
part in the life around him. Fearing for his reason as well as for his
health if this continued, his good friend Joshua F. Speed carried him
off, whether he wished or no, for a visit to his own home in Kentucky.
Here they stayed for some time, and Lincoln grew much better, returning
to Springfield about midsummer, almost his old self, though far from
happy.
An affair that helped to bring the lovers together again is so out of
keeping with the rest of his life, that it would deserve mention for
that reason, if for no other. This is nothing less than Lincoln's first
and only duel. It happened that James Shields, afterward a general in
two wars and a senator from two States, was at that time auditor of the
State of Illinois, with his office at Springfield. He was a Democrat,
and an Irishman by birth, with an Irishman's quick temper and readiness
to take offense. He had given orders about collecting certain taxes
which displeased the Whigs, and shortly after Lincoln came back from
Kentucky a series of humorous letters ridiculing the auditor and his
order appeared in the Springfield paper, to the great amusement of the
townspeople and the fury of Shields. These letters were dated from the
"Lost Townships," and were supposed to be written by a farmer's widow
signing herself "Aunt Rebecca." The real writers were Miss Todd and a
clever friend, who undertook them more for the purpose of poking fun at
Shields than for party effect. In framing the political part of
their attack, they had found it necessary to consult Lincoln, and he
obligingly set them a pattern by writing the first letter himself.
Shields sent to the editor of the paper to find out the name of the real
"Rebecca." The editor, as in duty bound, consulted Lincoln, and was told
to give Lincoln's name, but not to mention the ladies. Shields then sent
Lincoln an angry challenge; and Lincoln, who considered the whole affair
ridiculous, and would willingly have explained his part in it if Shields
had made a gentlemanly inquiry, chose as weapons "broadswords of the
largest size," and named as conditions of the duel that a plank ten feet
long be firmly fixed on edge in the ground, as a line over which neither
combatant was to pass his foot upon forfeit of his life. Next, lines
were to be drawn upon the ground on each side of the plank, parallel
with it, at the distance of the whole length of the sword and three feet
additional. The passing of his own line by either man was to be deemed a
surrender of the fight.
It is easy to see from these conditions that Lincoln refused to consider
the matter seriously, and determined to treat it as absurdly as it
deserved. He and Shields, and their respective seconds, with the
broadswords, hurried away to an island in the Mississippi River,
opposite Alton; but long before the plank was set up, or swords were
drawn, mutual friends took the matter out of the hands of the seconds,
and declared a settlement of the difficulty.
The affair created much talk and merriment in Springfield, but Lincoln
found in it more than comedy. By means of it he and Miss Todd were again
brought together in friendly interviews, and on November 4, they were
married at the house of Mr. Edwards. Four children were born of this
marriage: Robert Todd Lincoln, August 1, 1843; Edward Baker Lincoln,
March 10, 1846; William Wallace Lincoln, December 21, 1850; and Thomas
Lincoln, April 4, 1853. Edward died while a baby; William, in the White
House, February 20, 1862; Thomas in Chicago, July 15, 1871; and the
mother, Mary Lincoln, in Springfield, July 16, 1882. Robert Lincoln was
graduated from Harvard during the Civil War, serving afterward on the
staff of General Grant. He has since been Secretary of War and Minister
to England, and has held many other important positions of trust.
His wedding over, Lincoln took up again the practical routine of daily
life. He and his bride were so poor that they could not make the visit
to Kentucky that both would so much have enjoyed. They could not even
set up a little home of their own. "We are not keeping house," he wrote
to a friend, "but boarding at the Globe Tavern," where, he added, their
room and board only cost them four dollars a week. His "National Debt"
of the old New Salem days was not yet all paid off, and patiently and
resolutely he went on practising the economy he had learned in the hard
school of experience.
Lincoln's law partnership with John T. Stuart had lasted four years.
Then Stuart was elected to Congress, and another one was formed with
Judge Stephen T. Logan. It was a well-timed and important change. Stuart
had always cared more for politics than for law. With Logan law was the
main object, and under his guidance and encouragement Lincoln entered
upon the study and practical work of his profession in a more serious
spirit than ever before. His interest in politics continued, however,
and in truth his practice at that time was so small as to leave ample
time for both. Stuart had been twice elected to Congress, and very
naturally Lincoln, who served his party quite as faithfully, and was
fully as well known, hoped for a similar honor. He had profited greatly
by the companionship and friendly rivalry of the talented young men of
Springfield, but their talent made the prize he wished the harder to
gain. Twice he was disappointed, the nomination going to other men; but
in May, 1846, he was nominated, and in August of the same year elected,
to the Thirtieth Congress. He had the distinction of being the only Whig
member from his State, the other Illinois congressmen at that time all
being Democrats; but he proved no exception to the general rule that a
man rarely comes into notice during his first term in the National House
of Representatives. A new member has much to learn, even when, like
Lincoln, long service in a State legislature has taught him how the
business of making laws is carried on. He must find out what has been
done and is likely to be done on a multitude of subjects new to him,
must make the acquaintance of his fellow-members, must visit the
departments of government almost daily to look after the interests of
people from his State and congressional district. Legally he is elected
for a term of two years. Practically a session of five or six months
during the first year, and of three months during the second, further
reduce his opportunities more than one-half.
Lincoln did not attempt to shine forth in debate, either by a stinging
retort, or burst of inspired eloquence. He went about his task quietly
and earnestly, performing his share of duty with industry and a hearty
admiration for the ability of better-known members. "I just take my
pen," he wrote enthusiastically to a friend after listening to a speech
which pleased him much, "to say that Mr. Stephens, of Georgia, is a
little slim, pale-faced consumptive man, with a voice like Logan's, has
just concluded the very best speech of an hour's length I ever heard. My
old withered, dry eyes are full of tears yet."
During the first session of his term Lincoln made three long speeches,
carefully prepared and written out beforehand. He was neither elated
nor dismayed at the result. "As to speech-making," he wrote William H.
Herndon, who had now become his law partner, "I find speaking here and
elsewhere about the same thing. I was about as badly scared, and no
worse, as I am when I speak in court."
The next year he made no set speeches, but in addition to the usual work
of a congressman occupied himself with a bill that had for its object
the purchase and freeing of all slaves in the District of Columbia.
Slavery was not only lawful at the national capital at that time: there
was, to quote Mr. Lincoln's own graphic words, "in view from the windows
of the Capitol a sort of negro livery-stable, where droves of negroes
were collected, temporarily kept, and finally taken to Southern markets,
precisely like droves of horses."
To Lincoln and to other people who disapproved of slavery, the idea of
human beings held in bondage under the very shadow of the dome of the
Capitol seemed indeed a bitter mockery. As has already been stated, he
did not then believe Congress had the right to interfere with slavery in
States that chose to have it; but in the District of Columbia the power
of Congress was supreme, and the matter was entirely different. His
bill provided that the Federal Government should pay full value to the
slave-holders of the District for all slaves in their possession,
and should at once free the older ones. The younger ones were to be
apprenticed for a term of years, in order to make them self-supporting,
after which they also were to receive their freedom. The bill was very
carefully thought out, and had the approval of residents of the District
who held the most varied views upon slavery; but good as it was, the
measure was never allowed to come to a vote, and Lincoln went back to
Springfield, at the end of his term, feeling doubtless that his efforts
in behalf of the slaves had been all in vain.
While in Washington he lived very simply and quietly, taking little part
in the social life of the city, though cordially liked by all who made
his acquaintance. An inmate of the modest boarding-house where he had
rooms has told of the cheery atmosphere he seemed to bring with him into
the common dining-room, where political arguments were apt to run high.
He never appeared anxious to insist upon his own views; and when others,
less considerate, forced matters until the talk threatened to become too
furious, he would interrupt with an anecdote or a story that cleared the
air and ended the discussion in a general laugh. Sometimes for exercise
he would go into a bowling-alley close by, entering into the game with
great zest, and accepting defeat and victory with equal good-nature. By
the time he had finished a little circle would be gathered around him,
enjoying his enjoyment, and laughing at his quaint expressions and
sallies of wit.
His gift for jest and story-telling has become traditional. Indeed,
almost every good story that has been invented within a hundred years
has been laid at his door. As a matter of fact, though he was fond of
telling them, and told them well, he told comparatively few of the
number that have been credited to him. He had a wonderful memory, and a
fine power of making his hearers see the scene he wished to depict; but
the final charm of his stories lay in their aptness, and in the kindly
humor that left no sting behind it.
During his term in Congress the Presidential campaign of 1848 came on.
Lincoln took an active part in the nomination and election of General
Zachary Taylor--"Old Rough and Ready," as he was called--making speeches
in Maryland and Massachusetts, as well as in his own home district of
Illinois. Two letters that he wrote during this campaign have special
interest for young readers, for they show the sympathetic encouragement
he gave to young men anxious to make a place and a name for themselves
in American politics.
"Now as to the young men," he wrote. "You must not wait to be brought
forward by the older men. For instance, do you suppose that I should
ever have got into notice if I had waited to be hunted up and pushed
forward by older men? You young men get together and form a 'Rough and
Ready' club, and have regular meetings and speeches.... Let every one
play the part he can play best--some speak, some sing, and all 'holler.'
Your meetings will be of evenings; the older men, and the women, will go
to hear you; so that it will not only contribute to the election of
'Old Zach,' but will be an interesting pastime, and improving to the
intellectual faculties of all engaged."
In another letter, answering a young friend who complained of being
neglected, he said:
"Nothing could afford me more satisfaction than to learn that you and
others of my young friends at home are doing battle in the contest and
taking a stand far above any I have ever been able to reach.... I
cannot conceive that other old men feel differently. Of course I cannot
demonstrate what I say; but I was young once, and I am sure I was never
ungenerously thrust back. I hardly know what to say. The way for a young
man to rise is to improve himself every way he can, never suspecting
that anybody wishes to hinder him. Allow me to assure you that suspicion
and jealousy never did help any man in any situation. There may
sometimes be ungenerous attempts to keep a young man down; and they will
succeed, too, if he allows his mind to be diverted from its true channel
to brood over the attempted injury. Cast about and see if this feeling
has not injured every person you have ever known to fall into it."
He was about forty years old when he wrote this letter. By some people
that is not considered a very great age; but he doubtless felt himself
immensely older, as he was infinitely wiser, than his petulant young
correspondent.
General Taylor was triumphantly elected, and it then became Lincoln's
duty, as Whig member of Congress from Illinois, to recommend certain
persons to fill government offices in that State. He did this after
he returned to Springfield, for his term in Congress ended on March 4,
1849, the day that General Taylor became President. The letters that he
sent to Washington when forwarding the papers and applications of people
who wished appointment were both characteristic and amusing; for in his
desire not to mislead or to do injustice to any man, they were very apt
to say more in favor of the men he did not wish to see appointed than in
recommendation of his own particular candidates.
This absolute and impartial fairness to friend and foe alike was one of
his strongest traits, governing every action of his life. If it had not
been for this, he might possibly have enjoyed another term in Congress,
for there had been talk of reelecting him. In spite of his confession to
Speed that "being elected to Congress, though I am very grateful to our
friends for having done it, has not pleased me as much as I expected,"
this must have been flattering. But there were many able young men
in Springfield who coveted the honor, and they had entered into an
agreement among themselves that each would be content with a single
term. Lincoln of course remained faithful to this promise. His strict
keeping of promises caused him also to lose an appointment from
President Taylor as Commissioner of the General Land Office, which might
easily have been his, but for which he had agreed to recommend some
other Illinois man. A few weeks later the President offered to make him
governor of the new Territory of Oregon. This attracted him much more
than the other office had done, but he declined because his wife was
unwilling to live in a place so far away.
His career in Congress, while adding little to his fame at the time,
proved of great advantage to him in after life, for it gave him a close
knowledge of the workings of the Federal Government, and brought him
into contact with political leaders from all parts of the Union.