Lincoln again in Springfield--Back to the Circuit--His Personal
Manners and Appearance--Glimpses of Home-Life--His Family--His
Absent-Mindedness--A Painful Subject--Lincoln a Man of
Sorrows--Familiar Appearance on the Streets of Springfield--Scenes
in the Law-Office--Forebodings of a "Great or Miserable End "--An
Evening with Lincoln in Chicago--Lincoln's Tenderness to His
Relatives--Death of His Father--A Sensible Adviser--Care of His
Step-Mother--Tribute from Her.
Retiring, somewhat reluctantly, from Washington life, which he seems to
have liked very much, Lincoln returned to Springfield in 1849 and
resumed the practice of the law. He declined an advantageous offer of a
law-partnership at Chicago, made him by Judge Goodrich, giving as a
reason that if he went to Chicago he would have to sit down and study
hard, and this would kill him; that he would rather go around the
circuit in the country than to sit down and die in a big city. So he
settled down once more in the rather uneventful and fairly prosperous
life of a country lawyer.
A gentleman who knew Lincoln intimately in Springfield, in his maturity,
has given the following capital description of him. "He stands six feet
four inches high in his stockings. His frame is not muscular, but gaunt
and wiry; his arms are long, but not disproportionately so for a person
of his height; his lower limbs are not disproportioned to his body. In
walking, his gait, though firm, is never brisk. He steps slowly and
deliberately, almost always with his head inclined forward and his hands
clasped behind his back. In matters of dress he is by no means precise.
Always clean, he is never fashionable; he is careless, but not slovenly.
In manner he is remarkably cordial and at the same time simple. His
politeness is always sincere but never elaborate and oppressive. A warm
shake of the hand and a warmer smile of recognition are his methods of
greeting his friends. At rest, his features, though those of a man of
mark, are not such as belong to a handsome man; but when his fine dark
gray eyes are lighted up by any emotion, and his features begin their
play, he would be chosen from among a crowd as one who had in him not
only the kindly sentiments which women love but the heavier metal of
which full-grown men and Presidents are made. His hair is black, and,
though thin, is wiry. His head sits well on his shoulders, but beyond
that it defies description. It nearer resembles that of Clay than that
of Webster; but it is unlike either. It is very large, and
phrenologically well proportioned, betokening power in all its
developments. A slightly Roman nose, a wide-cut mouth, and a dark
complexion, with the appearance of having been weather-beaten, complete
the description."
Of Lincoln's life at this period, another writer says: "He lived simply,
comfortably, and respectably, with neither expensive tastes nor habits.
His wants were few and simple. He occupied a small unostentatious house
in Springfield, and was in the habit of entertaining, in a very simple
way, his friends and his brethren of the bar during the terms of the
court and the sessions of the Legislature. Mrs. Lincoln often
entertained small numbers of friends at dinner and somewhat larger
numbers at evening parties. In his modest and simple home everything was
orderly and refined, and there was always, on the part of both Mr. and
Mrs. Lincoln, a cordial and hearty Western welcome which put every guest
at ease. Yet it was the wit and humor, anecdote, and unrivalled
conversation of the host which formed the chief attraction and made a
dinner at Lincoln's cottage an event to be remembered. Lincoln's income
from his profession was now from $2,000 to $3,000 per annum. His
property consisted of his house and lot in Springfield, a lot in the
town of Lincoln which had been given to him, and 160 acres of wild land
in Iowa which he had received for his services in the Black Hawk War. He
owned a few law and miscellaneous books. All his property may have been
of the value of $10,000 or $12,000."
Lincoln was at this time the father of two sons: Robert Todd, born on
the 1st day of August, 1843; and Edward Baker, born on the 10th of
March, 1846. In a letter to his friend Speed, dated October 22 of the
latter year, Lincoln writes: "We have another boy, born the 10th of
March. He is very much such a child as Bob was at his age, rather of a
_longer_ order. Bob is 'short and low,' and I expect he always will be.
He talks very plainly, almost as plainly as anybody. He is quite smart
enough. I sometimes fear he is one of the little _rare-ripe_ sort that
are smarter at about five than ever after. He has a great deal of that
sort of mischief that is the offspring of much animal spirits. Since I
began this letter a messenger came to tell me Bob was lost; but by the
time I reached the house his mother had found him and had him whipped.
By now, very likely, he is run away again."
December 21, 1850, a third son, William Wallace, was born to him; and on
April 4, 1853, a fourth and last child, named Thomas.
"A young man bred in Springfield," says Dr. Holland, "speaks of a vision
of Lincoln, as he appeared in those days, that has clung to his memory
very vividly. The young man's way to school led by the lawyer's door. On
almost any fair summer morning he would find Lincoln on the sidewalk in
front of his house, drawing a child backward and forward in a little
gig. Without hat or coat, wearing a pair of rough shoes, his hands
behind him holding to the tongue of the gig, and his tall form bent
forward to accommodate himself to the service, he paced up and down the
walk forgetful of everything around him and intent only on some subject
that absorbed his mind. The young man says he remembers wondering in his
boyish way how so rough and plain a man should happen to live in so
respectable a house. The habit of mental absorption, or
'absent-mindedness' as it is called, was common with him always, but
particularly during the formative periods of his life. The New Salem
people, it will be remembered, thought him crazy because he passed his
best friends in the street without seeing them. At the table, in his own
family, he often sat down without knowing or realizing where he was, and
ate his food mechanically. When he 'came to himself' it was a trick with
him to break the silence by the quotation of some verse of poetry from a
favorite author. It relieved the awkwardness of the situation, served as
a 'blind' to the thoughts which had possessed him, and started
conversation in a channel that led as far as possible from the subject
that he had set aside."
Mr. Lamon has written with great freedom of the sorrow that brooded over
Lincoln's home. Some knowledge of the blight which this cast upon his
life is necessary for a right interpretation of the gloomy moods that
constantly oppressed him and left their indelible impress on his face
and character. Mr. Lamon states unreservedly that Lincoln's marriage was
an unhappy one. The circumstances preceding his union with Miss Todd
have been related. Mr. Lamon says: "He was conscientious and honorable
and just. There was but one way of repairing the injury he had done Miss
Todd, and he adopted it. They were married; but they understood each
other, and suffered the inevitable consequences. Such troubles seldom
fail to find a tongue; and it is not strange that in this case neighbors
and friends, and ultimately the whole country, came to know the state of
things in that house. Lincoln scarcely attempted to conceal it. He
talked of it with little or no reserve to his wife's relatives, as well
as to his own friends. Yet the gentleness and patience with which he
bore this affliction from day to day and from year to year was enough to
move the shade of Socrates. It touched his acquaintances deeply, and
they gave it the widest publicity." Mrs. Colonel Chapman, daughter of
Dennis Hanks and a relative of Lincoln, made him a long visit previous
to her marriage. "You ask me," says she, "how Mr. Lincoln acted at home.
I can say, and that truly, he was all that a husband, father, and
neighbor should be, kind and affectionate to his wife and child ('Bob'
being the only one they had when I was with them), and very pleasant to
all around him. Never did I hear him utter an unkind word."
It seems impossible to arrive at all the causes of Lincoln's melancholy
disposition. He was, according to his most intimate friends, totally
unlike other people,--was, in fact, "a mystery." But whatever the
history or the cause,--whether physical reasons, the absence of domestic
concord, a series of painful recollections of his mother, of early
sorrows and hardships, of Anne Rutledge and fruitless hopes, or all
these combined,--Lincoln was a terribly sad and gloomy man. "I do not
think that he knew what happiness was for twenty years," says Mr.
Herndon. "'_Terrible_' is the word which all his friends used to
describe him in the black mood. 'It was terrible! It was terrible!' said
one to another." Judge Davis believes that Lincoln's hilarity was mainly
simulated, and that "his stories and jokes were intended to whistle off
sadness." "The groundwork of his social nature was sad," says Judge
Scott. "But for the fact that he studiously cultivated the humorous, it
would have been very sad indeed. His mirth always seemed to me to be put
on; like a plant produced in a hot-bed, it had an unnatural and
luxuriant growth." Mr. Herndon, Lincoln's law-partner and most intimate
friend, describes him at this period as a "thin, tall, wiry, sinewy,
grizzly, raw-boned man, looking 'woe-struck.' His countenance was
haggard and careworn, exhibiting all the marks of deep and protracted
suffering. Every feature of the man--the hollow eyes, with the dark
rings beneath; the long, sallow, cadaverous face intersected by those
peculiar deep lines; his whole air; his walk; his long silent reveries,
broken at long intervals by sudden and startling exclamations, as if to
confound an observer who might suspect the nature of his
thoughts,--showed he was a man of sorrows, not sorrows of to-day or
yesterday, but long-treasured and deep, bearing with him a continual
sense of weariness and pain. He was a plain, homely, sad, weary-looking
man, to whom one's heart warmed involuntarily because he seemed at once
miserable and kind."
Mr. Page Eaton, an old resident of Springfield, says: "Lincoln always
did his own marketing, even after he was elected President and before
he went to Washington. I used to see him at the butcher's or baker's
every morning, with his basket on his arm. He was kind and sociable,
and would always speak to everyone. He was so kind, so childlike, that
I don't believe there was one in the city who didn't love him as a
father or brother." "On a winter's morning," says Mr. Lamon, "he could
be seen wending his way to the market, with a basket on his arm and at
his side a little boy whose small feet rattled and pattered over the
ice-bound pavement, attempting to make up by the number of his short
steps for the long strides of his father. The little fellow jerked at
the bony hand which held his, and prattled and questioned, begged and
grew petulant, in a vain effort to make his father talk to him. But
the latter was probably unconscious of the other's existence, and
stalked on, absorbed in his own reflections. He wore on such occasions
an old gray shawl, rolled into a coil and wrapped like a rope around
his neck. The rest of his clothes were in keeping. 'He did not walk
cunningly--Indian-like--but cautiously and firmly.' His tread was even
and strong. He was a little pigeon-toed; and this, with another
peculiarity, made his walk very singular. He set his whole foot flat
on the ground, and in turn lifted it all at once--not resting
momentarily upon the toe as the foot rose nor upon the heel as it
fell. He never wore his shoes out at the heel and the toe, as most men
do, more than at the middle. Yet his gait was not altogether awkward,
and there was manifest physical power in his step. As he moved along
thus, silent and abstracted, his thoughts dimly reflected in his sharp
face, men turned to look after him as an object of sympathy as well as
curiosity. His melancholy, in the words of Mr. Herndon, '_dripped from
him_ as he walked.' If, however, he met a friend in the street, and
was roused by a hearty 'Good-morning, Lincoln!' he would grasp the
friend's hand with one or both of his own, and with his usual
expression of 'Howdy! howdy!' would detain him to hear a story;
something reminded him of it; it happened in Indiana, and it must be
told, for it was wonderfully pertinent. It was not at home that he
most enjoyed seeing company. He preferred to meet his friends
abroad,--on a street-corner, in an office, at the court-house, or
sitting on nail-kegs in a country store." Mrs. Lincoln experienced
great difficulty in securing the punctual attendance of her husband at
the family meals. Dr. Bateman has repeatedly seen two of the boys
pulling with all their might at his coat-tails, and a third pushing in
front, while _paterfamilias_ stood upon the street cordially shaking
the hand of an old acquaintance.
After his breakfast-hour, says Mr. Lamon, he would appear at his office
and go about the labors of the day with all his might, displaying
prodigious industry and capacity for continuous application, although he
never was a fast worker. Sometimes it happened that he came without his
breakfast; and then he would have in his hands a piece of cheese or
bologna sausage, and a few crackers, bought by the way. At such times he
did not speak to his partner, or his friends if any happened to be
present; the tears perhaps struggling into his eyes, while his pride was
struggling to keep them back. Mr. Herndon knew the whole story at a
glance. There was no speech between them, but neither wished the
visitors at the office to witness the scene. So Lincoln retired to the
back office while Mr. Herndon locked the front one and walked away with
the key in his pocket. In an hour or more the latter would return and
perhaps find Lincoln calm and collected. Otherwise he went out again and
waited until he was so. Then the office was opened and everything went
on as usual.
"His mind was filled with gloomy forebodings and strong apprehensions of
impending evil, mingled with extravagant visions of personal grandeur
and power. He never doubted for a moment that he was formed for some
'great or miserable end.' He talked about it frequently and sometimes
calmly. Mr. Herndon remembers many of these conversations in their
office at Springfield and in their rides around the circuit. Lincoln
said the impression had grown in him all his life; but Mr. Herndon
thinks it was about 1840 that it took the character of a 'religious
conviction.' He had then suffered much, and considering his
opportunities he had achieved great things. He was already a leader
among men, and a most brilliant career had been promised him by the
prophetic enthusiasm of many friends. Thus encouraged and stimulated,
and feeling himself growing gradually stronger and stronger in the
estimation of 'the plain people' whose voice was more potent than all
the Warwicks, his ambition painted the rainbow of glory in the sky,
while his morbid melancholy supplied the clouds that were to overcast
and obliterate it with the wrath and ruin of the tempest. To him it was
fate, and there was no escape or defense. The presentiment never
deserted him. It was as clear, as perfect, as certain as any image
conveyed by the senses. He had now entertained it so long that it was as
much a part of his nature as the consciousness of identity. All doubts
had faded away, and he submitted humbly to a power which he could
neither comprehend nor resist. He was to fall,--fall from a lofty place
and in the performance of a great work."
On one occasion Lincoln visited Chicago as counsel in a case in the
U.S. District Court. The Hon. N.B. Judd, an intimate friend, was also
engaged upon the case, and took Mr. Lincoln home with him as a guest.
The following account of this visit is given by Mrs. Judd in Oldroyd's
Memorial Album: "Mr. Judd had invited Mr. Lincoln to spend the evening
at our pleasant home on the shore of Lake Michigan. After tea, and until
quite late, we sat on the broad piazza, looking out upon as lovely a
scene as that which has made the Bay of Naples so celebrated. A number
of vessels were availing themselves of a fine breeze to leave the
harbor, and the lake was studded with many a white sail. I remember that
a flock of sea-gulls were flying along the beach, dipping their beaks
and white-lined wings in the foam that capped the short waves as they
fell upon the shore. Whilst we sat there the great white moon appeared
on the rim of the eastern horizon and slowly crept above the water,
throwing a perfect flood of silver light upon the dancing waves. The
stars shone with the soft light of a midsummer night, and the breaking
of the low waves upon the shore added the charm of pleasant sound to the
beauty of the night. Mr. Lincoln, whose home was far inland from the
great lakes, seemed greatly impressed with the wondrous beauty of the
scene, and carried by its impressiveness away from all thought of jars
and turmoil of earth. In that mild, pleasant voice, attuned to harmony
with his surroundings, as was his wont when his soul was stirred by
aught that was lovely or beautiful, Mr. Lincoln began to speak of the
mystery which for ages enshrouded and shut out those distant worlds
above us from our own; of the poetry and beauty which was seen and felt
by seers of old when they contemplated Orion and Arcturus as they
wheeled, seemingly around the earth, in their nightly course; of the
discoveries since the invention of the telescope, which had thrown a
flood of light and knowledge on what before was incomprehensible and
mysterious; of the wonderful computations of scientists who had measured
the miles of seemingly endless space which separated the planets in our
solar system from our central sun, and our sun from other suns. He
speculated on the possibilities of knowledge which an increased power of
the lens would give in the years to come. When the night air became too
chilling to remain longer on the piazza we went into the parlor. Seated
on the sofa, his long limbs stretching across the carpet and his arms
folded behind him, Mr. Lincoln went on to speak of other discoveries, of
the inventions which had been made during the long cycles of time lying
between the present and those early days when the sons of Adam began to
make use of material things about them and invent instruments of various
kinds in brass and gold and silver. He gave us a short but succinct
account of all the inventions referred to in the Old Testament, from the
time when Adam walked in the garden of Eden until the Bible record
ended, 600 B.C. I said, 'Mr. Lincoln, I did not know you were such a
Bible student.' He replied: 'I must be honest, Mrs. Judd, and tell you
just how I come to know so much about these early inventions.' He then
went on to say that in discussing with some friend the relative age of
the discovery and use of the precious metals he went to the Bible to
satisfy himself and became so interested in his researches that he made
memoranda of the different discoveries and inventions. Soon after, he
was invited to lecture before some literary society, I think in
Bloomington. The interest he had felt in the study convinced him that
the subject would interest others, and he therefore prepared and
delivered his lecture on The Age of Different Inventions. 'Of course,'
he added, 'I could not after that forget the order or time of such
discoveries and inventions.'"
In all the years that had passed since Lincoln left his father's humble
house, he had preserved an affectionate interest in the welfare of its
various members. He paid them visits whenever he could find opportunity,
and never failed to extend his aid and sympathy whenever needed. He had
risen to success in his profession, was widely known throughout his
section, and though still a poor man he had good prospects and
considerable influence. Yet he ever retained a considerate regard and
remembrance for the poor and obscure relatives he had left plodding in
the humble ways of life. He never assumed the slightest superiority to
them. Whenever, upon his circuit, he found time, he always visited them.
Countless times he was known to leave his companions at the village
hotel after a hard day's work in the court-room and spend the evening
with these old friends and companions of his humbler days. On one
occasion, when urged not to go, he replied, "Why, Aunt's heart would be
broken if I should leave town without calling upon her,"--yet he was
obliged to walk several miles to make the call. As his fortunes improved
he often sent money and presents to his father and step-mother, bought
land for them, and tried in every way to make them comfortable and
happy. The father was gratified at these marks of affection, and felt
great pride in the rising prosperity of his son. Mr. Herndon says that
"for years Lincoln supported or helped to support his aged father and
mother. It is to his honor that he dearly loved his step-mother, and it
is equally true that she idolized her step-son. He purchased a piece of
property in Coles County as a home for his father and mother, and had
it deeded in trust for their use and benefit."
In 1851 Lincoln's father died, at the age of seventy-three. The
following letter, written a few days before this event, reveals the
affectionate solicitude of the son:
Springfield, Jan. 12,1851.
DEAR BROTHER:--On the day before yesterday I received a letter from
Harriet, written at Greenup. She says she has just returned from
your house, and that father is very low and will hardly recover.
She also says that you have written me two letters, and that,
although you do not expect me to come now, you wonder that I do not
write. I received both your letters; and although I have not
answered them, it is not because I have forgotten them, or not been
interested about them, but because it appeared to me I could write
nothing which could do any good. You already know I desire that
neither father nor mother shall be in want of any comfort, either
in health or sickness, while they live; and I feel sure you have
not failed to use my name, if necessary, to procure a doctor or
anything else for father in his present sickness. My business is
such that I could hardly leave home now, if it were not, as it is,
that my wife is sick a-bed. I sincerely hope father may yet recover
his health; but, at all events, tell him to remember to call upon
and confide in our great and good and merciful Maker, who will not
turn away from him in any extremity. He notes the fall of a
sparrow, and numbers the hairs of our heads; and He will not forget
the dying man who puts his trust in Him. Say to him, that if we
could meet now it is doubtful whether it would not be more painful
than pleasant; but that if it be his lot to go now he will soon
have a joyous meeting with loved ones gone before, and where the
rest of us, through the help of God, hope ere long to join them.
Write me again when you receive this.
Affectionately,
A. LINCOLN.
The step-brother, John Johnston, to whom the foregoing letter is
addressed, was the cause of considerable anxiety to Lincoln. It was with
him that their parents resided, and frequent were his appeals to
Lincoln to extricate him from some pecuniary strait into which he had
fallen through his confirmed thriftlessness and improvidence. "John
Johnston," Mr. Herndon says, "was an indolent and shiftless man, one who
was 'born tired.' Yet he was clever, generous and hospitable." The
following document affords a hint of Lincoln's kindly patience as well
as of his capacity for sound practical advice when it was much needed:
DEAR JOHNSTON:--Your request for eighty dollars I do not think it
best to comply with now. At the various times when I have helped
you a little you have said to me, 'We can get along very well now';
but in a very short time I find you in the same difficulty again.
Now, this can only happen by some defect in your conduct. What that
defect is, I think I know. You are not lazy, and still you are an
idler. I doubt whether, since I saw you, you have done a good whole
day's work in any one day. You do not very much dislike to work,
and still you do not work much, merely because it does not seem to
you that you could get much for it. This habit of uselessly wasting
time is the whole difficulty; and it is vastly important to you,
and still more so to your children, that you should break the
habit. It is more important to them, because they have longer to
live, and can keep out of an idle habit before they are in it
easier than they can get out after they are in. You are now in need
of some money; and what I propose is that you shall go to work,
'tooth and nail,' for somebody who will give you money for it. Let
father and your boys take charge of things at home, prepare for a
crop, and make the crop, and you go to work for the best
money-wages, or in discharge of any debt you owe, that you can get;
and, to secure you a fair reward for your labor, I now promise you,
that, for every dollar you will, between this and the first of next
May, get for your own labor, either in money or as your own
indebtedness, I will then give you one other dollar. By this, if
you hire yourself at ten dollars a month, from me you will get ten
more, making twenty dollars a month for your work. In this I do not
mean you shall go off to St. Louis, or the lead-mines, or the
gold-mines in California; but I mean for you to go at it, for the
best wages you can get, close to home, in Coles County. Now, if you
will do this you will soon be out of debt, and, what is better, you
will have a habit that will keep you from getting in debt again.
But if I should now clear you out of debt, next year you would be
in just as deep as ever. You say you would almost give your place
in heaven for $70 or $80. Then you value your place in heaven very
cheap; for I am sure you can, with the offer I make, get the
seventy or eighty dollars for four or five months' work. You say,
if I will furnish you the money, you will deed me the land, and if
you don't pay the money back, you will deliver possession.
Nonsense! If you can't now live with the land, how will you then
live without it? You have always been kind to me, and I do not mean
to be unkind to you. On the contrary, if you will but follow my
advice, you will find it worth more than eighty times eighty
dollars to you.
Affectionately your brother,
A. LINCOLN.
In other letters he wrote even more sharply to his thriftless
step-brother.
Shelbyville, Nov. 4, 1851
DEAR BROTHER:--When I came into Charleston, day before yesterday, I
learned that you are anxious to sell the land where you live, and
move to Missouri. I have been thinking of this ever since, and
cannot but think such a notion is utterly foolish. What can you do
in Missouri better than here? Is the land any richer? Can you
there, any more than here, raise corn and wheat and oats without
work? Will any body there, any more than here, do your work for
you? If you intend to go to work, there is no better place than
right where you are; if you do not intend to go to work, you can
not get along anywhere. Squirming and crawling about from place to
place can do no good. You have raised no crop this year; and what
you really want is to sell the land, get the money and spend it.
Part with the land you have, and, my life upon it, you will never
after own a spot big enough to bury you in. Half of what you will
get for the land you will spend in moving to Missouri, and the
other half you will eat and drink and wear out, and no foot of
land will be bought. Now, I feel it is my duty to have no hand in
such a piece of foolery. I feel that it is so even on your own
account, and particularly on mother's account. The eastern forty
acres I intend to keep for mother while she lives; if you will not
cultivate it, it will rent for enough to support her; at least, it
will rent for something. Her dower in the other two forties she can
let you have, and no thanks to me. Now, do not misunderstand this
letter. I do not write it in any unkindness. I write it in order,
if possible, to get you to face the truth, which truth is, you are
destitute because you have idled away all your time. Your thousand
pretences for not getting along better are all nonsense. They
deceive nobody but yourself. _Go to work_ is the only cure for your
case.
Sincerely yours,
A. LINCOLN.
In still another letter he reveals his tender solicitude for his
step-mother, as well as his care for his step-brother's unfortunate
children.
Shelbyville, Nov. 9, 1851
DEAR BROTHER:--When I wrote you before, I had not received your
letter. I still think as I did; but if the land can be sold so that
I get $300 to put at interest for mother, I will not object, if she
does not. But before I will make a deed, the money must be had, or
secured beyond all doubt, at ten per cent. As to Abram, I do not
want him on my own account; but I understand he wants to live with
me, so that he can go to school, and get a fair start in the world,
which I very much wish him to have. When I reach home, if I can
make it convenient I will take him, provided there is no mistake
between us as to the object and terms of my taking him.
In haste, as ever,
A. LINCOLN.
In speaking of Lincoln's regard for his step-mother, it is interesting
also to learn her opinion of him. A gentleman visiting the old lady
after her son's death says: "She is eighty-four years old, and quite
feeble. She is a plain, unsophisticated old lady, with a frank, open
countenance, a warm heart full of kindness toward others, and in many
respects very much like the President. Abraham was evidently her idol;
she speaks of him still as her 'good boy,' and with much feeling said,
'He was always a good boy, and willing to do just what I wanted. He and
his step-brother never quarrelled but once, and that, you know, is a
great deal for step-brothers. I didn't want him elected President. I
knowed they would kill him.'" She died in April, 1869, and was buried by
the side of her husband, Thomas Lincoln.