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"3. And that Abraham Lincoln may have been re-elected President."

"I think," replied he, with a smile, "I would be glad to accept the first two as a compromise."

General Grant, in a letter, remarkable for that clear good-sense and practical judgment for which he is distinguished, condensed into a single sentence the political argument in favor of the Constitutional Amendment. "The North and South," said he, "can never live at peace with each other except as one nation and that without slavery."





I would be glad to quote from this great debate, but must confine myself to a brief extract from the speech of the present President, then a member of the House. He began by saying, “Mr. Speaker, we shall never know why slavery dies so hard in this republic, and in this hall, until we know why sin outlives disaster and Satan is immortal." How well do I remember," he continued, "the history of that distinguished predecessor of mine, Joshua R. Giddings, lately gone to his rest, who, with his forlorn hope of faithful men, took his life in his hands, and, in the name of justice, protested against the great crime, and who stood bravely in his place until his white locks, like the plume of Henry of Navarre, marked where the battle of freedom raged fiercest." "In its mad arrogance, slavery lifted its hand against the Union, and since that fatal day it has been a fugitive and a vagabond upon the earth.”


Up to the last roll-call, on the question of the passage

of the resolution, we were uncertain and anxious about the result. We needed Democratic votes. We knew we should get some, but whether enough to carry the measure none could surely tell.

As the Clerk called the names of members so perfect was the silence, that the sound of a hundred pencils keeping tally could be heard through the Hall.

Finally, when the call was completed, an! the Speaker announced that the resolution was adopted, the result was received by an uncontrollable burst of enthusiasm. Members and spectators (especially the galleries, which were crowded with convalescent soldiers) shouted and cheered, and, before the Speaker could obtain quiet, the roar of artillery on Capitol Hill proclaimed to the city of Washington, the passage of the resolution. Congress adjourned, and we hastened to the White House to congratulate the President on the event.

He made one of his happiest speeches. In his own peculiar words, he said, “The great job is finished.” “I can not but congratulate," said he, "all present, myself, the country, and the whole world, on this great moral victory."


And now, with an attempt to sketch very briefly some of his peculiar personal characteristics, I must close.

This great Hercules of a man had a heart as kind and tender as a woman. Sterner men thought it a weakness. It saddened him to see others suffer, and he shrunk from inflicting pain. Let me illustrate his kindness and tenderness by one or two incidents. One sum



mer's day, walking along the shaded path leading from the Executive mansion to the War-office, I saw the tall, awkward form of the President seated on the grass under a tree. A wounded soldier, seeking back-pay and a pension, had met the President, and, having recognized him, asked his counsel. Lincoln sat down, examined the papers of the soldier, and told him what to do, sent him. to the proper bureau with a note, which secured prompt


After the terribly destructive battles between Grant and Lee, in the Wilderness of Virginia, after days of dreadful slaughter, the lines of ambulances, conveying the wounded from the steamers on the Potomac to the great field hospitals on the heights around Washington, would be continuous,-one unbroken line from the wharf to the hospital. At such a time, I have seen the President in his carriage, driving slowly along the line, and he looked like one who had lost the dearest members of his own family. On one such occasion, meeting me, he stopped and said, “I cannot bear this; this suffering, this loss of life-is dreadful."

I recalled to him a line from a letter he had years. before written to a friend, whose great sorrow he had sought to console. Reminding him of the incident, I asked him, "So you remember writing to your suffering friend these words:

"And this too shall pass away,

Never fear. Victory will come."

In all his State papers and speeches during these years of strife and passion, there can be found no words

of bitterness, no denunciation. When others railed, he railed not again. He was always dignified, magnanimous, patient, considerate, manly, and true. His duty was ever performed "with malice toward none, with charity for all," and with "firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right."


Lincoln was never a demagogue. He respected and loved the people, but never flattered them. No man ever heard him allude to his humble life and manual labor, in a way to obtain votes. None knew better than he, that splitting rails did not qualify a man for public duties. He realized painfully the defects of his education, and labored diligently and successfully to supply his deficiencies.


He had no equal as a talker in social life. His conversation was fascinating and attractive. He was full of wit, humor, and anecdote, and at the same time, original, suggestive, and instructive. There was in his character a singular mingling of mirthfulness and melancholy. While his sense of the ludicrous was keen, and his fun and mirth were exuberant, and sometimes almost irrepressible, his conversation sparkling with jest, story, and anecdote, and in droll description, he would pass suddenly to another mood, and become sad and pathetic; a melancholy expression of his homely face would show that he was "a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief."




The newspapers in America have always been full of Lincoln's stories and anecdotes, some true and many fabulous.

He always had a story ready, and, if not, he could improvise one, just fitted for the occasion. The following may, I think, be said to have been adapted:

An Atlantic port, in one of the British provinces, was, during the war, a great resort and refuge for blockade-runners, and a large contraband trade was said to have been carried on from that port with the Confederates. Late in the summer of 1864, while the election of President was pending, Lincoln being a candidate, the Governor-General of that province, with some of the principal officers, visited Washington, and called to pay their respects to the Executive. Mr. Lincoln had been very much annoyed by the failure of these officials to enforce very strictly the rules of neutrality, but he treated his guests with great courtesy. After a pleasant interview, the Governor, alluding to the approaching presidential election, said, jokingly, but with a grain of sarcasm, "I understand, Mr. President, everybody votes in this country. If we remain until November, can we vote?"

"You remind me," replied the President, "of a countryman of yours, a green emigrant from Ireland. Pat arrived in New York on election day, and was, perhaps, as eager as Your Excellency, to vote, and to vote early and late and often. So, upon his landing at Castle Garden, he hastened to the nearest voting place, and, as he

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