ing himself her champion. Defeated as candidate for Congress, in 1843, he was returned in 1846. About this time he patented a novel steamboat. In 1854, he sought without success to be appointed General Land Commissioner. Subsequently, he is seen engaged vigorously in State politics, opposing Judge Douglas in a debate that attracted national attention, and that gave him the nomination for the Presidency of the United States.

The face of Lincoln told the story of his life-a life of sorrow and struggle, of deep-seated sadness, of ceaseless endeavor. It would have taken no Lavater to interpret the rugged energy stamped on that uncomely plebeian face, with its great crag-like brows and bones, or to read there the deep melancholy that overshadowed every feature of it.

Even as President of the United States, at a period when the nation's peril invested the holder of the office with almost despotic power, there seems to have been in Lincoln's nature a modesty and lack of desire to rule which nothing could lessen or efface. Wielding the power of a king, he retained the modesty of a commoner.

And, surely, it is not among the least remarkable of her achievements, that American Democracy should have produced great statesmen and great soldiers, when called for by great events, who, as a rule, have been free from that dangerous ambition

which has tainted the fairest names of European history. If we have not had our age of Pericles, of Augustus or of Leo, we can boast of a history that has given us, within the period of a century, the patriotism of a Washington, a Lincoln and a Grant.

If we may believe tradition, Lincoln came from a stock which proves the hereditary source of his chief characteristics. His humor, his melancholy, his strange mingling of energy and indolence, his generosity, his unconventional character, his frugality, his tenderness, his courage, all are traceable to his ancestry as well as to the strange society which molded the boy and nerved the man to face without fear every danger that beset his path. He revealed to the old world a new type of man, of the AngloSaxon race, it is true, but modified by circumstances so novel and potent, and even dominating in their influence, as to mark a new departure in human character. Lincoln was the type and representative of the "Western man "-an evolution of family isolation, of battles with primeval forces and the most savage races of men, of the loneliness of untrodden forests, of the absence of a potent public opinion, of a state of society in which only inherent greatness of human character was respected; in which tradition and authority went for naught, and courage and will were alone recognized as having rightful domina

tion. The peculiarities of this society were not less reflected in its character than in its tastes. Thus, in Lincoln, for example, Rabelais and Machiavelli, coarse wit and political cunning, were quite as conspicuous as that tenderness and self-abnegation which recall the early history of the Christian Church. The Western man, the American of the Western prairies and forests, could in no sense be termed a colonial Englishman, as a large class of cultivated Eastern Americans might not unjustly be described. England had no mortgage on the mind or character or manners of these children of the West. The Western settlers had no respect for English traditions or teachings, whether of Church or of State. Accustomed all their lives to grapple with nature face to face, they thought and they spoke, with all the boldness of unrestrained sincerity, on every topic of human interest or of sacred memory, without the slightest recognition of any right of external authority to impose restrictions, or even to be heard in protest against their intellectual independence. As their life developed the utmost independence of creed and individuality, he whose originality was the most fearless and self-contained was chief among them.

blood of their blood and

Among such a people, bone of their bone, differ

ing from them only in stature, Abraham Lincoln arose to rule the American people with a more than

kingly power, and received from them a more than feudal loyalty.

Those who follow his life must be impressed with the equal serenity of Lincoln's temper, in moments of the darkest adversity as in the hours of his greatest triumphs. It has been said that it is casier to stand adversity than prosperity, but, however true this may be of private life, it is hardly applicable to times of stress in public affairs. I was struck with the remark of a great captain, when, in returning some compliment about America, I referred to the feats of the armies under his command. "I accept your praise of our victories," he rejoined, "but what our armies would have been in defeat I cannot say."

Lincoln's character was weighed in both balances ; and it was not found wanting. No man could have borne more nobly than he the sternest test of defeat. At these moments of extreme tension, his character alone came to his rescue.

He was melancholy without being morbid-a leading characteristic of men of genuine humor; and it was this sense of humor that often enabled him to endure the most cruel strokes, that called for his sense of pity and cast a gloom over his official life. On these occasions he would relieve himself by comparing trifles with great things and great things with trifles. No story was too trivial or even too coarse

for his purpose; provided that it aptly illustrated his ideas or served his policy. To this peculiar tendency of mind we owe the many stories and quaint sayings which lend to every recollection of Lincoln a strange and uncommon interest.

I know no better illustration of the peculiar rapidity with which he would pass from one side of his nature to the other than a reminiscence for which I am indebted to Governor Curtin of Pennsylvania, who, at the time, was one of the leading "War Governors." He was summoned to see Lincoln, at the White House, on arriving after midnight from the battle-field of Fredericksburg, where he had been inspecting the wounded and surveying this field of national disaster. Lincoln showed much anxiety about the wounded, and asked many questions about the battle.

Governor Curtin replied, "Mr. President, it was not a battle, it was a butchery," and proceeded to give a graphic description of the scenes he had witnessed. Lincoln was heart-broken at the recital, and soon reached a state of nervous excitement bordering on insanity.

Finally, as the Governor was leaving the room, he went forward, and, taking the President by the hand, tenderly expressed his sympathy for his sorrow. He said, "Mr. President, I am deeply touched by your sorrow, and at the distress I have caused you.