ended, a proposed constitutional amendment, numbered Thirteen, was agreed to by more than two-thirds of both Houses of Congress. To that proposed Amendment Lincoln made reference in one paragraph of his inaugural address:

I understand a proposed amendment to the Constitutionwhich amendment, however, I have not seen-has passed Congress, to the effect that the Federal Government shall never interfere with the domestic institutions of the States, including that of persons held to service. To avoid misconstruction of what I have said, I depart from my purpose not to speak of particular amendments so far as to say, that, holding such a provision to now be implied constitutional law, I have no objection to its being made express and irrevocable.

It was well, indeed, if this was what he meant, that he should have said this "to avoid misconstruction" of other portions of the address; for it fitted ill with the remainder of the message. Lincoln, in Springfield, in December, 1860, and again on February 9, 1861, had refused the Crittenden Compromise: Lincoln, on the steps of the capitol, on March 4, 1861, accepted this approach to the essential principle of that compromise! One fact doubtless gave him comfort; the proposed amendment did not touch the question of the extension of slavery.

How can we account for this change in Lincoln?

First, and most evident, Lincoln recognized the proposed amendment as virtually a part of the Constitution, which made it a very different thing from what it was when Crittenden had presented it. Both Houses of Congress had adopted it by the necessary two-thirds vote, and the approval of the states was an apparent certainty. Whether he liked it or not, the thing appeared to have been done.

In the next place, Lincoln had come to a much deeper realization of the gravity of the situation. He could no longer regard the crisis as "artificial" nor comfort himself nor attempt to comfort his countrymen with the information that no one as yet had been hurt. Cautious as he had intended his inaugural address to

be, all the important changes which Seward had suggested had been in the line of greater caution, and Seward was the man who had proclaimed the "irrepressible conflict." It was a time for prudent utterance. Lincoln was not responsible for the new so-called Thirteenth Amendment, but if it became a part of the Constitution, that was what he was swearing to support, and he wished no doubt to be entertained that he would keep his word.

It might almost be regarded as a grim joke of providence or fate, that the swift outbreak of war left the proposed Thirteenth Amendment to oblivion. The adoption which Lincoln and the Congress regarded as certain did not occur. Only two of the states took action with regard to it. When, later, a Thirteenth Amendment was really adopted, and that by means which Lincoln himself devised, it was a very different thing from the one Lincoln wrote about in a hastily interpolated paragraph in his inaugural address.*

Washington was filled to overflowing to witness the inauguration of the first Republican president. Every bed in the hotels was filled to its capacity, and hotel beds in those days were elastic, and many people slept upon the floors. Very early in the morning the city began to get itself into condition for the inaugural ceremonies. How anxious General Scott was, and how fearful that some tragedy might interrupt the inaugural proceedings, was shown by the fact that soldiers were stationed along the whole line of march, and riflemen were on the housetops on Pennsylvania Avenue. The president's carriage was surrounded by an armed guard.

Pennsylvania Avenue still lacks the dignity which ought to characterize the most important official thoroughfare in Amer

*How much the country hoped, and how vainly, from this proposed amendment to the Constitution may be inferred from a cartoon in Harper's Weekly for April 13, 1861. It represents Columbia, seated, and wearing the Liberty Cap, handing to Lincoln the amended Constitution. At the feet of the goddess is the American eagle, with the olive branch and no arrows in its claw. Lincoln has on the floor behind him his hat, containing the Chicago platform. With downcast look, and half-extended hand, he accepts the amendment.

ica. But it was far worse then. It was lined on each side by irregular two-story buildings, and the roadway itself was rough. The carriage containing the president and the president-elect made its way down Pennsylvania Avenue, almost hidden from view by the guard. Some observers commended General Scott for his protection of the president-elect, and others sharply criticized him for precautions which they deemed not only wholly unnecessary, but in themselves an incitement to violence.

Shortly before noon, President Buchanan drove from the White House to Willard's Hotel. He was a large, heavy man, rather awkward in his movements. His hair was gray and thin, cut shorter than was the fashion of the time. His face was full, but seamed with wrinkles. His head, which was curiously inclined toward the left shoulder, was surmounted by a lowcrowned, broad-brimmed silk hat. He wore an old-fashioned standing collar, forced up to his ears by a white cravat so huge that it resembled a poultice. He was dressed in black throughout, and his swallow-tailed coat was not cut in the latest style.

He dismounted from the open barouche of which, except for the driver, he was the only occupant, entered the front door of the Willard, and soon returned, arm in arm with Mr. Lincoln. A large and curious crowd watched while the two men entered the barouche, sat down side by side, and moved down Pennsylvania Avenue near the head of a rather disorderly and not very impressive procession.

The capitol building was not completed. Work upon it continued practically every day during the Civil War. When Buchanan and Lincoln reached the north side of the capitol, they had to pass through a long board tunnel which had been constructed for the protection of the president-elect.

The crowd was not so large as had usually attended inaugural proceedings, many staying away on account of anticipated disturbance or through lack of sympathy.

A square platform had been built out from the steps of the

eastern portico, with benches on three sides for distinguished spectators.

There was no delay; General Scott had insisted on promptness. The president-elect came forward, dressed in new tall hat, new black clothes, new black boots, and new black whiskers. He carried a new black cane, ebony, surmounted by a gold head of unusually large size. He hardly knew what to do in his painfully new clothes, and was especially troubled as to where to deposit his shiny new hat. As Lincoln rose to deliver his address, Stephen A. Douglas, who occupied a seat at the end of the benches on the right of the president, rose and took the president's hat, and held it until it was time for Lincoln to replace it on his head-an act of courtesy which was much commented on at the time, and which must not be omitted from the picture of the inauguration.

Chief Justice Taney, a cadaverous figure in black robe, stood and administered the oath of office.

No man listened to the address of the president with keener interest, or, on the whole with more complete approval, than Stephen A. Douglas. He leaned forward, taking in every word, and nodding his head in conspicuous approval of the more important passages.

Stephen A. Douglas was a politician, and knew well the tricks of his trade. He was accused of insincerity, and he may have been insincere at times. Ambitious he certainly was, and not always unselfishly so. He has suffered at the hands of those authors who have thought it necessary to disparage him in order to make Lincoln seem the greater. This is as unnecessary as it is unfair. Certainly the conduct of Douglas on the day of the inauguration and in the anxious days that followed it is worthy of all praise. Of it mention will be made again in connection with the death of this notable statesman. Suffice it to say that in the early days of his clouded administration, Abraham Lincoln had no truer friend, and that no voice was raised in more. eloquent devotion to the Union than that of Stephen A. Douglas.

In a clear, thin, high voice, that carried to the outskirts of the vast assembly that gathered on the unkempt capitol lawn, the new president read the words of his inaugural address:

Fellow Citizens of the United States: In compliance with a custom as old as the government itself, I appear before you to address you briefly, and to take in your presence the oath prescribed by the Constitution of the United States, to be taken by the President "before he enters upon the execution of his office."

Apprehension seems to exist, among the people of the Southern states, that by the accession of a Republican administration their property and their peace and personal security are to be endangered. There has never been any real cause for such apprehension. Indeed, the most ample evidence to the contrary has all the while existed and been open to their inspection. It is found in nearly all the published speeches of him who now addresses you. I do but quote from one of those speeches when I declare that "I have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the institution of slavery, in the States where it now exists. I believe I have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so." Those who nominated and elected me did so with a full knowledge that I had made this and many similar declarations, and have never recanted them.

I now reiterate those sentiments, and in doing so I only press upon the public attention the most conclusive evidence of which the case is susceptible, that the property, peace, and security of no section are to be in anywise endangered by the now incoming administration. . . .

I hold that in contemplation of universal law, and of the Constitution, the Union of the States is perpetual. Perpetuity is implied, if not expressed, in the fundamental law of all national governments. . . .

I therefore consider that, in view of the Constitution and the laws, the Union is unbroken, and to the extent of my ability I shall take care, as the Constitution itself expressly enjoins upon me, that the laws of the Union be faithfully executed in all the states. . . .

This clear and emphatic declaration left no doubt of the position of the new president; and it produced a visible sensation;