She was almost un

This was the widow of Abraham Lincoln. noticed. She had come alone across the ocean, but a nephew met her at quarantine. She had spent the last four years in the south of France. When the gang-plank was swung aboard, Mme. Bernhardt and her companions, including Mme. Columbier of the troupe, were the first to descend. The fellow voyagers of the actress pressed upon her to bid her adieu, and a cheer was raised which turned her head and provoked an astonished smile as she stepped upon the wharf. The gates were besieged, and there was some difficulty on bringing the carriage, which was to convey the actress to the hotel. She temporarily waited in the freight-office at the entrance to the wharf. Mrs. Lincoln, leaning upon the arm of her nephew, walked toward the gate. A policeman touched the aged lady on the shoulder, and bade her stand back. She retreated with her nephew into the line of spectators, while Manager Abbey's carriage was slowly brought in. Mme. Bernhardt was handed into the carriage which made its way out through a mass of struggling longshoremen and idlers who pressed about it, and stared in at the open windows. After it, went out the others who had been passengers on the Amerique, Mrs. Lincoln among the rest.

This is a story to bring tears to the eyes and rouse the soul to righteous indignation. And there is good reason to believe that it is literally true.

Mrs. Lincoln returned to Springfield, and to the home of her sister, Mrs. Edwards. It was the home in which she had first met Abraham Lincoln, and the home in which they were married.

The days were mercifully shortened. She died of paralysis on July 16, 1882. The attending physician made a post-mortem examination, and issued a statement that for years she had been the victim of a cerebral disease. This ought to have been a sufficient explanation of all that needed to be explained of her violence of temper and her unfortunate words and doings.

This is the statement of her physician, Doctor Thomas W. Dresser:

In the late years of her life, certain mental peculiarities were developed which finally culminated in a slight apoplexy, produc

ing paralysis, of which she died. Among the peculiarities alluded to, one of the most singular was the habit she had during the last year or so of her life of immuring herself in a perfectly dark room, and, for light, using a small candle light, even when the sun was shining bright out of doors. No urging would induce her to go out into the fresh air. Another peculiarity was the accumulation of large quantities of silks and dress goods in trunks and by the cart-load, which she never used and which accumulated until it was really feared that the floor of the store room would give way. She was bright and sparkling in conversation, and her memory remained singularly good up to the very close of her life. Her face was animated and pleasing; and to me she was always an interesting woman; and while the whole world. was finding fault with her temper and disposition, it was clear to me that the trouble was really a cerebral disease.

Mrs. Lincoln was a sadly abused woman. After all has been said that may truthfully be said about her unhappy disposition, three facts seem true beyond any reasonable question.

The first of these is that Abraham Lincoln loved his wife. There is no adequate evidence either that Lincoln loved Ann Rutledge so devoutly as to be incapable of loving another woman, or that the demonstrations of Mrs. Lincoln's vehement nature destroyed his affection for the mother of his children. While she was often a trial to him, and he as frequently a trial to her, he was proud of her, exhibited a tender solicitude for her comfort, and in many ways manifested a sincere affection for her.

The second truth is that Mary Lincoln loved her husband. If she had not loved him there was no need of her marrying him, for many men sought her hand when she was at liberty to choose among the most brilliant men of Springfield. While he offended her by his lack of polish and his ignorance of social usage, he still realized in large measure her ambitious dreams of what her husband might be, and the position to which his success would and did evidently elevate her.

The third truth is that Mrs. Lincoln was loyal to the nation. She was exposed to constant suspicion and was made the object

of cruel calumny. There is no shred of direct evidence of any disloyal word or act upon her part. Most of her blood relations were on the side of the Confederacy. Her brothers were Confederate officers. Her sisters were the wives of Confederate soldiers. Her heart must have been torn in her divided personal sympathies; but through it all there is one continuous line of testimony unbroken by any credible record of any disloyal word or treasonable act. She deserves very high commendation for a loyalty which under very trying circumstances she unfalteringly maintained.

CHAPTER XXXI

MR. LINCOLN

IN THE several places associated with the life-work of Lincoln there still remain small and diminishing groups of those who remember to have met him or to have heard him speak. In every such place visited by the author in the years in which this book has been in preparation, it has been his endeavor to search out these men and women and to hear from their own lips what they remember about Lincoln. Extensive correspondence has supplemented this method of inquiry, and I suppose myself to be personally acquainted with no inconsiderable fraction of the total number of men and women now living who knew Abraham Lincoln. A somewhat recent visit to Bloomington brought together, for conference with me, the entire group of men now living who remember to have heard Abraham Lincoln's lost speech. A large meeting held both morning and afternoon with a picnic dinner between, brought to the churchyard where Thomas and Sally Lincoln are buried, practically all the people who remember Lincoln's father and Lincoln's last visit to his father's grave. Anniversary celebrations of the Lincoln and Douglas debates have gathered to these seven cities the people who were present in each of them at these battles of the giants. Innumerable have been my visits to Springfield, in which city less than fifty people now living can be said to remember Abraham Lincoln. This, among other things, impressed me as I moved among the men who had really known Lincoln. They did not speak of him as "President Lincoln," nor as "Abraham Lincoln," much less did they use that offensive affectation of familiarity and call him

"Abe Lincoln." They had not learned the simple tribute which the world pays to its supremely great men, in dropping all titles and given names and referring to them simply as "Napoleon,' "Gladstone," or "Washington"; they did not call him "Lincoln.” In general they referred to him as "Mr. Lincoln."

There are titles enough by which we might call him. He held a commission in the army and might have been called Captain Lincoln. He received from a reputable college and later from a great university, the title of Doctor of Laws, and it would be legitimate to call him Doctor Lincoln. The free courtesy of the courts and the fact that occasionally he sat upon the bench, would have given to many a lesser man the title, Judge Lincoln. We may, and sometimes we must, speak of him as President Lincoln. But "the captains and the kings depart" and with them go captaincies and kingships. Ultimately, a man must stand and answer to his own name without titles and submit to an estimate of his naked personality as it presents itself to the judgment of posterity. Stripping away all titles, save only that which his neighbors in affectionate and dignified courtesy bestow upon him, let us endeavor in this closing chapter to discover what manner of man was Mr. Lincoln.

I. LINCOLN'S PERSONAL APPEARANCE

Few faces are more familiar than that of Abraham Lincoln. His countenance looks down on us from the walls of homes, schools, and public buildings. His full-length figure towers in bronze above several American towns, and a few of the cities of Europe. But how did he really look?

Certainly he was not in appearance an insignificant man. He has been described as ungainly and awkward, but no one ever described him as contemptible. There was that about him which led men everywhere to take notice of him. He could not conveniently be hid. Men might hate Lincoln, but they could not well ignore him. To this day, he may be held up to ridicule, and