[Illustration: OLD STATE-HOUSE AT SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS.

From a recent photograph made for MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE. The corner-stone was laid July 4, 1837, about four months after the passage of the act removing the capital to Springfield. The event was attended with elaborate ceremonies. The orator of the day was Colonel E.D. Baker. It was nearly four years before the building was finally completed, at a cost of two hundred and forty thousand dollars. It was first occupied by the legislature during the regular session of 1840-1841, that body, at two previous special sessions, being obliged to use the Methodist church for the Senate, and the Second Presbyterian church for the House. The Supreme Court found a meeting place in the Episcopal church. The legislative committees met in rooms in private houses about town. This building was the State capitol for more than thirty years, becoming, upon the completion of the present State-house, the court-house of Sangamon County.]

Lincoln must have learned by the end of 1840, if not before, something of the power of the "Little Giant," as Douglas was called. Certainly no man in public life between 1837 and 1860 had a greater hold on his followers. The reasons for this grasp are not hard to find. Douglas was by nature buoyant, enthusiastic, impetuous. He had that sunny boyishness which is so irresistible to young and old. With it he had great natural eloquence. When his deep, rich voice rolled out fervid periods in support of the sub-treasury and the convention system, or in opposition to internal improvements by the federal government, the people applauded out of sheer joy at the pleasure of hearing him. He was one of the few men in Illinois whom the epithet of "Yankee" never hurt. He might be a Yankee, but when he sat down on the knee of some surly lawyer, and confidentially told him his plans; or, at a political meeting, took off his coat, and rolled up his sleeves, and "pitched into" his opponent, the sons of Illinois forgot his origin in love for the man.

Lincoln undoubtedly understood the charm of Douglas, and realized his power. But he already had an insight into one of his political characteristics that few people recognized at that day. In writing to Stuart in 1839, while the latter was attending Congress, Lincoln said: "Douglas has not been here since you left. A report is in circulation here now that he has abandoned the idea of going to Washington, though the report does not come in a very authentic form, so far as I can learn. Though, by the way, speaking of authenticity, you know that if we had heard Douglas say that he had abandoned the contest, it would not be very authentic."

In the campaign of 1840 Lincoln and Douglas came more frequently than ever into conflict. At that time the local issues, which had formerly engaged Illinois candidates almost entirely, were lost sight of in national questions. In Springfield, where the leaders of the parties were living, many hot debates were held in private. Out of these grew, in December, 1839, a series of public discussions, extending over eight evenings, and in which several of the first orators of the State took part. Lincoln was the last man on the list. The people were nearly worn out before his turn came, and his audience was small. He began his speech with some melancholy, self-deprecatory reflections, complaining that the small audience cast a damp upon his spirits which he was sure he would be unable to overcome during the evening. He did better than he expected, overcoming the damp on his spirits so effectually that he made what was regarded as the best speech of the series; and by a general request, it was printed for distribution. The speech is peculiarly interesting from the fact that while there is a little of the perfervid eloquence of 1840 in it, as well as a good deal of the rather boisterous humor of the time, a part of it is devoted to a careful examination of the statements of his opponents, and a refutation of them by means of public documents.



As a good Democrat was expected to do, Douglas had explained with plausibility why the Van Buren administration had in 1838 spent $40,000,000. Lincoln takes up his statements one by one, and proves, as he says, that "the majority of them are wholly untrue." Douglas had attributed a part of the expenditures to the purchase of public lands from the Indians.

"Now it happens," says Lincoln, "that no such purchase was made during that year. It is true that some money was paid that year in pursuance of Indian treaties; but no more, or rather not as much, as had been paid on the same account in each of several preceding years.... Again, Mr. Douglas says that the removal of the Indians to the country west of the Mississippi created much of the expenditure of 1838. I have examined the public documents in relation to this matter, and find that less was paid for the removal of the Indians in that than in some former years. The whole sum expended on that account in that year did not exceed one quarter of a million. For this small sum, although we do not think the administration entitled to credit, because large sums have been expended in the same way in former years, we consent it may take one and make the most of it.

"Next, Mr. Douglas says that five millions of the expenditures of 1838 consisted of the payment of the French indemnity money to its individual claimants. I have carefully examined the public documents, and thereby find this statement to be wholly untrue. Of the forty millions of dollars expended in 1838, I am enabled to say positively that not one dollar consisted of payments on the French indemnities. So much for that excuse.

"Next comes the post-office. He says that five millions were expended during that year to sustain that department. By a like examination of public documents, I find this also wholly untrue. Of the so often mentioned forty millions, not one dollar went to the post-office....

"I return to another of Mr. Douglas's excuses for the expenditures of 1838, at the same time announcing the pleasing intelligence that this is the last one. He says that ten millions of that year's expenditure was a contingent appropriation, to prosecute an anticipated war with Great Britain on the Maine boundary question. Few words will settle this. First, that the ten millions appropriated was not made till 1839, and consequently could not have been expended in 1838; second, although it was appropriated, it has never been expended at all. Those who heard Mr. Douglas, recollect that he indulged himself in a contemptuous expression of pity for me. 'Now he's got me,' thought I. But when he went on to say that five millions of the expenditure of 1838 were payments of the French indemnities, which I knew to be untrue; that five millions had been for the post-office, which I knew to be untrue; that ten millions had been for the Maine boundary war, which I not only knew to be untrue, but supremely ridiculous also; and when I saw that he was stupid enough to hope that I would permit such groundless and audacious assertions to go unexposed,—I readily consented that, on the score both of veracity and sagacity, the audience should judge whether he or I were the more deserving of the world's contempt."



These citations show that Lincoln had already learned to handle public documents, and to depend for at least a part of his success with an audience upon a careful statement of facts. The methods used in at least a portion of this speech are exactly those which made the irresistible strength of his speeches in 1858 and 1859.

LINCOLN IN THE CAMPAIGN OF 1840.

But there was little of as good work done in the campaign of 1840, by Lincoln or anybody else, as is found in this speech. It was a campaign of noise and fun, and nowhere more so than in Illinois. Lincoln was one of the five Whig Presidential electors, and he flung himself into the campaign with confidence. "The nomination of Harrison takes first rate," he wrote to his partner Stuart, then in Washington. "You know I am never sanguine, but I believe we will carry the State. The chance of doing so appears to me twenty-five per cent, better than it did for you to beat Douglas." The Whigs, in spite of their dislike of the convention system, organized as they never had before, and even sent out a "confidential" circular of which Lincoln was the author.

Every weapon he thought of possible use in the contest he secured. "Be sure to send me as many copies of the 'Life of Harrison' as you can spare from other uses," he wrote Stuart. "Be very sure to procure and send me the 'Senate Journal' of New York, of September, 1814. I have a newspaper article which says that that document proves that Van Buren voted against raising troops in the last war. And, in general, send me everything you think will be a good 'war-club.'"

Every sign of success he quoted to Stuart; the number of subscribers to the "Old Soldier," a campaign newspaper which the Whig committee had informed the Whigs of the State that they "must take;" the names of Van Buren men who were weakening, and to whom he wanted Stuart to send documents; the name of every theretofore doubtful person who had declared himself for Harrison. "Japh Bell has come out for Harrison," he put in a postscript to one letter; "ain't that a caution?"

The monster political meetings held throughout the State did much to widen Lincoln's reputation, particularly one held in June in Springfield. Twenty thousand people attended this meeting, delegations coming from every direction. It took fourteen teams to haul the delegation from Chicago, and they were three weeks on their journey. Each party carried some huge symbolic piece—the log cabin being the favorite. One of the cabins taken to Springfield was drawn by thirty yokes of oxen. In a hickory tree which was planted beside this cabin, coons were seen playing, and a barrel of hard cider stood by the door, continually on tap. Instead of a log cabin, the Chicago delegation dragged across country a government yawl rigged up as a two-masted ship, with a band of music and a six-pounder cannon on board.

There are many reminiscences of this great celebration, and Lincoln's part in it, still afloat in Illinois. General T.J. Henderson writes, in the entertaining reminiscences of Lincoln prepared for this biography:

"The first time I remember to have seen Abraham Lincoln was during the memorable campaign of 1840, when I was a boy fifteen years of age. It was at an immense Whig mass-meeting held at Springfield, Illinois, in the month of June of that year. The Whigs attended this meeting from all parts of the State in large numbers, and it was estimated that from forty to fifty thousand people were present. They came in carriages and wagons, on horseback and on foot. They came with log cabins drawn on wheels by oxen, and with coons, coon-skins, and hard cider. They came with music and banners; and thousands of them came from long distances. It was the first political meeting I had ever attended, and it made a very strong impression upon my youthful mind.

"My father, William H. Henderson, then a resident of Stark County, Illinois, was an ardent Whig; and having served under General William Henry Harrison, the then Whig candidate for President, in the war of 1812-1815, he felt a deep interest in his election. And although he lived about a hundred miles from Springfield, he went with a delegation from Stark County to this political meeting, and took me along with him. I remember that at this great meeting of the supporters of Harrison and Tyler there were a number of able and distinguished speakers of the Whig party of the State of Illinois present. Among them were Colonel E.D. Baker, who was killed at Ball's Bluff, on the Potomac, in the late war, and who was one of the most eloquent speakers in the State; Colonel John J. Hardin, who was killed at the battle of Buena Vista, in the Mexican War; Fletcher Webster, a son of Daniel Webster, who was killed in the late war; S. Leslie Smith, a brilliant orator of Chicago; Rev. John Hogan, Ben Bond, and Abraham Lincoln. I heard all of these men speak on that occasion. And while I was too young to be a judge of their speeches, yet I thought them all to be great men, and none of them greater than Abraham Lincoln."

One of the most prominent members of the Illinois bar has written out especially for this work his impressions of Lincoln's speech at that gathering.

[Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN IN 1861.

From a photograph by Klauber of Louisville, Kentucky. From a photograph owned by Mr. James B. Speed of Louisville, Kentucky, to whose courtesy we owe the right to reproduce it here. When Lincoln was visiting Joshua F. Speed in 1841, Mrs. Speed, the mother of his friend, became much interested in him. His melancholy was profound, and she tried by kindness and gentleness to arouse him to new interest in life. One day before his departure she asked one of her daughters for the latter's Oxford Bible, telling her she wanted it for Mr. Lincoln, and promising to get another in its place. The gift touched Lincoln deeply, and after he became President he remembered the giver with the above portrait—one he had had taken especially for her, he wrote.]

[Transcriber's Note: The following is handwritten beneath the photograph: "For Mrs. Lucy G. Speed, from whose pious hands I accepted the present of an Oxford Bible twenty years ago. Washington, D.C. October 5, 1861 A. Lincoln"]

[Illustration: WILLIAM HENRY HARRISON, NINTH PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.

From a painting. William Henry Harrison was born at Berkeley, Virginia, February 9, 1773. He was educated at Hampden Sidney College, and began to study medicine, but, excited by Indian outrages, gave it up to enter the army. He was sent against the Indians of the West, and at once distinguished himself. After peace was made in 1798, he was appointed secretary of the Northwest Territory. In 1799 he was a territorial delegate to Congress, and from 1801 to 1813, territorial governor of Indiana. In the war of 1812 he gained the battles of Tippecanoe and the Thames. From 1816 to 1819 he was a delegate to Congress from Ohio; from 1825 to 1828, a United State Senator; and in 1828 and 1829, United States Minister to Colombia. In 1836 he was the Whig candidate for the Presidency, but was defeated. Four years later (1840) he was elected, but lived for only one month after his inauguration.]

"Mr. Lincoln stood in a wagon, from which he addressed the mass of people that surrounded it. The meeting was one of unusual interest because of him who was to make the principal address. It was at the time of his greatest physical strength. He was tall, and perhaps a little more slender than in later life, and more homely than after he became stouter in person. He was then only thirty-one years of age, and yet he was regarded as one of the ablest of the Whig speakers in that campaign. There was that in him that attracted and held public attention. Even then he was the subject of popular regard because of his candid and simple mode of discussing and illustrating political questions. At times he was intensely logical, and was always most convincing in his arguments. The questions involved in that canvass had relation to the tariff, internal public improvements by the federal government, the distribution of the proceeds of the sales of public lands among the several States, and other questions that divided the political parties of that day. They were not such questions as enlisted and engaged his best thoughts; they did not take hold of his great nature, and had no tendency to develop it. At times he discussed the questions of the time in a logical way, but much time was devoted to telling stories to illustrate some phase of his argument, though more often the telling of these stories was resorted to for the purpose of rendering his opponents ridiculous. That was a style of speaking much appreciated at that early day. In that kind of oratory he excelled most of his contemporaries—indeed, he had no equals in the State. One story he told on that occasion was full of salient points, and well illustrated the argument he was making. It was not an impure story, yet it was not one it would be seemly to publish; but rendered, as it was, in his inimitable way, it contained nothing that was offensive to a refined taste. The same story might have been told by another in such a way that it would probably have been regarded as transcending the proprieties of popular address. One characterizing feature of all the stories told by Mr. Lincoln, on the stump and elsewhere, was that although the subject matter of some of them might not have been entirely unobjectionable, yet the manner of telling them was so peculiarly his own that they gave no offence even to refined and cultured people. On the contrary, they were much enjoyed. The story he told on this occasion was much liked by the vast assembly that surrounded the temporary platform from which he spoke, and was received with loud bursts of laughter and applause. It served to place the opposing party and its speakers in a most ludicrous position in respect to the question being considered, and gave him a most favorable hearing for the arguments he later made in support of the measures he was sustaining."

[Illustration: JOSHUA F. SPEED AND WIFE.

From a painting by Healy, owned by Mrs, Joshua F. Speed of Louisville, Kentucky, and reproduced here by permission. Joshua F. Speed was a Kentuckian. At the time Lincoln went to Springfield he was one of the leading merchants of the town, and it was he who befriended the young lawyer on his arrival (see MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE for March). Towards the end of 1840 Mr. Speed sold his store, and soon after returned to Louisville. At his urgent invitation Lincoln visited him in the summer of 1841. He seems not to have gone back with Speed, as many biographers have stated, for in a letter of June 19, 1841, to Speed, Lincoln says: "I stick to my promise to come to Louisville." He seems, too, to have stayed a much shorter time than has frequently been stated, for he wrote back to Speed's sister, on September 27th, of his safe arrival in Springfield. The letters quoted from in this article were given by Speed himself to Mr. Herndon to publish in his "Life of Lincoln." Mr. Herndon turned them over to Lamon, who used them in his volume published in 1872. Joshua Speed and Lincoln remained intimate friends through life. Although they differed radically in 1855 on the policy to be pursued in regard to slavery, Lincoln, in writing Speed a long letter explaining his views, closes: "And yet let me say I am your friend forever."]

LINCOLN'S ENGAGEMENT TO MISS TODD.

Lincoln had been busy with politics and law in the years since he left New Salem, but he had by no means neglected the social side of life. Indeed, he had gone so far as to become engaged to be married to one of the favorite young women of Springfield, Miss Mary Todd, the sister-in-law of one of his political friends, a member of the "Long Nine" and a prominent citizen, Ninian W. Edwards.

[Illustration: MARY TODD LINCOLN.

From a carbon enlargement, by Sherman and McHugh of New York, of a photograph by Brady. Mary Todd was born in Lexington, Kentucky, December 13, 1818. Her mother died when she was young, and she was educated at one of the best-known schools of the State—Madame Mantelli's. She remained there some four years, and as the school was conducted entirely in French, she spoke the language fluently. She was afterwards some time in the Ward Academy of Lexington. Miss Todd first visited Springfield in 1837, but remained only a few months. In 1839 she returned to make her home with her sister, Mrs. Edwards. She had two other sisters in the town, Mrs. William Wallace and Mrs. C.M. Smith. The story of her life will, of course, be told in connection with that of Mr. Lincoln in the forthcoming articles. The photograph used for this reproduction was kindly loaned by Mrs. S.J. Withington, Warner, New Hampshire.]

Miss Todd came from a well-known family of Lexington, Kentucky; her father, Robert S. Todd, being one of the leading citizens of his State. She had come to Springfield in 1839 to live with her sister, Mrs. Edwards. She was a brilliant, witty, highly-educated girl, ambitious and spirited, with a touch of audacity which only made her more attractive, and she at once took a leading position in Springfield society. There were many young unmarried men in the town, drawn there by politics, and Mr. Edwards's handsome home was opened to them in the hospitable Southern way. After Mary Todd became an inmate of the Edwards house, the place was gayer than ever. She received much attention from Douglas, Shields, Lincoln, and several others. It was soon apparent, however, that Miss Todd preferred Lincoln. As the intimacy between them increased, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards protested. However honorable and able a man Lincoln might be, he was still a "plebeian." His family were humble and poor; he was self-educated, without address or polish, careless of forms, indifferent to society. How could Mary Todd, brought up in a cultured home, accustomed to the refinements of life, and with ambition for social position, accommodate herself to so grave a nature, so dull an exterior? Miss Todd knew her own mind, however. She loved Lincoln, and seems to have believed from the first in his future. Some time in 1840 they became engaged.



But it was not long before there came the clashing inevitable between two persons whose tastes and ambitions were so different. Miss Todd was jealous and exacting. Lincoln frequently failed to accompany her to the merry-makings which she wanted to attend. She resented this indifference, which seemed to her a purposed slight, instead of simply a lack of thought on his part, and sometimes she went with Mr. Douglas or any other escort who offered. Reproaches and tears and misunderstanding followed. If the lovers made up, it was only to fall out again. At last Lincoln became convinced that they were incompatible, and resolved that he must break the engagement. But the knowledge that the girl loved him took away his courage. He felt that he must not draw back, and he became profoundly miserable.

"Whatever woman may cast her lot with mine, should any ever do so, it is my intention to do all in my power to make her happy and contented; and there is nothing I can imagine that would make me more unhappy than to fail in the effort," Lincoln had written Miss Owens three years before. How could he make this brilliant, passionate creature to whom he was betrothed happy?

A mortal dread of the result of the marriage, a harrowing doubt of his own feelings, possessed him. The experience is not so rare in the lives of lovers that it should be regarded, as it often has been, as something exceptional and abnormal in Lincoln's case. A reflective nature founded in melancholy, like Lincoln's, rarely undertakes even the simpler affairs of life without misgivings. He certainly experienced dread and doubt before entering on any new relation. When it came to forming the most delicate and intimate of all human relations, he staggered under a storm of uncertainty and suffering, and finally broke the engagement.

So horrible a breach of honor did this seem to him that he called the day when it occurred the "fatal first of January, 1841," and months afterward he wrote to his intimate friend Speed: "I must regain my confidence in my own ability to keep my resolves when they are made. In that ability I once prided myself as the only or chief gem of my character; that gem I lost—how and where you know too well. I have not yet regained it, and, until I do, I cannot trust myself in any matter of much importance."



The breaking of the engagement between Miss Todd and Mr. Lincoln was naturally known at the time to all their friends. Lincoln's melancholy was evident to them all, nor did he, indeed, attempt to disguise it. He wrote and spoke freely to his intimates of the despair which possessed him, and of his sense of dishonor. The episode caused a great amount of gossip, as was to be expected. After Mr. Lincoln's assassination and Mrs. Lincoln's sad death, various accounts of the courtship and marriage were circulated. It remained, however, for one of Lincoln's law partners, Mr. W.H. Herndon, to develop and circulate the most sensational of all the versions of the rupture. His story would not be referred to here were it not that it has been generally accepted as truthful by even his most conservative biographers, including Mr. John T. Morse and Mr. Carl Schurz. According to Mr. Herndon, the engagement between the two was broken in the most violent and public way possible, by Mr. Lincoln's failing to appear at the wedding. Mr. Herndon even describes the scene in detail:

"The time fixed for the marriage was the first day of January, 1841. Careful preparations for the happy occasion were made at the Edwards mansion. The house underwent the customary renovation; the furniture was properly arranged, the rooms neatly decorated, the supper prepared, and the guests invited. The latter assembled on the evening in question, and awaited in expectant pleasure the interesting ceremony of marriage. The bride, bedecked in veil and silken gown, and nervously toying with the flowers in her hair, sat in the adjoining room. Nothing was lacking but the groom. For some strange reason he had been delayed. An hour passed, and the guests, as well as the bride, were becoming restless. But they were all doomed to disappointment. Another hour passed; messengers were sent out over town, and each returning with the same report, it became apparent that Lincoln, the principal in this little drama, had purposely failed to appear. The bride, in grief, disappeared to her room; the wedding supper was left untouched; the guests quietly and wonderingly withdrew; the lights in the Edwards mansion were blown out, and darkness settled over all for the night. What the feelings of a lady as sensitive, passionate, and proud as Miss Todd were, we can only imagine; no one can ever describe them. By daybreak, after persistent search, Lincoln's friends found him. Restless, gloomy, miserable, desperate, he seemed an object of pity. His friends, Speed among the number, fearing a tragic termination, watched him closely in their rooms day and night. 'Knives and razors, and every instrument that could be used for self-destruction, were removed from his reach.' Mrs. Edwards did not hesitate to regard him as insane, and of course her sister Mary shared in that view."

[Illustration: GENERAL JAMES SHIELDS.

From a photograph kindly loaned by C.B. Hall, New York. General Shields was born at Dungannon, County of Tyrone, Ireland, in 1810; came to the United States in 1826; located in Randolph County, Illinois, and taught school there; was admitted to the bar in 1832, and practised at Kaskaskia. He was elected to the legislature in 1836, and there became acquainted with Lincoln. In 1841 he was made auditor of public accounts of Illinois, and it was while holding this office that he challenged Lincoln to mortal combat. In 1843 Governor Ford appointed him an associate justice of the Supreme Court—an office which he resigned two years later to become commissioner of the general land-office. His gallantry in the Mexican War was such that he was brevetted a major-general. The prestige which his military record gave him made him a United States Senator in 1849. Defeated for reelection by Lyman Trumbull in 1855, he removed to Minnesota. There, May 12, 1858, he was elected to the United States Senate to fill a vacancy, serving about ten months. Then he went to California for a year. August 19, 1861, President Lincoln, his old-time enemy, presented him with a brigadier-general's commission; but two years later he gave this up, and settled on a farm in Missouri. He remained in retirement for a while, but eventually emerged to become a member of the legislature, a defeated candidate for Congress, adjutant-general of the State, and finally, in 1879, once more a United States Senator, serving about six weeks of an unexpired term. He thus had the rare distinction to be a United States Senator from three States. In his later years he delivered lectures—"Reminiscences of the Mexican War" and "Recollections of Eminent Statesmen and Soldiers." He died suddenly at Ottumwa, Iowa, June 1, 1879. General Shields has been variously rated by his contemporaries. That he was a man of considerable ability is conceded, and he possessed the warmth and generosity common to his race.—J. McCan Davis.]



No one can read this description in connection with the rest of Mr. Herndon's text, and escape the impression that, if it is true, there must have been a vein of cowardice in Lincoln. The context shows that he was not insane enough to excuse such a public insult to a woman. To break his engagement was, all things considered, not in any way an unusual or abnormal thing; to brood over the rupture, to blame himself, to feel that he had been dishonorable, was to be expected, after such an act, from one of his temperament. Nothing, however, but temporary insanity or constitutional cowardice could explain such conduct as here described. Mr. Herndon does not pretend to found his story on any personal knowledge of the affair. He was in Springfield at the time, a clerk in Speed's store, but did not have then, nor, indeed, did he ever have, any social relations with the families in which Mr. Lincoln was always a welcome guest. His only authority for the story is a remark which he says Mrs. Ninian Edwards made to him in an interview: "Lincoln and Mary were engaged; everything was ready and prepared for the marriage, even to the supper. Mr. Lincoln failed to meet his engagement; cause, insanity." This remark, it should be noted, is not from a manuscript written by Mrs. Edwards, but in a report of an interview with her, written by Mr. Herndon. Supposing, however, that the statement was made exactly as Mr. Herndon reports it, it certainly does not justify any such sensational description as Mr. Herndon gives.

If such a thing had ever occurred, it could not have failed to be known, of course, even to its smallest details, by all the relatives and friends of both Miss Todd and Mr. Lincoln. Nobody, however, ever heard of this wedding party until Mr. Herndon gave his material to the public.

One of the closest friends of the Lincolns throughout their lives was a cousin of Mrs. Lincoln's, Mrs. Grimsley, afterwards Mrs. Dr. Brown. Mrs. Grimsley lived in Springfield, on the most intimate and friendly relations with Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln, and the first six months of their life in the White House she spent with them. She was a woman of unusual culture, and of the rarest sweetness and graciousness of character. No one could look on her face without feeling her perfect sincerity and goodness. Some months before Mrs. Brown's death, in August, 1895, a copy of Mr. Herndon's story was sent her, with a request that she write for publication her knowledge of the affair. In her reply she said:

"Did Mr. Lincoln fail to appear when the invitations were out, the guests invited, and the supper ready for the wedding? I will say emphatically, 'No.'

"There may have been a little shadow of foundation for Mr. Herndon's lively imagination to play upon, in that, the year previous to the marriage, and when Mr. Lincoln and my cousin Mary expected soon to be married, Mr. Lincoln was taken with one of those fearful, overwhelming periods of depression, which induced his friends to persuade him to leave Springfield. This he did for a time; but I am satisfied he was loyal and true to Mary, even though at times he may have doubted whether he was responding as fully as a manly, generous nature should to such affection as he knew my cousin was ready to bestow on him. And this because it had not the overmastering depth of an early love. This everybody here knows; therefore I do not feel as if I were betraying dear friends."

[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF NINIAN W. EDWARDS, SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS.

From a photograph made for MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE in February, 1896. At this house Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd were married November 4, 1842, and here Mrs. Lincoln died July 16, 1882. The house was built about 1835. It was a brick structure, and there were few handsomer ones in the town. The south half (appearing in the left of this picture) was at first only one story in height; the second story was but recently added. In this part was the dining-room. The parlor, in which the marriage ceremony was performed, was the front room on the first floor of the north half of the house. The house is now occupied by St. Agatha's School (Episcopal).]

Mrs. John Stuart, the wife of Lincoln's law partner at that time, is still living in Springfield, a refined, cultivated, intelligent woman, who remembers perfectly the life and events of that day. When Mr. Herndon's story first came to her attention, her indignation was intense. She protested that she never before had heard of such a thing. Mrs. Stuart was not, however, in Springfield at that particular date, but in Washington, her husband being a member of Congress. She wrote the following statement for this biography:

"I cannot deny this, as I was not in Springfield for some months before and after this occurrence was said to have taken place; but I was in close correspondence with relatives and friends during all this time, and never heard a word of it. The late Judge Broadwell told me that he had asked Mr. Ninian Edwards about it, and Mr. Edwards told him that no such thing had ever taken place.

"All I can say is that I unhesitatingly do not believe such an event ever occurred. I thought I had never heard of this till I saw it in Herndon's book. I have since been told that Lamon mentions the same thing. I read Lamon at the time he published, and felt very much disgusted, but did not remember this particular assertion. The first chapters of Lamon's book were purchased from Herndon; so Herndon is responsible for the whole.

"Mrs. Lincoln told me herself all the circumstances of her engagement to Mr. Lincoln, of his illness, and the breaking off of her engagement, of the renewal, and her marriage. So I say I do not believe one word of this dishonorable story about Mr. Lincoln."

[Illustration: LINCOLN'S MARRIAGE LICENSE AND MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE.—NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.

Photographed for MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE from the original, now on file in the county clerk's office, Springfield, Illinois. It has hitherto been commonly supposed that the original marriage license issued to Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd in 1842, with the officiating-minister's certificate of marriage attached to it, was one of the interesting documents in what was formerly the Keys Lincoln Memorial Collection. Nicolay and Hay reproduced it in their biography of Lincoln, and other publications have made it appear authentic. Messrs. Keys and Munson, who formed the collection in which the certificate was first exhibited, called it a duplicate, and Mr. William H. Lambert of Philadelphia, who owns it now, supposed, in buying it, that it was a duplicate. Mr. Lambert, however, in showing us the certificate, called attention to a suspicious circumstance connected with the license. The seal of the county court stamped upon it was dated "1849." It was difficult to reconcile this with the fact that the marriage occurred in 1842. The inconsistency was covered up in certain facsimiles which have been published, by a stroke of the pen; the date of the seal was changed to fit the date of the marriage. Mr. Lambert's suggestion led to an investigation for this Magazine. A search in the county clerk's office at Springfield brought to light the real and only "original" license, stowed away in a dusty pigeon-hole, untouched in thirty years. This is the license which is reproduced above. Beneath the license is the Rev. Charles Dresser's certificate of the marriage. The bogus document was made out on the blank form in use in the county clerk's office in 1865—a form quite different from that used in 1842. This form was not used prior to 1865, and never after February 3, 1866. So it seems most probable that the spurious license was procured soon after Mr. Lincoln's assassination. The handwriting is that of N.W. Matheny, then, as in 1842, the county clerk, a gentleman of high character, who no doubt furnished the copy for a perfectly proper purpose. It will be observed that the genuine license bears no seal. This is due to the fact that prior to 1849 the county court did not have a seal; indeed, before that year, such a tribunal as the "county court" was unknown to the judiciary system of the State. The certificate attached to the counterfeit license, of course, was not written by the Rev. Charles Dresser (for he was then dead), but, like the license itself, was made out by the county clerk.—J. McCan Davis.]

Another prominent member in the same circle with Mr. Lincoln and Miss Todd is Mrs. B.T. Edwards, the widow of Judge Benjamin T. Edwards, and sister-in-law of Mr. Ninian Edwards, who had married Miss Todd's sister. She came to Springfield in 1839, and was intimately acquainted with Mr. Lincoln and Miss Todd, and knew, as well as another could know, their affairs. Mrs. Edwards is still living in Springfield, a woman of the most perfect refinement and trustworthiness. In answer to the question, "Is Mr. Herndon's description true?" she writes:

"I am impatient to tell you that all that he says about this wedding—the time for which was 'fixed for the first day of January'—is a fabrication. He has drawn largely upon his imagination in describing something which never took place.

"I know the engagement between Mr. Lincoln and Miss Todd was interrupted for a time, and it was rumored among her young friends that Mr. Edwards had rather opposed it. But I am sure there had been no 'time fixed' for any wedding; that is, no preparations had ever been made until the day that Mr. Lincoln met Mr. Edwards on the street and told him that he and Mary were going to be married that evening. Upon inquiry, Mr. Lincoln said they would be married in the Episcopal church, to which Mr. Edwards replied: 'No; Mary is my ward, and she must be married at my house.'

"If I remember rightly, the wedding guests were few, not more than thirty; and it seems to me all are gone now but Mrs. Wallace, Mrs. Levering, and myself, for it was not much more than a family gathering; only two or three of Mary Todd's young friends were present. The 'entertainment' was simple, but in beautiful taste; but the bride had neither veil nor flowers in her hair, with which to 'toy nervously.' There had been no elaborate trousseau for the bride of the future President of the United States, nor even a handsome wedding gown; nor was it a gay wedding."

Two sisters of Mrs. Lincoln's who are still living, Mrs. Wallace of Springfield, and Mrs. Helm of Elizabethstown, Kentucky, deny emphatically that any wedding was ever arranged between Mr. Lincoln and Miss Todd but the one which did take place. That the engagement was broken after a wedding had been talked of, they think possible; but Mr. Herndon's story, they deny emphatically.

"There is not a word of truth in it!" Mrs. Wallace broke out, impulsively, before the question about the non-appearance of Mr. Lincoln had been finished. "I never was so amazed in my life as when I read that story. Mr. Lincoln never did such a thing. Why, Mary Lincoln never had a silk dress in her life until she went to Washington."

[Illustration: REV. CHARLES DRESSER.

From a daguerreotype owned by his son, Dr. T.W. Dresser, Springfield, Illinois. The Rev. Charles Dresser, who was the officiating clergyman at the wedding of Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd, was born at Pomfret, Connecticut, February 24, 1800. He was graduated from Brown University in 1823, and went to Virginia, where he studied theology. In 1829 he became an ordained minister in the Protestant Episcopal Church. He was married in 1832 in Dinwiddie County, Virginia, to Louisa W. Withers. Upon his removal to Springfield, Illinois, in 1838, he became the rector of the Protestant Episcopal church there, and remained so until 1858, when failing health caused his retirement. In 1855, Jubilee College elected him Professor of Divinity and Belles-Lettres, but he held this position only a short time. He died March 25, 1865.—J. McCan Davis.]

As Mr. Joshua Speed was, all through this period, Mr. Lincoln's closest friend, no thought or feeling of the one ever being concealed from the other, Mrs. Joshua Speed, who is still living in Louisville, Kentucky, was asked if she knew of the story. Mrs. Speed listened in surprise to Mr. Herndon's tale. "I never heard of it before," she declared. "I never heard of it. If it is true, I never heard of it."

In all of these cases the opinion of only those persons intimately connected with Mr. Lincoln and Miss Todd has been asked. Care has been taken, too, to apply only to persons whose character put them beyond the suspicion of distorting facts.

Quite unexpectedly, some months ago, a volunteer witness to the falsity of the story appeared. The Hon. H.W. Thornton of Millersburg, Illinois, was a member of the Twelfth General Assembly, which met in Springfield in 1840. During that winter he was boarding near Lincoln, saw him almost every day, was a constant visitor at Mr. Edwards's house, and he knew Miss Todd well. He wrote to this magazine declaring that Mr. Herndon's statement about the wedding must be false, as he was closely associated with Miss Todd and Mr. Lincoln all winter, and never knew anything of it. Mr. Thornton went on to say that he knew beyond a doubt that the sensational account of Lincoln's insanity was untrue, and he quoted from the House journal to show how it was impossible that, as Lamon says, using Herndon's notes, "Lincoln went crazy as a loon, and did not attend the legislature in 1841-1842, for this reason;" or, as Herndon says, that he had to be watched constantly. According to the record taken from the journals of the House sent us by Mr. Thornton, and which we have had verified in Springfield, Mr. Lincoln was in his seat in the House on that "fatal first of January" when he is asserted to have been groping in the shadow of madness, and he was also there on the following day. The third of January was Sunday. On Monday, the fourth, he appears not to have been present—at least he did not vote; but even this is by no means conclusive evidence that he was not there. On the fifth, and on every succeeding day until the thirteenth, he was in his seat. From the thirteenth to the eighteenth, inclusive, he is not recorded on any of the roll-calls, and probably was not present. But on the nineteenth, when "John J. Hardin announced his illness to the House," as Mr. Herndon says (which announcement seems not to have gotten into the journal), Lincoln was again in his place, and voted. On the twentieth he is not recorded; but on every subsequent day, until the close of the session on the first of March, Lincoln was in the House. Thus, during the whole of the two months of January and February, he was absent not more than seven days—as good a record as to attendance, perhaps, as that made by the average member.

Mr. Thornton says further: "Mr. Lincoln boarded at William Butler's, near to Dr. Henry's, where I boarded. The missing days, from January 13th to 19th, Mr. Lincoln spent several hours each day at Dr. Henry's; a part of these days I remained with Mr. Lincoln. His most intimate friends had no fears of his injuring himself. He was very sad and melancholy, but being subject to these spells, nothing serious was apprehended. His being watched, as stated in Herndon's book, was news to me until I saw it there."

But while Lincoln went about his daily duties, even on the "fatal first of January," his whole being was shrouded in gloom. He did not pretend to conceal this from his friends. Writing to Mr. Stuart on January 23d, he said: "I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth. Whether I shall ever be better I cannot tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible. I must die or be better, it appears to me. The matter you speak of on my account you may attend to as you say, unless you shall hear of my condition forbidding it. I say this because I fear I shall be unable to attend to any business here, and a change of scene might help me."

In the summer he visited his friend Speed, who had sold his store in Springfield, and returned to Louisville, Kentucky. The visit did much to brighten his spirits, for, writing back in September, after his return, to his friend's sister, he was even gay.

A curious situation arose the next year (1842), which did much to restore Lincoln to a more normal view of his relation to Miss Todd. In the summer of 1841, his friend Speed had become engaged. As his marriage approached, he in turn was attacked by a melancholy not unlike that which Lincoln had suffered. He feared he did not love well enough to marry, and he confided his fear to Lincoln. Full of sympathy for the trouble of his friend, Lincoln tried in every way to persuade him that his "twinges of the soul" were all explained by nervous debility. When Speed returned to Kentucky, Lincoln wrote him several letters, in which he consoled, counselled, or laughed at him. These letters abound in suggestive passages. From what did Speed suffer? From three special causes and a general one, which Lincoln proceeds to enumerate:

"The general cause is, that you are naturally of a nervous temperament; and this I say from what I have seen of you personally, and what you have told me concerning your mother at various times, and concerning your brother William at the time his wife died. The first special cause is your exposure to bad weather on your journey, which my experience clearly proves to be very severe on defective nerves. The second is the absence of all business and conversation of friends, which might divert your mind, give it occasional rest from the intensity of thought which will sometimes wear the sweetest idea thread-bare and turn it to the bitterness of death. The third is the rapid and near approach of that crisis on which all your thoughts and feelings concentrate."

Speed writes that his fiancee is ill, and his letter is full of gloomy forebodings of an early death. Lincoln hails these fears as an omen of happiness.



"I hope and believe that your present anxiety and distress about her health and her life must and will forever banish those horrid doubts which I know you sometimes felt as to the truth of your affection for her. If they can once and forever be removed (and I almost feel a presentiment that the Almighty has sent your present affliction expressly for that object), surely nothing can come in their stead to fill their immeasurable measure of misery.... I am now fully convinced that you love her as ardently as you are capable of loving. Your ever being happy in her presence, and your intense anxiety about her health, if there were nothing else, would place this beyond all dispute in my mind. I incline to think it probable that your nerves will fail you occasionally for a while; but once you get them firmly guarded now, that trouble is over forever. I think, if I were you, in case my mind were not exactly right, I would avoid being idle. I would immediately engage in some business or go to making preparations for it, which would be the same thing."

Mr. Speed's marriage occurred in February, and to the letter announcing it Lincoln replied:

"I tell you, Speed, our forebodings (for which you and I are peculiar) are all the worst sort of nonsense. I fancied, from the time I received your letter of Saturday, that the one of Wednesday was never to come, and yet it did come, and what is more, it is perfectly clear, both from its tone and handwriting, that you were much happier, or, if you think the term preferable, less miserable, when you wrote it than when you wrote the last one before. You had so obviously improved at the very time I so much fancied you would have grown worse. You say that something indescribably horrible and alarming still haunts you. You will not say that three months from now, I will venture. When your nerves once get steady now, the whole trouble will be over forever. Nor should you become impatient at their being even very slow in becoming steady. Again, you say, you much fear that that Elysium of which you have dreamed so much is never to be realized. Well, if it shall not, I dare swear it will not be the fault of her who is now your wife. I now have no doubt that it is the peculiar misfortune of both you and me to dream dreams of Elysium far exceeding all that anything earthly can realize."

His prophecy was true. In March Speed wrote him that he was "far happier than he had ever expected to be." Lincoln caught at the letter with an eagerness which is deeply pathetic:

"It cannot be told how it now thrills me with joy to hear you say you are far happier than you ever expected to be. I know you too well to suppose your expectations were not, at least, sometimes extravagant, and if the reality exceeds them all, I say, Enough, dear Lord! I am not going beyond the truth when I tell you that the short space it took me to read your last letter gave me more pleasure than the total sum of all I have enjoyed since the fatal 1st of January, 1841. Since then, it seems to me, I should have been entirely happy, but for the never absent idea that there is one still unhappy whom I have contributed to make so. That still kills me. I cannot but reproach myself for even wishing to be happy while she is otherwise. She accompanied a large party on the railroad cars to Jacksonville last Monday, and on her return spoke, so that I heard of it, of having enjoyed the trip exceedingly. God be praised for that."

Evidently Lincoln was still unreconciled to his separation from Miss Todd. In the summer of 1842, only three or four months after the above letter was written, a clever ruse on the part of certain of their friends threw the two unexpectedly together; and an understanding of some kind evidently was come to, for during the season they met secretly at the house of one of Lincoln's friends, Mr. Simeon Francis. It was while these meetings were going on that a burlesque encounter occurred between Lincoln and James Shields, for which Miss Todd was partly responsible, and which no doubt gave just the touch of comedy necessary to relieve their tragedy and restore them to a healthier view of their relations.

THE LINCOLN AND SHIELDS DUEL.

Among the Democratic officials then living in Springfield was one James Shields, auditor of the State. He was a hot-headed, blustering Irishman, not without ability, and certainly courageous; a good politician, and, on the whole, a very well-liked man. However, the swagger and noise with which he accompanied the execution of his duties, and his habit of being continually on the defensive, made him the butt of Whig ridicule. Nothing could have given greater satisfaction to Lincoln and his friends than having an opponent who, whenever they joked him, flew into a rage and challenged them to fight.

At the time when Lincoln was visiting Miss Todd at Mr. Francis's house, the Whigs were much excited over the fact that the Democrats had issued an order forbidding the payment of State taxes in State bank-notes. The bank-notes were in fact practically worthless, for the State finances were suffering a violent reaction from the extravagant legislation of 1836 and 1837. One of the popular ways of attacking an obnoxious political doctrine in that day was writing letters from some imaginary backwoods settlement, setting forth in homely vernacular the writer's views of the question, and showing how its application affected his part of the world. These letters were really a rude form of the "Bigelow Papers" or "Nasby Letters." Soon after the order was issued by the Illinois officials demanding silver instead of bank-notes in payment of taxes, Lincoln wrote a letter to a Springfield paper from the "Lost Townships," signing it "Aunt Rebecca." In it he described the plight to which the new order had brought the neighborhood, and he intimated that the only reason for issuing such an order was that the State officers might have their salaries paid in silver. Shields was ridiculed unmercifully in the letter for his vanity and his gallantry.

It happened that there were several young women in Springfield who had received rather too pronounced attention from Mr. Shields, and who were glad to see him tormented. Among them were Miss Todd and her friend Miss Julia Jayne. Lincoln's letter from the "Lost Townships" was such a success that they followed it up with one in which "Aunt Rebecca" proposed to the gallant auditor, and a few days later they published some very bad verses, signed "Cathleen," celebrating the wedding.[1]

Springfield was highly entertained, less by the verses than by the fury of Shields. He would have satisfaction, he said, and he sent a friend, one General Whitesides, to the paper, to ask for the name of the writer of the communications. The editor, in a quandary, went to Lincoln, who, unwilling that Miss Todd and Miss Jayne should figure in the affair, ordered that his own name be given as the author of letters and poem. This was only about ten days after the first letter had appeared, on September 2d, and Lincoln left Springfield in a day or two for a long trip on the circuit. He was at Tremont when, on the morning of the seventeenth, two of his friends, E.H. Merryman and William Butler, drove up hastily. Shields and his friend Whitesides were behind, they said, the irate Irishman vowing that he would challenge Lincoln. They, knowing that Lincoln was "unpractised both as to diplomacy and weapons," had started as soon as they had learned that Shields had left Springfield, had passed him in the night, and were there to see Lincoln through.

It was not long before Shields and Whitesides arrived, and soon Lincoln received a note in which the indignant auditor said: "I will take the liberty of requiring a full, positive, and absolute retraction of all offensive allusions used by you in these communications in relation to my private character and standing as a man, as an apology for the insults conveyed in them. This may prevent consequences which no one will regret more than myself."

Lincoln immediately replied that, since Shields had not stopped to inquire whether he really was the author of the articles, had not pointed out what was offensive in them, had assumed facts and hinted at consequences, he could not submit to answer the note. Shields wrote again, but Lincoln simply replied that he could receive nothing but a withdrawal of the first note or a challenge. To this he steadily held, even refusing to answer the question as to the authorship of the letters, which Shields finally put. It was inconsistent with his honor to negotiate for peace with Mr. Shields, he said, unless Mr. Shields withdrew his former offensive letter. Seconds were immediately named: Whitesides by Shields, Merryman by Lincoln; and though they talked of peace, Whitesides declared he could not mention it to his principal. "He would challenge me next, and as soon cut my throat as not."

This was on the nineteenth, and that night the party returned to Springfield. But in someway the affair had leaked out, and fearing arrest, Lincoln and Merryman left town the next morning. The instructions were left with Butler. If Shields would withdraw his first note, and write another asking if Lincoln was the author of the offensive articles, and, if so, asking for gentlemanly satisfaction, then Lincoln had prepared a letter explaining the whole affair. If Shields would not do this, there was nothing to do but fight. Lincoln left the following preliminaries for the duel:

"First. Weapons: Cavalry broadswords of the largest size, precisely equal in all respects, and such as now used by the cavalry company at Jacksonville.

"Second. Position: A plank ten feet long, and from nine to twelve inches broad, to be firmly fixed on edge on the ground, as the line between us, which neither is to pass his foot over on forfeit of his life. Next, a line drawn on the ground on either side of said plank and parallel with it, each at the distance of the whole length of the sword and three feet additional from the plank; and the passing of his own such line by either party during the fight shall be deemed a surrender of the contest.

"Third. Time: On Thursday evening at five o'clock, if you can get it so; but in no case to be at a greater distance of time than Friday evening at five o'clock.

"Fourth. Place: Within three miles of Alton, on the opposite side of the river, the particular spot to be agreed upon by you."

As Mr. Shields refused to withdraw his first note, the entire party started for the rendezvous across the Mississippi. Lincoln and Merryman drove together in a dilapidated old buggy, in the bottom of which rattled a number of broadswords. It was the morning of the 22d of September when the duellists arrived in the town. There are people still living in Alton who remember their coming. "The party arrived about the middle of the morning," says Mr. Edward Levis,[2] "and soon crossed the river to a sand-bar which at the time was, by reason of the low water, a part of the Missouri mainland. The means of conveyance was an old horse-ferry that was operated by a man named Chapman. The weapons were in the keeping of the friends of the principals, and no care was taken to conceal them; in fact, they were openly displayed. Naturally, there was a great desire among the male population to attend the duel, but the managers of the affair would not permit any but their own party to board the ferry-boat. Skiffs were very scarce, and but a few could avail themselves of the opportunity in this way. I had to content myself with standing on the levee and watching proceedings at long range."

The party had scarcely reached the sand-bar before they were joined by some unexpected friends. Lincoln and Merryman, on their way to Alton, had stopped at White Hall for dinner. Across the street from the hotel lived Mr. Elijah Lott, an acquaintance of Merryman's. Mr. Lott was not long in finding out what was on foot, and as soon as the duellists had departed, he drove to Carrollton, where he knew that Colonel John J. Hardin and several other friends of Lincoln were attending court, and warned them of the trouble. Hardin and one or two others immediately started for Alton. They arrived in time to calm Shields, and to aid the seconds in adjusting matters "with honor to all concerned."

That the duellists returned in good spirits is evident from Mr. Levis's reminiscences: "It was not very long," says he, "until the boat was seen returning to Alton. As it drew near I saw what was presumably a mortally wounded man lying on the bow of the boat. His shirt appeared to be bathed in blood. I distinguished Jacob Smith, a constable, fanning the supposed victim vigorously. The people on the bank held their breath in suspense, and guesses were freely made as to which of the two men had been so terribly wounded. But suspense was soon turned to chagrin and relief when it transpired that the supposed candidate for another world was nothing more nor less than a log covered with a red shirt. This ruse had been resorted to in order to fool the people on the levee; and it worked to perfection. Lincoln and Shields came off the boat together, chatting in a nonchalant and pleasant manner."

MARRIAGE OF LINCOLN AND MISS TODD.

The Lincoln-Shields duel had so many farcical features, and Miss Todd had unwittingly been so much to blame for it, that one can easily see that it might have had considerable influence on the relations of the two young people. However that may be, something had made Mr. Lincoln feel that he could renew his engagement. Early in October, not a fortnight after the duel, he wrote Speed: "You have now been the husband of a lovely woman nearly eight months. That you are happier now than the day you married her I well know, for without you would not be living. But I have your word for it, too, and the returning elasticity of spirits which is manifested in your letters. But I want to ask a close question: Are you now in feelings as well as judgment glad that you are married as you are?"

We do not know Speed's answer, nor the final struggle of the man's heart. We only know that on November 4, 1842, Lincoln was married, the wedding being almost impromptu. Mrs. Dr. Brown, Miss Todd's cousin, in the same letter quoted from above, describes the wedding:

"One morning, bright and early, my cousin came down in her excited, impetuous way, and said to my father: 'Uncle, you must go up and tell my sister that Mr. Lincoln and I are to be married this evening,' and to me: 'Get on your bonnet and go with me to get my gloves, shoes, etc., and then to Mr. Edwards's.' When we reached there we found some excitement over a wedding being sprung upon them so suddenly. However, my father, in his lovely, pacific way, 'poured oil upon the waters,' and we thought everything was 'ship-shape,' when Mrs. Edwards laughingly said: 'How fortunately you selected this evening, for the Episcopal Sewing Society is to meet here, and my supper is all ordered.'

"But that comfortable little arrangement would not hold, as Mary declared she would not make a spectacle for gossiping ladies to gaze upon and talk about; there had already been too much talk about her. Then my father was despatched to tell Mr. Lincoln that the wedding would be deferred until the next evening. Clergyman, attendants and intimate friends were notified, and on Friday evening, in the midst of a small circle of friends, with the elements doing their worst in the way of rain, this singular courtship culminated in marriage. This I know to be literally true, as I was one of her bridesmaids, Miss Jayne (afterwards Mrs. Lyman Trumbull) and Miss Rodney being the others."

* * * * *

[Footnote 1: Mr. Charles Lamb, now passing his declining years quietly on his farm, a dozen miles from Springfield, Illinois, was a compositor on the "Sangamo Journal" from 1836 to 1843, and it was he who put into type the poem by "Cathleen," which, with the "Lost Townships" letters, led General Shields to challenge Lincoln. "This poem," says Mr. Lamb, "was written by Mary Todd and Julia Jayne, afterward the wife of Senator Lyman Trumbull. After I had set up the poem, I took the copy from the hook and put it into my pocket. When Lincoln was informed by Simeon Francis, the editor of the 'Journal,' that Shields had demanded the name of the author of the verses, he came around to the office and asked for the copy. I produced it, and he picked up a pen and wrote his name across the top of the page. This, of course, meant that he assumed the responsibility for the production. I retained this copy until a few years ago, when, unhappily, it was destroyed. My recollection is that the 'Lost Townships' letters were set up by Mr. Francis himself. Mr. Lincoln was a frequent contributor to the 'Journal,' and it usually fell to my lot to set up his contributions."—J. McCan Davis.]

[Footnote 2: Interview with Mr. Edward Levis made for this Magazine.]



"PHROSO."

A TALE OF BRAVE DEEDS AND PERILOUS VENTURES.

BY ANTHONY HOPE, AUTHOR OF "THE PRISONER OF ZENDA," ETC.

CHAPTER I.

A LONG THING ENDING IN POULOS.

Quot homines, tot sententiae; so many men, so many fancies. My fancy was for an island. Perhaps boyhood's glamour hung still round sea-girt rocks, and "faery lands forlorn" still beckoned me; perhaps I felt that London was too full, the Highlands rather fuller, the Swiss mountains most insufferably crowded of them all. "Money can buy company," and it can buy retirement. The latter service I asked now of the moderate wealth with which my poor cousin Tom's death had endowed me. Everybody was good enough to suppose that I rejoiced at Tom's death, whereas I was particularly sorry for it, and was not consoled even by the prospects of the island. My friends understood this wish for an island as little as they appreciated my feelings about poor Tom. Beatrice was most emphatic in declaring that "a horrid little island" had no charms for her, and that she would never set foot in it. This declaration was rather annoying, because I had imagined myself spending my honeymoon with Beatrice on the island; but life is not all honeymoon, and I decided to have the island none the less. In the first place, I was not to be married for a year. Mrs. Kennett Hipgrave had insisted on this delay in order that we might be sure that we knew our own hearts. And as I may say without unfairness that Mrs. Hipgrave was to a considerable degree responsible for the engagement—she asserted the fact herself with much pride—I thought that she had a right to some voice in the date of the marriage. Moreover, the postponement gave me exactly time to go over and settle affairs in the island.

For I had bought it. It cost me seven thousand five hundred and fifty pounds—rather a fancy price, but I could not haggle with the old lord—half to be paid to the lord's bankers in London, and the second half to him in Neopalia, when he delivered possession to me. The Turkish government had sanctioned the sale, and I had agreed to pay a hundred pounds yearly as tribute. This sum, I was entitled, in my turn, to levy on the inhabitants.

"In fact, my dear lord," said old Mason to me when I called on him in Lincoln's Inn Fields, "the whole affair is settled. I congratulate you on having got just what was your whim. You are over a hundred miles from the nearest land—Rhodes, you see." (He laid a map before me.) "You are off the steamship tracks; the Austrian Lloyds to Alexandria leave you far to the northeast. You are equally remote from any submarine cable; here on the southwest, from Alexandria to Candia, is the nearest. You will have to fetch your letters—"

"I shouldn't think of doing such a thing," said I, indignantly.

"Then you'll only get them once in three months. Neopalia is extremely rugged and picturesque. It is nine miles long and five broad; it grows cotton, wine, oil, and a little corn. The people are quite unsophisticated, but very good-hearted—"

"And," said I, "there are only three hundred and seventy of them, all told. I really think I shall do very well there."

"I have no doubt you will. By the way, treat the old gentleman kindly. He is terribly cut up at having to sell. 'My dear island,' he writes, 'is second to my dead son's honor, and to nothing else.' His son, you know, Lord Wheatley, was a bad lot, a very bad lot indeed."

"He left a lot of unpaid debts, didn't he?"

"Yes, gambling debts. He spent his time knocking about Paris and London with his cousin Constantine, by no means an improving companion, if report speaks truly. And your money is to pay the debts, you know."

"Poor old chap," said I. I sympathized with him in the loss of his island.

"Here's the house, you see," said Mason, turning to the map, and dismissing the sorrows of the old lord of Neopalia. "About the middle of the island, nearly a thousand feet above the sea. I'm afraid it's a tumble-down old place, and will swallow a lot of money without looking much better for the dose. To put it into repair for the reception of the future Lady Wheatley would cost—"

"The future Lady Wheatley says she won't go there on any account," I interrupted.

"But, my very dear lord," cried he, aghast, "if she won't—"

"She won't, and there's an end of it, Mr. Mason. Well, good day. I'm to have possession in a month?"

"In a month to the very day—on the seventh of May."

"All right, I shall be there to take it;" and escaping from the legal quarter, I made my way to my sister's house in Cavendish Square. She had a party, and I was bound to go by brotherly duty. As luck would have it, however, I was rewarded for my virtue (and if that's not luck in this huddle-muddle world, I don't know what is): the Turkish ambassador dropped in, and presently James came and took me up to him. My brother-in-law, James Cardew, is always anxious that I should know the right people. The pasha received me with great kindness.

"You are the purchaser of Neopalia, aren't you?" he asked, after a little conversation. "The matter came before me officially."

"I'm much obliged," said I, "for your ready consent to the transfer."

"Oh, it's nothing to us. In fact, our tribute, such as it is, will be safer. Well, I'm sure I hope you'll settle in comfortably."

"Oh, I shall be all right. I know the Greeks very well, you know; been there a lot, and, of course, I talk the tongue, because I spent two years hunting antiquities in the Morea and some of the islands."

The pasha stroked his beard as he observed in a calm tone:

"The last time a Stefanopoulos tried to sell Neopalia the people killed him, and turned the purchaser—he was a Frenchman, a Baron d'Ezonville—adrift in an open boat, with nothing on but his shirt."

"Good heavens! Was that recently?"

"No; two hundred years ago. But it's a conservative part of the world, you know." And his excellency smiled.

"They were described to me as good-hearted folk," said I; "unsophisticated, of course, but good-hearted."

"They think that the island is theirs, you see," he explained, "and that the lord has no business to sell it. They may be good-hearted, Lord Wheatley, but they are tenacious of their rights."

"But they can't have any rights," I expostulated.

"None at all," he assented. "But a man is never so tenacious of his rights as when he hasn't any. However, autres temps, autres moeurs. I don't suppose you'll have any trouble of that kind. Certainly, I hope not, my dear lord."

"Surely your government will see to that?" I suggested.

His excellency looked at me; then, although by nature a grave man, he gave a low, humorous chuckle, and regarded me with visible amusement.

"Oh, of course, you can rely on that, Lord Wheatley," said he.

"That is a diplomatic assurance, your excellency?" I ventured to suggest, with a smile.

"It is unofficial," said he, "but as binding as if it were official. Our governor in that part of the world is a very active man—yes, a decidedly active man."

The only result of this conversation was that, when I was buying my sporting guns in St. James's Street the next day, I purchased a couple of pairs of revolvers at the same time. It is well to be on the safe side; and although I attached little importance to the bygone outrage of which the ambassador spoke, I did not suppose that the police service would be very efficient. In fact, I thought it prudent to be ready for any trouble that the Old World notions of the Neopalians might occasion. But in my heart I meant to be very popular with them; for I cherished the generous design of paying the whole tribute out of my own pocket, and of disestablishing in Neopalia what seems to be the only institution in no danger of such treatment here—the tax-gatherer. If they understood that intention of mine, they would hardly be so shortsighted as to set me adrift in my shirt like a second Baron d'Ezonville, or so unjust as to kill poor old Stefanopoulos as they had killed his ancestor. Besides, as I comforted myself by repeating, they were a good-hearted race; unsophisticated, of course, but thoroughly good-hearted.

My cousin, young Denny Swinton, was to dine with me that evening at the Optimum. Denny (which is short for Dennis) was the only member of the family who thoroughly sympathized with me about Neopalia. He was wild with interest in the island, and I looked forward to telling him all I had heard about it. I knew he would listen, for he was to go with me and help me to take possession. The boy had almost wept on my neck when I asked him to come; he had just left Woolwich, and was not to join his regiment for six months. He was thus, as he put it, "at a loose end," and succeeded in persuading his parents that he ought to learn modern Greek. General Swinton was rather cold about the project; he said that Denny had spent ten years on ancient Greek, and knew nothing about it, and would not probably learn much of the newer sort in three months; but his wife thought it would be a nice trip for Denny. Well, it turned out to be a very nice trip for Denny; but if Mrs. Swinton had known—however, if it comes to that, I might just as well exclaim, "If I had known, myself!"

Denny had taken a table next but one to the west end of the room, and was drumming his fingers impatiently on the cloth when I entered. He wanted both his dinner and the latest news about Neopalia; so I sat down and made haste to satisfy him in both respects. Travelling with equal steps through the two matters, we had reached the first entree and the fate of the murdered Stefanopoulos (which Denny, for some reason, declared was "a lark") when two people came in and sat down at the table beyond ours and next to the wall, where two chairs had been tilted up in token of preengagement. The man—for the pair were man and woman—was tall and powerfully built; his complexion was dark, and he had good, regular features; he looked, also, as if he had a bit of temper somewhere about him. I was conscious of having seen him before, and suddenly recollected that by a curious chance I had run up against him twice in St. James's Street that very day. The lady was handsome; she had an Italian cast of face, and moved with much grace. Her manner was rather elaborate, and when she spoke to the waiter, I detected a pronounced foreign accent. Taken altogether, they were a remarkable couple, and presented a distinguished appearance. I believe I am not a conceited man, but I could not help wondering whether their thoughts paid me a similar compliment, for I certainly detected both of them casting more than one curious glance toward our table; and when the man whispered once to a waiter, I was sure that I formed the subject of his question. Perhaps he, also, remembered our two encounters.

"I wonder if there's any chance of a row?" said Denny, in a tone that sounded wistful. "Going to take anybody with you, Charlie?"

"Only Watkins. I must have him; he always knows where everything is; and I've told Hogvardt, my old dragoman, to meet us in Rhodes. He'll talk their own language to the beggars, you know."

"But he's a German, isn't he?"

"He thinks so," I answered. "He's not certain, you know. Anyhow, he chatters Greek like a parrot. He's a pretty good man in a row, too. But there won't be a row, you know."

"I suppose there won't," admitted Denny, ruefully.

"For my own part," said I meekly, "as I'm going there to be quiet, I hope there won't."

In the interest of conversation I had forgotten our neighbors; but now, a lull occurring in Denny's questions and surmises, I heard the lady's voice. She began a sentence—and began it in Greek! That was a little unexpected; but it was more strange that her companion cut her short, saying very peremptorily, "Don't talk Greek; talk Italian." This he said in Italian, and I, though no great hand at that language, understood so much. Now why shouldn't the lady talk Greek, if Greek were the language that came naturally to her tongue? It would be as good a shield against idle listeners as most languages—unless, indeed, I, who was known to be an amateur of Greece and Greek things, were looked upon as a possible listener. Recollecting the glances which I had detected, recollecting again those chance meetings, I ventured on a covert gaze at the lady. Her handsome face expressed a mixture of anger, alarm, and entreaty. The man was speaking to her now in low, urgent tones; he raised his hand once and brought it down on the table as though to emphasize some declaration—perhaps some promise—which he was making. She regarded him with half angry, distrustful eyes. He seemed to repeat his words; and she flung at him, in a tone that suddenly grew louder, and in words that I could translate: "Enough! I'll see to that. I shall come too!"

Her heat stirred no answering fire in him. He dropped his emphatic manner, shrugged a tolerant "As you will," with eloquent shoulders, smiled at her, and, reaching across the table, patted her hand. She held it up before his eyes, and with the other hand pointed at a ring on her finger.

"Yes, yes, my dearest," said he; and he was about to say more, when, glancing round, he caught my gaze retreating in hasty confusion to my plate. I dared not look up again, but I felt his scowl on me. I suppose that I deserved punishment for my eavesdropping.

"And when can we get off, Charlie?" asked Denny, in his clear young voice. My thoughts had wandered from him, and I paused for a moment, as a man does when a question takes him unawares. There was silence at the next table also. The fancy seemed absurd; but it occurred to me that there also my answer was being waited for. Well, they could know if they liked; it was no secret.

"In a fortnight," said I. "We'll travel easily, and get thereon the seventh of next month; that's the day on which I'm entitled to take over my kingdom. We shall go to Rhodes. Hogvardt will have bought me a little yacht, and then—good-by to all this!" And a great longing for solitude and a natural life came over me as I looked round on the gilded cornices, the gilded mirrors, the gilded flower-vases, and the highly gilded company of the Optimum.

I was roused from my pleasant dream by a high, vivacious voice, which I knew very well. Looking up, I saw Miss Hipgrave, her mother, and young Bennett Hamlyn standing before me. I disliked young Hamlyn, but he was always very civil to me.

"Why, how early you two have dined!" cried Beatrice. "You're at the savory, aren't you? We've only just come."

"Are you going to dine?" I asked, rising. "Take this table; we're just off."

"Well, we may as well, mayn't we?" said my fiancee. "Sorry you're going though. Oh, yes, we're going to dine with Mr. Bennett Hamlyn. That's what you're for, isn't it, Mr. Hamlyn? Why, he's not listening!"

He was not, strange to say, listening, although, as a rule, he listened to Beatrice with infinite attention and the most deferential of smiles. But just now he was engaged in returning a bow which our neighbor at the next table had bestowed on him. The lady there had risen already, and was making for the door. The man lingered and looked at Hamlyn, seeming inclined to back up his bow with a few words of greeting. Hamlyn's air was not, however, encouraging, and the stranger contented himself with a nod and a careless "How are you?" and with that followed his companion. Hamlyn turned round, conscious that he had neglected Beatrice's remark, and full of penitence for his momentary neglect.

"I beg your pardon," said he, with an apologetic smile.

"Oh," answered she, "I was only saying that men like you were invented to give dinners; you're a sort of automatic feeding-machine. You ought to stand open all day. Really, I often miss you at lunch time."

"My dear Beatrice!" said Mrs. Kennett Hipgrave, with that peculiar lift of her brows that meant, "How naughty the dear child is! Oh, but how clever!"

"It's all right," said Hamlyn, meekly. "I'm awfully happy to give you a dinner, anyhow, Miss Beatrice."

Now, I had nothing to say on this subject, but I thought I would just make this remark:

"Miss Hipgrave," said I, "is very fond of a dinner."

Beatrice laughed. She understood my little correction.

"He doesn't know any better, do you?" said she, pleasantly, to Hamlyn. "We shall civilize him in time, though. Then I believe he'll be nicer than you, Charlie. I really do. You're—"

"I shall be uncivilized by then," said I.

"Oh, that wretched island!" cried Beatrice. "You're really going?"

"Most undoubtedly. By the way, Hamlyn, who's your friend?"

Surely this was an innocent enough question; but little Hamlyn went red from the edge of his clipped whisker on the right to the edge of his mathematically equal whisker on the left.

"Friend!" said he, in an angry tone. "He's not a friend of mine. I only met him on the Riviera."

"That," I admitted, "does not, happily, constitute in itself a friendship."

"And he won a hundred louis of me in the train between Cannes and Monte Carlo."

"Not bad going, that," observed Denny, in an approving tone.

"Is he, then, un grec?" asked Mrs. Hipgrave, who loves a scrap of French.

"In both senses, I believe," answered Hamlyn, viciously.

"And what's his name?" said I.

"Really, I don't recollect," said Hamlyn, rather petulantly.

"It doesn't matter," observed Beatrice, attacking her oysters, which had now made their appearance.

"My dear Beatrice," I remonstrated, "you are the most charming creature in the world, but not the only one. You mean that it doesn't matter to you."

"Oh, don't be tiresome. It doesn't matter to you, either, you know. Do go away, and leave me to dine in peace."

"Half a minute," said Hamlyn. "I thought I'd got it just now, but it's gone again. Look here, though; I believe it's one of those long things that end in 'poulos.'"

"Oh, it ends in 'poulos,' does it?" said I, in a meditative tone.

"My dear Charlie," said Beatrice, "I shall end in Bedlam, if you're so very tedious. What in the world I shall do when I'm married, I don't know."

"My dearest!" said Mrs. Hipgrave; and a stage direction might add: "Business with brows, as before."

"'Poulos'?" I repeated.

"Could it be Constantinopoulos?" asked Hamlyn, with a nervous deference to my Hellenic learning.

"It might, conceivably," I hazarded, "be Constantine Stefanopoulos."

"Then," said Hamlyn, "I shouldn't wonder if it was. Anyhow, the less you see of him, Wheatley, the better. Take my word for that."

"But," I objected—and I must admit that I have a habit of thinking that everybody follows my train of thought—"it's such a small place that, if he goes, I should be almost bound to meet him."

"What's such a small place?" cried Beatrice, with emphasized despair.

"Why, Neopalia, of course," said I.

"Why should anybody except you be so insane as to go there?" she asked.

"If he's the man I think, he comes from there," I explained, as I rose for the last time; for I had been getting up to go, and sitting down again, several times.

"Then he'll think twice before he goes back," pronounced Beatrice, decisively; she was irreconcilable about my poor island.

Denny and I walked off together. As we went he observed:

"I suppose that chap's got no end of money?"

"Stefan—?" I began.

"No, no. Hang it, you're as bad as Miss Hipgrave says. I mean Bennett Hamlyn."

"Oh, yes, absolutely no end to it, I believe."

Denny looked sagacious.

"He's very free with his dinners," he observed.

"Don't let's worry about it," I suggested, taking his arm. I was not worried about it myself. Indeed, for the moment, my island monopolized my mind, and my attachment to Beatrice was not of such a romantic character as to make me ready to be jealous on slight grounds. Mrs. Hipgrave said the engagement was based on "general suitability." Now it is difficult to be very passionate over that.