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“He Was Lost In Thought”
As the procession started, he sat erect at first; but presently his body slouched forward in the saddle; his head fell on his chest, and his long arms hung limp at his sides. … He was lost in thought, going over his little speech, giving it “another lick.” . . .
Carnegie-167-26
At 11 the parade began to move. Clark E. Carr, just behind the President, believed he noticed that the President sat erect and looked majestic to begin with and then got to thinking so that his body leaned forward, his arms hung limp, his head bent far down.
Sandburg-306-32-24
Letter to Edward Everett (Nov. 20, 1863)
To Edward Everett
Hon. Edward Everett. Executive Mansion,
My dear Sir: Washington, Nov. 20, 1863.
Your kind note of to-day is received. In our respective parts yesterday, you could not have been excused to make a short address, nor I a long one. I am pleased to know that, in your judgment, the little I did say was not entirely a failure. Of course I knew Mr. Everett would not fail; and yet, while the whole discourse was eminently satisfactory, and will be of great value, there were passages in it which trancended my expectation. The point made against the theory of the general government being only an agency, whose principals are the States, was new to me, and, as I think, is one of the best arguments for the national supremacy. The tribute to our noble women for their angel-ministering to the suffering soldiers, surpasses, in its way, as do the subjects of it, whatever has gone before.
Our sick boy, for whom you kindly inquire, we hope is past the worst.
Your Obt. Servt. A. LINCOLN
Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln. Volume 7
Everett’s opinion was written to Lincoln the next day: “I should be glad if I could flatter myself that I came as near to the central idea of the occasion in two hours as you did in two minutes.” Lincoln’s immediate reply was: “In our respective parts yesterday, you could not have been excused to make a short address, nor I a long one. I am pleased to know that, in your judgment, the little I did say was not entirely a failure.”
Sandburg-306-32-45
The words seemed to make little impression. Even among the masters of language the chorus of approval was reserved for Everett. But the latter wrote to the President, saying that his own long speech had been put in the shade by Lincoln’s pithy words.
And what Lincoln, with honest conviction, had denied, did after all happen. The name of Gettysburg is merely the name of one among numberless battles, of which few in Europe have ever heard or troubled to remember which side was victorious ; and even in the United States it would have become a mere fact among others taught to children in schools but for these few words uttered by a man in civilian attire, dying away down the wind when they were spoken, that have made the name immortal, showing once again that Homer can be productive without Achilles, but that Achilles cannot win immortality without Homer.
Ludwig-416-17
“It Won’t Scour”
When Lincoln finished, “the assemblage stood motionless and silent,” according to the awestruck George Gitt. “The extreme brevity of the address together with its abrupt close had so astonished the hearers that they stood transfixed. Had not Lincoln turned and moved toward his chair, the audience would very likely have remained voiceless for several moments more. Finally there came applause.” Lincoln may have initially interpreted the audience’s surprise as disapproval. As soon as he finished, he turned to Ward Lamon. “Lamon, that speech won’t scour! It is a flat failure, and the people are disappointed.” Edward Everett knew better, and expressed his wonder and respect the following day. “I should be glad,” he wrote Lincoln, “if I could flatter myself that I came as near to the central idea of the occasion, in two hours, as you did in two minutes.”
By Doris Kearns Goodwin，“Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln”Goodwin-573-389-05
What! Had he forgotten? Or was it really all he had to say? People were too surprised and disappointed to applaud.
Many a spring, back in Indiana, Lincoln had tried to break ground with a rusty plow; but the soil had stuck to its mold board, and made a mess. It wouldn’t “scour.” That was the term people used. Throughout his life, when Lincoln wanted to indicate that a thing had failed, he frequently resorted to the phraseology of the cornfield. Turning now to Ward Lamon, Lincoln said: “That speech is a flat failure, Lamon. It won’t scour. The people are disappointed.” He was right. Every one was disappointed, including Edward Everett and Secretary Seward, who were sitting on the platform with the President. They both believed he had failed woefully; and both felt sorry for him.
Lincoln was so distressed that he worried himself into a severe headache; and on the way back to Washington, he had to lie down in the drawing-room of the train and have his head bathed with cold water. Lincoln went to his grave believing that he had failed utterly at Gettysburg. And he had, as far as the immediate effect of his speech was concerned.
With characteristic modesty, he sincerely felt that the world would “little note nor long remember” what he said there, but that it would never forget what the brave men who died had done there. How surprised he would be if he should come back to life now and realize that the speech of his that most people remember is the one that didn’t “scour” at Gettysburg! How amazed he would be to discover that the ten immortal sentences he spoke there will probably be cherished as one of the literary glories and treasures of earth centuries hence, long after the Civil War is all but forgotten.
By Dale Carnegie，“Lincoln, the Unknown” ，Carnegie-167-28.
“You Are A Little Rosebud Yourself”
An elderly gentleman got on the train and, shaking hands, told the President he had lost a son at Little Round Top at Gettysburg. The President answered he feared a visit to that spot would open fresh wounds, and yet if the end of sacrifice had been reached “we could give thanks even amidst our tears.” They quoted from his unburdening to this old man: “When I think of the sacrifices of life yet to be offered, and the hearts and homes yet to be made desolate before this dreadful war is over, my heart is like lead within me, and I feel at times like hiding in deep darkness.” At one stop a little girl lifted to an open window thrust a bunch of rosebuds into the car. “Flowerth for the President.” Lincoln steeped over, bent down, kissed her face. “You are a little rosebud yourself.”
Sandburg-306-32-21
“It Very Often Happens”
Remarks to Citizens of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania [1]
November 18, 1863
I appear before you, fellow-citizens, merely to thank you for this compliment. The inference is a very fair one that you would hear me for a little while at least, were I to commence to make a speech. I do not appear before you for the purpose of doing so, and for several substantial reasons. The most substantial of these is that I have no speech to make. [Laughter.] In my position it is somewhat important that I should not say any foolish things.
A VOICE—If you can help it.
Mr. LINCOLN—It very often happens that the only way to help it is to say nothing at all. [Laughter.] Believing that is my present condition this evening, I must beg of you to excuse me from addressing you further.
Annotation[1] New York Tribune, November 20, 1863. “After supper the President was serenaded by the excellent band of the 5th New-York Artillery. After repeated calls, Mr. Lincoln at length presented himself, when he was loudly cheered.” (Ibid.).
–Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln. Volume 7.
At sundown the train pulled into Gettysburg and Lincoln was driven to the Wills residence. A sleepy little country town of 3,500 was overflowing with human pulses again. Private homes were filled with notables and non-descripts. Hundreds slept on the floors of hotels. Military bands blared till late in the night serenading whomsoever. The weather was mild and the moon up for those who chose to go a roaming. Serenaders called on the President and heard him: “In my position it is sometimes important that I should not say foolish things. (A voice: “If you can help it.”) It very often happens that the only way to help it is to say nothing at all. Believing that is my present condition this evening, I must beg of you to excuse me from addressing you further.”
Sandburg-306-32-22
After supper, while Lincoln settled himself in his room to complete his draft, a crowd gathered in front of the house to serenade him. He came to the door to thank them, but said he would make no remarks for the simple reason that “I have no speech to make. In my position it is somewhat important that I should not say any foolish things.” His reluctance elicited the snide comment from a member of the audience: “If you can help it.” Lincoln’s swift rejoinder delighted the crowd. “It very often happens that the only way to help it is to say nothing at all.”
By Doris Kearns Goodwin，“Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln”，Goodwin-573-389-046
“He Was Very Abstemious”
For a glimpse of Lincoln’s habits while a resident of Washington and an executive officer, there is no better authority than John Hay, who served as one of his secretaries. In 1866, Mr. Hay, then a member of the United States Legation in Paris, wrote me an interesting account, which so faithfully delineates Lincoln in his public home that I cannot refrain from quoting it entire. Although the letter was written in answer to a list of questions I asked, and was prepared without any attempt at arrangement, still it is none the less interesting.
“Lincoln went to bed ordinarily,” it begins, “from ten to eleven o’clock, unless he happened to be kept up by important news, in which case he would frequently remain at the War Department till one or two. He rose early. When he lived in the country at the Soldiers’ Home he would be up and dressed, eat his breakfast (which was extremely frugal, an egg, a piece of toast, coffee, etc.), and ride into Washington, all before eight o’clock. In the winter, at the White House, he was not quite so early. He did not sleep well, but spent a good while in bed.
‘Tad’ usually slept with him. He would lie around the office until he fell asleep, and Lincoln would shoulder him and take him off to bed.
He pretended to begin business at ten o’clock in the morning, but in reality the ante-rooms and halls were full long before that hour-people anxious to get the first axe ground.
He was extremely unmethodical; it was a four years’ struggle on Nicolay’s part and mine to get him to adopt some systematic rules. He would break through every regulation as fast as it was made.
Anything that kept the people themselves away from him he disapproved, although they nearly annoyed the life out of him by unreasonable complaints and requests.
He wrote very few letters, and did not read one in fifty that he received. At first we tried to bring them to his notice, but at last he gave the whole thing over to me, and signed, without reading them, the letters I wrote in his name. He wrote perhaps half-a-dozen a week himself-not more. Nicolay received members of Congress and other visitors who had business with the Executive office, communicated to the Senate and House the messages of the President, and exercised a general supervision over the business. I opened and read the letters, answered them, looked over the newspapers, supervised the clerks who kept the records, and in Nicolay’s absence did his work also. When the President had any rather delicate matter to manage at a distance from Washington he rarely wrote, but sent Nicolay or me.
The House remained full of people nearly all day.
At noon the President took a little lunch-a biscuit, a glass of milk in winter, some fruit or grapes in summer. He dined between five and six, and we went off to our dinner also.
Before dinner was over, members and Senators would come back and take up the whole evening.
Sometimes, though rarely, he shut himself up and would see no one. Sometimes he would run away to a lecture, or concert, or theatre for the sake of a little rest.
He was very abstemious-ate less than any man I know. He drank nothing but water, not from principle but because he did not like wine or spirits.
Once, in rather dark days early in the war, a temperance committee came to him and said that the reason we did not win was because our army drank so much whiskey as to bring the curse of the Lord upon them. He said it was rather unfair on the part of the aforesaid curse, as the other side drank more and worse whiskey than ours did.
He read very little. He scarcely ever looked into a newspaper unless I called his attention to an article on some special subject. He frequently said, ‘I know more about it than any of them.’ It is absurd to call him a modest man. No great man was ever modest. It was his intellectual arrogance and unconscious assumption of superiority that men like Chase and Sumner never could forgive.
I believe that Lincoln is well understood by the people; but there is a patent-leather, kid-glove set who know no more of him than an owl does of a comet blazing into his blinking eyes.* Their estimates of him are in many causes disgraceful exhibitions of ignorance and prejudice. Their effeminate natures shrink instinctively from the contact of a great reality like Lincoln’s character. I consider Lincoln’s republicanism incarnate-with all its faults and all its virtues. As, in spite of some rudeness, republicanism is the sole hope of a sick world, so Lincoln, with all his foibles, is the greatest character since Christ.”
Quoted in Herndon’s Lincoln: A True Story of a Great Life Written by William H. Herndon and Jesse W. Weik, ed. Herndon-299-60
“His Workshop Was Inside His Head”
In the courts, too, his friends thought him eccentric and singular.
“He had no system, no order; he did not keep a clerk; he had neither library, nor index, nor cash book. When he made notes, he would throw them into a drawer, put them into his vest pocket, or into his hat. … But in the inner man, symmetry and method prevailed. He did not need an orderly office, did not need pen and ink, because his workshop was inside his head.“
By Emil Ludwig,”Abraham Lincoln: And the Times that Tried His Soul” ,Ludwig-96-06
Words : Statesman
At The Age Of 23
“The Hearty Support Of His Neighbors At New Salem,” in 1832
At The Age Of 25
“His second race for the Legislature” in 1834
“In December, 1834, Rode Through To Vandalia” – A journey to Vandalia, the seat of government. Been elected as a state senator by majority.
At The Age Of 27
In 1836, Candidate For The Legislature Again
At The Age Of 29
In 1838,Lincoln Was Again Elected To The Legislature
At The Age Of 31
In 1840, Last Campaign For The Legislature
“Your Experience Will Help Me To Bear My Afflictions”
In this gloomy period of the war, when he was exposed to politi- cal onslaughts from both sides, an object of derision for society people, despised by his generals, uncertain how and when the whole terrible business would end, groping his way forward toward light and knowledge amid a crowd of warring counselors – his two younger sons, infected at a hospital they had visited, fell sick, and Willie, the twelve-year-old boy to whom he was devotedly attached, succumbed within a few days. Lincoln watches with the nurse at the ailing children’s bedside. He ques- tions this nurse, a sincere Christian, as to her own situation ; she tells him she is a widow, her husband and two children are in heaven, she is reconciled to her afflictions, and has learned to love God even more ardently than in happier days. How has that been brought about? By trusting in Him, and believing that all He ordained was for the best.
“Did you submit fully under the first loss?”
“Only oy degrees. As blow followed blow, I learned better how to submit.”
“I am glad to hear you say that. Your experience will help me to bear my afflictions. . . . This is the hardest trial of my life. Why is it? Why is it?”
When he is told that many Christians are praying for him, he says, “I am glad to hear that. … I need their prayers. . . . I wish I had that childlike faith you speak of, and I trust God will give it to me.” He goes on to speak of his mother, buried so many years before in the wilds of Indiana. “I remember her prayers, and they have always followed me.”
Nocturnal conversations, in the half light of a sickroom lamp, while the lean and careworn man stretches his legs towards the wall, and, as part of his personality escapes from its habitual restraints, his skepticism passes for a time into abeyance. His wife, being hysterically inclined, prowls restlessly up and down, on the verge of madness. But Lincoln sits quiet, thinking about his mother’s prayers; asks the stranger whether it takes long before one can submit to affliction ; and as soon as he goes out of the room it is to find Seward waiting for him with a menacing telegram from Europe, or Stanton with bad news from the front, or an unhappy woman who wants to save her son from the clutches of martial law, and at the same moment his own son’s life is being cut short prematurely in consequence of the war.
By Emil Ludwig,”Abraham Lincoln: And the Times that Tried His Soul” , Ludwig-301-11
At 5 p.m. on Thursday, February 20, Willie died. Minutes later, Lincoln burst into Nicolay’s office. “Well, Nicolay,” he said, “my boy is gone-he is actually gone!” He began to sob. According to Elizabeth Keckley, when Lincoln came back into the room after Willie’s body had been washed and dressed, he “buried his head in his hands, and his tall frame was convulsed with emotion.” Though Keckley had observed Lincoln more intimately than most, she “did not dream that his rugged nature could be so moved.”
Asked to recommend a nurse, Dix chose Rebecca Pomroy, a young widow who had worked on typhoid wards in two Washington hospitals. Introducing Nurse Pomroy to Lincoln, Dix assured the president that she had “more confidence” in her than any other nurse, even those twice her age. Lincoln took Pomroy’s hand and smiled, saying: “Well, all I want to say is, let her turn right in.”
While Willie’s body lay in the Green Room and Mary remained in bed under sedation, Nurse Pomroy tended Tad. Whenever possible, the president brought his work into Tad’s room and sat with his son, who was “tossing with typhoid.” Always curious and compassionate about other people’s lives, Lincoln asked the new nurse about her family. She explained that she was a widow and had lost two children. Her one remaining child was in the army. Hearing her painful story, he began to cry, both for her and for his own stricken family. “This is the hardest trial of my life,” he said. “Why is it? Oh, why is it?” Several times during the long nights Tad would awaken and call for his father. “The moment [the president] heard Taddie’s voice he was at his side,” unmindful of the picture he presented in his dressing gown and slippers.
Goodwin-409-278-47
“The Wording Of His Acceptance Was Remarkably Cool”
Reply to Notification Committee
[March 1, 1865]
Having served four years in the depths of a great, and yet unended national peril, I can view this call to a second term, in nowise more flatteringly to myself, than as an expression of the public judgment, that I may better finish a difficult work, in which I have labored from the first, than could any one less severely schooled to the task.
In this view, and with assured reliance on that Almighty Ruler who has so graceously sustained us thus far; and with increased gratitude to the generous people for their continued confidence, I accept the renewed trust, with it’s yet onerous and perplexing duties and responsibilities.
Please communicate this to the two Houses of Congress.
Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln. Volume 8.
The wording of his acceptance was remarkably cool. “I regard this nomination for a second term of office, by no means as a personal compliment, but only as an expression of the general view that I am perhaps better fitted to carry a difficult task to a conclusion than might be one who had not been so severely trained for it.”
By Emil Ludwig,”Abraham Lincoln: And the Times that Tried His Soul” Ludwig-398-14