“His Workshop Was Inside His Head”

Posted on April 6, 2016 Updated on April 20, 2020

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

Posted on April 6, 2016 Updated on April 23, 2020

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”

Posted on April 5, 2016 Updated on April 28, 2016

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.

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Second Inaugural Address (March 4, 1865)

Posted on March 29, 2016 Updated on May 16, 2018

Fellow Countrymen:

At this second appearing to take the oath of the presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. Then a statement, somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued, seemed fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention, and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself; and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured.
On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago, all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil-war. All dreaded it-all sought to avert it. While the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war-seeking to dissolve the Union, and divide effects, by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive; and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. And the war came.
One eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the Union, but localized in the Southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was, somehow, the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union, even by war; while the government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it.
Neither party expected for the war, the magnitude, or the duration, which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with, or even before, the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding.

Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces; but let us judge not that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered; that of neither has been answered fully.
The Almighty has His own purposes. “Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!” If we shall suppose that American Slavery is one of those offences which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South, this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offence came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a Living God always ascribe to Him?
Fondly do we hope-fervently do we pray-that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue, until all the wealth piled by the bond-man’s two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash, shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said “the judgments of the Lord, are true and righteous altogether.”
With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan-to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.

When the President and the procession of notables appeared, a tremendous shout, prolonged and loud, arose from the surging ocean of humanity around the Capitol building. Then the sergeant-at-arms of the Senate, the historic Brown, arose and bowed, with his shining black hat in hand, in dumb-show before the crowd, which thereupon became still, and Abraham Lincoln, rising tall and gaunt among the groups about him, stepped forward and read his inaugural address, which was printed in two broad columns upon a single page of large paper. As he advanced from his seat, a roar of applause shook the air, and, again and again repeated, finally died far away on the outer fringe of the throng, like a sweeping wave upon the shore. Just at that moment the sun, which had been obscured all day, burst forth in its unclouded meridian splendor, and flooded the spectacle with glory and with light. Every heart beat quicker at the unexpected ornen, and doubtless not a few mentally prayed that so might the darkness which had obscured the past four years be now dissipated by the sun of prosperity,

Till danger’s troubled night depart,

And the star of peace return.

The inaugural address was received in most profound silence. Every word was clear and audible as the ringing and somewhat shrill tones of Lincoln’s voice sounded over the vast concourse. There was applause, however, at the words, “both parties deprecated war, but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish ” ; and the cheer that followed these words lasted long enough to make a considerable pause before he added sententiously, ” and the war came.” There were occasional spurts of applause, too, at other points along this wonderful address. Looking down into the faces of the people, illuminated by the bright rays of the sun, one could see moist eyes and even tearful cheeks as the good President pronounced these noble words : “With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work

we are in ; to bind up the nation’s wounds ; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphans; to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.” Among the memories of a lifetime, doubtless there are none more fondly cherished by those who were so fortunate as to stand near Lincoln at that historic moment than the recollection of the beautiful solemnity, the tender sympathy, of these inspired utterances, and the rapt silence of the multitudes.

There were many cheers and many tears as this noble address was concluded. Silence being restored, the President turned toward Chief Justice Chase, who, with his right hand uplifted, directed the Bible to be brought forward by the clerk of the Supreme Court. Then Lincoln, laying his right hand upon the open page, repeated the oath of office administered to him by the Chief Justice, after which, solemnly saying, ” So help me God,” he bent forward and reverently kissed the Book, then rose up inaugurated President of the United States for four years from March 4, 1865. A salvo of artillery boomed upon the air, cheer upon cheer rang out, and then, after turning, and bowing to the assembled hosts, the President retired into the Capitol, and, emerging by a basement entrance, took his carriage and was escorted back to the White House by a great procession.

The Book was probably opened at a venture by a clerk. Chief Justice Chase noted the place where Lincoln’s lips touched the page, and he afterward marked the spot with a pencil. The Book so 

marked was given by the Chief Justice to Mrs. Lincoln. The President had pressed his lips on the 27th and 28th verses of the fifth chapter of the Book of Isaiah, where were these words :

None shall be weary nor stumble among them ; none shall slumber nor sleep ; neither shall the girdle of their loins be loosed, nor the latchet of their shoes be broken :

Whose arrows are sharp, and all their bows bent, their horses’ hoofs shall be counted like flint, their wheels like a whirlwind.

There was the usual reception at the White House that evening, and, later on, the traditional inauguration ball, at which the President and his wife, most of the members of the cabinet, General Hooker, Admiral Farragut, and other great people were present. The ball was held in the great Hall of Patents in the Interior Department building, and was a very handsome affair ; but its beauty was marred by an extraordinary rush of hungry people, who fairly mobbed the supper-tables, and enacted a scene of confusion whose wildness was similar to some of the antics of the Paris Commune.

But chiefly memorable in the mind of those who saw that second inauguration must still remain the tall, pathetic, melancholy figure of the man who, then inducted into office in the midst of the glad acclaim of thousands of people, and illumined by the deceptive brilliance of a March sunburst, was already standing in the shadow of death.

Quoted in Noah Brooks, Washington, D.C., in Lincoln’s Time, ed. Herbert Mitgang (Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1971; Athens, Ga., and London: University of Georgia Press, 1989), p. 238.

The following month, on the occasion of his second inauguration, Lincoln delivered a speech that the late Earl Curzon, Chancellor of Oxford University, declared to be “the purest gold of human eloquence, nay of eloquence almost divine.”

Stepping forward and kissing a Bible open at the fifth chapter of Isaiah, he began an address that sounded like the speech of some great character in drama. “It was like a sacred poem,” wrote Carl Schurz. “No ruler had ever spoken words like these to his people. America had never before had a president who had found such words in the depths of his heart.” The closing words of this speech are, in the estimation of the writer, the most noble and beautiful utterances ever delivered by the lips of mortal man. He never reads them without thinking somehow of an organ playing in the subdued light of a great cathedral.

Two months later, to a day, this speech was read at Lincoln’s funeral services in Springfield.

By Dale Carnegie，“Lincoln, the Unknown” ，p.192    Carnegie-185-178-37

Such was Lincoln’s address to the people when opening his second term as President. It was a father’s speech. All its political elements seemed resolved into philosophy, and all philosophy was fatalism. When he was still doubtful of victory, the main purpose of his speeches and open letters was to sustain the nation’s confidence. Now, when victory could only be a question of weeks, he gave all the honor to that force of destiny which he termed God, and ventured to tell his astonished auditors that God’s ways were to be regarded as righteous, even if they should involve the long continuance of bloodshed. After he had for four years devoted himself to all the activities forced on him by circumstances, he was able, relieved from this burden, to resume the role natural to him – that of one who awaits destiny’s decree, and accepts whatever fate assigns. At the same time, the speech is that of an educator, for it has the clarity of old age; it is something of a testament. Yet, broadly regarded, it is not so much a speech as an ode.

By Emil Ludwig,”Abraham Lincoln: And the Times that Tried His Soul”    Ludwig-434-09

Reply to Committee of the Republican National Convention  (May 19, 1860)

Posted on March 23, 2016 Updated on May 15, 2018

Reply to Committee of the Republican National Convention 

May 19, 1860
Mr. Chairman and gentlemen of the committee, I tender [to] you, and through you [to] the Republican National Convention, and all the people represented in it, my profoundest thanks for the high honor done me, which you now formally announce.

Deeply, and even painfully sensible of the great responsibility which is inseparable from that [this high] honor—a responsibility which I could almost wish had fallen upon some one of the far more eminent men and experienced statesmen whose distinguished names were before the Convention, I shall, by your leave, consider more fully the resolutions of the Convention, denominated the platform, and without unseasonable [unnecessary or unreasonable] delay, respond to you, Mr. Chairman, in writing—not doubting now, that the platform will be found satisfactory, and the nomination [gratefully] accepted.

And now, I will not longer defer the pleasure of taking you, and each of you, by the hand.

–Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln. Volume 4.

By Doris Kearns Goodwin

Posted on March 21, 2016 Updated on May 16, 2018

LINCOLN’S ABILITY TO RETAIN his emotional balance in such difficult situations was rooted in an acute self-awareness and an enormous capacity to dispel anxiety in constructive ways. In the most difficult moments of his presidency, nothing provided Lincoln greater respite and renewal than to immerse himself in a play at either Grover’s or Ford’s. Leonard Grover estimated that Lincoln had visited his theater “more than a hundred times” during his four years as president. He was most frequently accompanied by Seward, who shared Lincoln’s passion for drama and was an old friend of Mr. Grover’s. But his three young assistants, Nicolay, Hay, and Stoddard, also joined him on occasion, as did Noah Brooks, Mary, and Tad. On many nights, Lincoln came by himself, delighted at the chance to sink into his seat as the gaslights dimmed and the action on the stage began.
“It gave him an hour or two of freedom from care and worry,” observed Brooks, “and what was better, freedom from the interruption of office-seekers and politicians. He was on such terms with the managers of two of the theaters that he could go in privately by the stage door, and slip into the stage boxes without being seen by the audience.” More than anything else, Stoddard remarked how “the drama by drawing his mind into other channels of thought, afforded him the most entire relief.” At a performance of Henry IV: Part One,Stoddard noted how thoroughly Lincoln enjoyed himself. “He has forgotten the war. He has forgotten Congress. He is out of politics. He is living in Prince Hal’s time.”
It is not surprising that the theater offered ideal refreshment for a man who regularly employed storytelling to ease tensions. The theater held all the elements of a perfect escape. Enthralled by the live drama, the costumes and scenery, the stagecraft, and the rhetorical extravagances, he was transported into a realm far from the troubling events that filled the rest of his waking hours.
Fred Seward recalled that Lincoln made his way to their house almost every night while Miss Cushman visited. Seward had introduced Cushman to the president in the summer of 1861. She had hoped to ask Lincoln for help in obtaining a West Point appointment for a young friend, but the scintillating conversation distracted her from the purpose of her visit. And Lincoln was undoubtedly riveted by the celebrated actress of his beloved Shakespeare.
Unlike Seward, who had been attending theater since he was a young man, Lincoln had seen very few live performances until he came to Washington. So excited was he by his first sight of Falstaff on the stage that he wrote the actor, James Hackett: “Perhaps the best compliment I can pay is to say, as I truly can, I am very anxious to see it again.” Although he had not read all of Shakespeare’s plays, he told Hackett that he had studied some of them “perhaps as frequently as any unprofessional reader. Among the latter are Lear, Richard Third, Henry Eighth, Hamlet, and especially Macbeth. I think nothing equals Macbeth. It is wonderful. Unlike you gentlemen of the profession, I think the soliloquy in Hamlet commencing ‘O, my offence is rank’ surpasses that commencing, ‘To be, or not to be.’ But pardon this small attempt at criticism.” When Hackett shared the president’s letter with friends, it unfortunately made its way into opposition newspapers. Lincoln was promptly ridiculed for his attempt to render dramatic judgments. An embarrassed Hackett apologized to Lincoln, who urged him to have “no uneasiness on the subject.” He was not “shocked by the newspaper comments,” for all his life he had “endured a great deal of ridicule without much malice.”
The histories and tragedies of Shakespeare that Lincoln loved most dealt with themes that would resonate to a president in the midst of civil war: political intrigue, the burdens of power, the nature of ambition, the relationship of leaders to those they governed. The plays illuminated with stark beauty the dire consequences of civil strife, the evils wrought by jealousy and disloyalty, the emotions evoked by the death of a child, the sundering of family ties or love of country.
Congressman William D. Kelley of Pennsylvania recalled bringing the actor John McDonough to the White House on a stormy night. Lincoln had relished McDonough’s performance as Edgar inKing Lear and was delighted to meet him. For his part, McDonough was “an intensely partisan Democrat, and had accepted the theory that Mr. Lincoln was a mere buffoon.” His attitude changed after spending four hours discussing Shakespeare with the president. Lincoln was eager to know why certain scenes were left out of productions. He was fascinated by the different ways that classic lines could be delivered. He lifted his “well- thumbed volume” of Shakespeare from the shelf, reading aloud some passages, repeating others from memory. When the clock approached midnight, Kelley stood up to go, chagrined to have kept the president so long. Lincoln swiftly assured his guests that he had “not enjoyed such a season of literary recreation” in many months. The evening had provided an immensely “pleasant interval” from his work.
In late February and early March 1864, Edwin Booth came to Grover’s Theatre for a three-week engagement, delivering one masterly performance after another. Lincoln and Seward attended the theater night after night. They saw Booth in the title roles of Hamlet and Richard III. They applauded his performance as Brutus in Julius Caesar and as Shylock in The Merchant of Venice.
Detained at the White House, Lincoln missed the enjoyable interchange with Booth. A few days earlier, anticipating Booth’s Hamlet, Lincoln had talked about the play with Francis Carpenter, the young artist who was at work on his picture depicting the first reading of the Emancipation Proclamation. In the course of the conversation, Lincoln recited from memory his favorite passage, the king’s soliloquy after the murder of Hamlet’s father, “with a feeling and appreciation unsurpassed by anything I ever witnessed upon the stage.”
What struck Carpenter most forcefully was Lincoln’s ability to appreciate tragedy and comedy with equal intensity. He could, in one sitting, bring tears to a visitor’s eyes with a sensitive rendering from Richard III and moments later induce riotous laughter with a comic tall tale. His “laugh,” Carpenter observed, “stood by itself. The ‘neigh’ of a wild horse on his native prairie is not more undisguised and hearty.” Lincoln’s ability to commingle joy with sorrow seemed to Carpenter a trait the president shared with his favorite playwright. “It has been well said,” Carpenter noted, “that ‘the spirit which held the woe of “Lear,” and the tragedy of “Hamlet,” would have broken, had it not also had the humor of the “Merry Wives of Windsor,” and the merriment of “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” ’”
No other cabinet member went to the theater as regularly as Lincoln and Seward. Chase and Bates considered it a foolish waste of time, perhaps even a “Satanic diversion,” while Stanton came only once to Grover’s playhouse, with the sole intention of buttonholing Lincoln about some pressing matter. Seated with Lincoln in his box, Grover had been startled when Stanton arrived a half hour late, sidled up to Lincoln, and engaged him in a long conversation. Lincoln listened attentively but kept his eyes on the stage. Frustrated, Stanton “grasped Mr. Lincoln by the lapel of his coat, slowly pulled him round face to face, and continued the conversation. Mr. Lincoln responded to this brusque act with all the smiling geniality that one might bestow on a similar act from a favorite child, but soon again turned his eyes to the stage.” Finally, Stanton despaired utterly of conducting his business. He “arose, said good night, and withdrew.”

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