"They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;

They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;
They grieved, but no wail from their slumber will come;
They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.

"They died,—ay, they died: we things that are now,
That walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
And make in their dwellings a transient abode,
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.

"Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
Are mingled together in sunshine and rain;
And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other like surge upon surge.

""T is the wink of an eye, 't is the draught of a breath,
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud, —
Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?"

These curiously sad lines were chosen by Mr. Lincoln when he was a very young man to commemorate a grief which lay with continual heaviness on his heart, but to which he could not otherwise allude, the death of Ann Rutledge, in whose grave Mr. Lincoln said that his heart lay buried. He muttered these verses as he rambled through the woods; he was heard to murmur them as he slipped into the village at nightfall; they came unbidden to his lips in all places, and very often in his later life. In the year of his nomination, he repeated them to some friends. When he had finished them, he said "they sounded to him as much like true poetry as anything that he had ever heard." The poem is now his; it is imperishably associated with his memory and interwoven with the history of his greatest sorrow. Mr. Lincoln's adoption of it has saved it from

" of

oblivion, and translated it from the " "poet's corner the country newspaper to a place in the story of his own life.

But enough has been given to show that Mr. Lincoln was as incapable of insulting the dead, in the manner credited to him in the Antietam episode, as he was of committing mean and unmanly outrages upon the living. If hypercritical and self-appointed judges are still disposed to award blame for anything that happened on that occasion, let their censure fall upon me, and not upon the memory of the illustrious dead, who was guiltless of wrong and without the shadow of blame for the part he bore in that misjudged affair. My own part in the incident, in the light of the facts here given, needs no apology.

CHAPTER X.

HIS LOVE OF CHILDREN.

O sketch of Mr. Lincoln's character can be called

N°

complete which does not present him as he appeared at his own fireside, showing his love for his own children, his tenderness toward the little ones generally, and how in important emergencies he was influenced by them. A great writer has said that it were "better to be driven out from among men than to be disliked by children." So Mr. Lincoln firmly believed; and whenever it chanced that he gave offence to a child unwittingly he never rested until he had won back its favor and affection. He beheld in the face of a little child a record of innocence and love, of truth and trust; and in the society of children he was always happy.

Owing, perhaps, to his homely countenance and ungainly figure, strange children generally repelled his first advances; but I never saw him fail to win the affection of a child when its guileless friendship became a matter of interest to him. He could persuade any child from the arms of its mother, nurse, or play-fellow, there being a peculiar fascination in his voice and manner which the little one could not resist. As a student of child

nature and a lover of its artless innocence, he had no patience with people who practise upon the credulity of children; and it was a rule of his life never to mislead a child, even in the most trifling matter, or if in his power to prevent it to be misled or deceived by others. On making the acquaintance of a child he at once became its friend, and never afterward forgot its face or the circumstances under which the acquaintance was formed; for his little friends always made some impression on his mind and feelings that was certain to be lasting.

A striking instance of this character deserves especial mention. Shortly after his first election to the Presidency he received a pleasant letter from a little girl living in a small town in the State of New York. The child told him that she had seen his picture, and it was her opinion, as she expressed it in her artless way, that he "would be a better looking man if he would let his beard grow." Mr. Lincoln passed that New York town on his way to Washington, and his first thought on reaching the place was about his little correspondent. In his brief speech to the people he made a pleasing reference to the child and her charming note. "This little lady," said he, "saw from the first that great improvement might be made in my personal appearance. You all see that I am not a very handsome man; and to be honest with you, neither I nor any of my friends ever boasted very much about my personal beauty." He then passed his hand over his face and continued: "But I intend to follow that little girl's advice, and if

she is present I would like to speak to her." The child came forward timidly, and was warmly greeted by the President-elect. He took her in his arms and kissed her affectionately, expressing the hope that he might have the pleasure of seeing his little friend again sometime.

Shortly after this, Mr. Lincoln, for the first time in his life, allowed his beard to grow all over his face, with the exception of the upper lip; and this fashion he continued as long as he lived. In speaking of the incident which led him to wear a full beard, he afterward remarked, reflectively, "How small a thing will sometimes change the whole aspect of our lives!"

That Mr. Lincoln realized that an improvement was necessary in his personal appearance is evidenced by many amusing stories told by him. The one he especially enjoyed telling was, how once, when "riding the circuit," he was accosted in the cars by a stranger, who said, “Excuse me, sir, but I have session which belongs to you."

an article in my pos"How is that?" Mr.

The stranger took a

Lincoln asked, much astonished. knife from his pocket, saying, "This knife was placed in my hands some years ago with the injunction that I was to keep it until I found a man uglier than myself. I have carried it from that time to this. Allow me now to say, sir, that I think you are fairly entitled to the property."

Mr. Carpenter, the artist who painted the picture of "The Proclamation of Emancipation," tells in his book