CHAPTER II.

Hand written letter page 1

Hand written letter page 2

The following letter shows Lincoln's view of the political situation at that time:—

Springfield, June 11, 1858.W. H. Lamon, Esq.:My dear Sir, — Yours of the 9th written at Joliet is just received. Two or three days ago I learned that McLean had appointed delegates in favor of Lovejoy, and thenceforward I have considered his renomination a fixed fact. Myopinion—if my opinion is of any consequence in this case, in which it is no business of mine to interfere—remains unchanged, that running an independent candidate against Lovejoy will not do; that it will result in nothing but disaster all round. In the first place, whoever so runs will be beaten and will be spotted for life; in the second place, while the race is in progress, he will be under the strongest temptation to trade with the Democrats, and to favor the election of certain of their friends to the Legislature; thirdly, I shall be held responsible for it, and Republican members of the Legislature, who are partial to Lovejoy, will for that purpose oppose us; and, lastly, it will in the end lose us the District altogether. There is no safe way but a convention; and if in that convention, upon a common platform which all are willing to stand upon, one who has been known as anAbolitionist, but who is now occupying none but common ground, can get the majority of the votes to whichalllook for an election, there is no safe way but to submit.As to the inclination of some Republicans to favor Douglas, that is one of the chances I have to run, and which I intend to run with patience.I write in the court room. Court has opened, and I must close.Yours as ever,(Signed)A. Lincoln.

Springfield, June 11, 1858.

W. H. Lamon, Esq.:

My dear Sir, — Yours of the 9th written at Joliet is just received. Two or three days ago I learned that McLean had appointed delegates in favor of Lovejoy, and thenceforward I have considered his renomination a fixed fact. Myopinion—if my opinion is of any consequence in this case, in which it is no business of mine to interfere—remains unchanged, that running an independent candidate against Lovejoy will not do; that it will result in nothing but disaster all round. In the first place, whoever so runs will be beaten and will be spotted for life; in the second place, while the race is in progress, he will be under the strongest temptation to trade with the Democrats, and to favor the election of certain of their friends to the Legislature; thirdly, I shall be held responsible for it, and Republican members of the Legislature, who are partial to Lovejoy, will for that purpose oppose us; and, lastly, it will in the end lose us the District altogether. There is no safe way but a convention; and if in that convention, upon a common platform which all are willing to stand upon, one who has been known as anAbolitionist, but who is now occupying none but common ground, can get the majority of the votes to whichalllook for an election, there is no safe way but to submit.

As to the inclination of some Republicans to favor Douglas, that is one of the chances I have to run, and which I intend to run with patience.

I write in the court room. Court has opened, and I must close.

Yours as ever,

(Signed)A. Lincoln.

During this senatorial campaign in 1858, Hon. James G. Blaine predicted in a letter, which was extensively published, that Douglas would beat Lincoln for the United States Senate, but that Lincoln would beat Douglas for President in 1860. Mr. Lincoln cut out the paragraph of the letter containing this prediction, and placed it in his pocket-book, where I have no doubt it was found after his death, for only a very short time before that event I saw it in his possession.[3]

After Mr. Lincoln's election he was sorely beset by rival claimants for the spoils of office in his own State, and distracted by jealousies among his own party adherents. The State was divided so far as the Republican party was concerned into three cliques or factions. The Chicago faction was headed by Norman B. Judd and Ebenezer Peck, the Bloomington faction by Judge David Davis, Leonard Swett, and others, and that of Springfield by J. K. Dubois, O. M. Hatch, William Butler, and others; and however anxious Mr. Lincoln might be to honor his State by a Cabinet appointment, he was powerlessto do so without incurring the hostility of the factions from which he could not make a selection. Harmony was, however, in a large measure preserved among the Republican politicians by sending Judd as Minister to Prussia, and by anticipating a place on the Supreme Bench for Judge Davis. Swett wanted nothing, and middle Illinois was satisfied. Springfield controlled the lion's share of State patronage, and satisfaction was given all round as far as circumstances would allow.

Between the time of Mr. Lincoln's election and the 11th of February, 1861, he spent his time in a room in the State House which was assigned to him as an office. Young Mr. Nicolay, a very clever and competent clerk, was lent to him by the Secretary of State to do his writing. During this time he was overrun with visitors from all quarters of the country,—some to assist in forming his Cabinet, some to direct how patronage should be distributed, others to beg for or demand personal advancement. So painstaking was he, that every one of the many thousand letters which poured in upon him was read and promptly answered. The burden of the new and overwhelming labor came near prostrating him with serious illness.

Some days before his departure for Washington, he wrote to me at Bloomington that he desired to see me at once. I went to Springfield, and Mr. Lincoln said to me: "Hill, on the 11th I go to Washington, and I want you to go along with me. Our friends have already asked me to send you as Consul to Paris. You know Iwould cheerfully give you anything for which our friends may ask or which you may desire, but it looks as if we might have war. In that case I want you with me. In fact, I must have you. So get yourself ready and come along. It will be handy to have you around. If there is to be a fight, I want you to help me to do my share of it, as you have done in times past. You must go, and go to stay."

On the 11th of February, 1861, the arrangements for Mr. Lincoln's departure from Springfield were completed. It was intended to occupy the time remaining between that date and the 4th of March with a grand tour from State to State and city to city. Mr. Wood, "recommended by Senator Seward," was the chief manager. He provided special trains, to be preceded by pilot engines all the way through.

It was a gloomy day: heavy clouds floated overhead, and a cold rain was falling. Long before eight o'clock, a great mass of people had collected at the station of the Great Western Railway to witness the event of the day. At precisely five minutes before eight, Mr. Lincoln, preceded by Mr. Wood, emerged from a private room in the station, and passed slowly to the car, the people falling back respectfully on either side, and as many as possible shaking his hand. Having reached the train he ascended the rear platform, and, facing the throng which had closed around him, drew himself up to his full height, removed his hat, and stood for several seconds in profound silence. His eye roved sadly over that sea of upturned faces; and he thought he read in them again thesympathy and friendship which he had often tried, and which he never needed more than he did then. There was an unusual quiver on his lip, and a still more unusual tear on his furrowed cheek. His solemn manner, his long silence, were as full of melancholy eloquence as any words he could have uttered. Of what was he thinking? Of the mighty changes which had lifted him from the lowest to the highest estate in the nation; of the weary road which had brought him to this lofty summit; of his poverty-stricken boyhood; of his poor mother lying beneath the tangled underbrush in a distant forest? Whatever the particular character of his thoughts, it is evident that they were retrospective and painful. To those who were anxiously waiting to catch words upon which the fate of the nation might hang, it seemed long until he had mastered his feelings sufficiently to speak. At length he began in a husky tone of voice, and slowly and impressively delivered his farewell to his neighbors. Imitating his example, every man in the crowd stood with his head uncovered in the fast-falling rain.

"Friends, no one who has never been placed in a like position can understand my feelings at this hour, nor the oppressive sadness I feel at this parting. For more than a quarter of a century I have lived among you, and during all that time I have received nothing but kindness at your hands. Here I have lived from my youth, until now I am an old man. Here the most sacred ties of earth were assumed; here all my children were born; and here one of them lies buried. To you, dear friends, I owe all that I have, all that I am.'All the strange, checkered past seems to crowd now upon my mind.' To-day I leave you. I go to assume a task more difficult than that which devolved upon Washington. Unless the great God, who assisted him, shall be with me and aid me, I must fail; but if the same omniscient mind and almighty arm that directed and protected him shall guide and support me, I shall not fail,—I shall succeed. Let us all pray that the God of our fathers may not forsake us now. To Him I commend you all. Permit me to ask that, with equal security and faith, you will invoke His wisdom and guidance for me. With these few words I must leave you,—for how long I know not. Friends, one and all, I must now bid you an affectionate farewell."

Few more impressive utterances were ever made by any one than found expression in this simple speech. This farewell meant more to him than to his hearers. To them it meant, "Good-by for the present,"—a commendation of his dearest friends to the watchful care of God until his return. To him it foreboded eternity ere their reunion,—his last solemn benediction until the resurrection. He never believed he would return to the hallowed scenes of his adopted State, to his friends and his home. He had felt for many years that he would suffer a violent death, and at different times expressed his apprehensions before and after his election as President.

The first night after our departure from Springfield was spent in Indianapolis. Governor Yates, the Hon. O. H. Browning, Jesse K. Dubois, O. M. Hatch, Josiah Allen, of Indiana, and others, after taking leave of Mr. Lincoln to return to their respective homes, took meinto a room, locked the door, and proceeded in the most solemn and impressive manner to instruct me as to my duties as the special guardian of Mr. Lincoln's person during the rest of his journey to Washington. The lesson was concluded by Uncle Jesse, as Mr. Dubois was commonly called, who said: "Now, Lamon, we have regarded you as the Tom Hyer of Illinois, with Morrissey attachment. We intrust the sacred life of Mr. Lincoln to your keeping; and if you don't protect it, never return to Illinois, for we will murder you on sight."

With this amiable threat, delivered in a jocular tone, but with a feeling of deep, ill-disguised alarm for the safety of the President-elect, in which they all shared, the door was unlocked and they took their leave. If I had been remiss in my duty toward Mr. Lincoln during that memorable journey, I have no doubt those sturdy men would have made good some part of their threat.

The journey from Springfield to Philadelphia was not characterized by any scene unusual or more eventful than what was ordinary on such occasions, notwithstanding that so much has been written about thrilling dangers, all of which were imagined but not encountered. Mr. Lincoln's speeches were the all-absorbing events of the hour. The people everywhere were eager to hear a forecast of his policy, and he was as determined to keep silence on that subject until it was made manifest in his Inaugural Address. After having beenen routea day or two, he told me that he had done much hard work in his life, but to make speeches day after day,with the object of speaking and saying nothing, was the hardest work he ever had done. "I wish," said he, "that this thing were through with, and I could find peace and quiet somewhere."

On arriving at Albany, N. Y., Mr. Thurlow Weed asked me where Mr. Lincoln was going to be domiciled in Washington until he was inaugurated. I told him Messrs. Trumbull and Washburne had provided quarters for him; that they had rented a house on Thirteenth or Fourteenth Street, N. W., for his reception, and that Mr. Lincoln had submitted the matter to me, asking me to confer with Capt. John Pope, one of our party who was an old friend of his, and to make just such arrangements as I thought best for his quarters in Washington. Mr. Weed said, "It will never do to allow him to go to a private house to be under the influence of State control. He is now public property, and ought to be where he can be reached by the people until he is inaugurated." We then agreed that Willard's Hotel would be the best place, and the following letter was written to Mr. Willard to arrange for the reception of the Presidential party:—

Albany, Feb. 19, 1861.Dear Willard, — Mr. Lincoln will be your guest.In arranging his apartments, please reserve nearest him apartments for two of his friends, Judge Davis and Mr. Lamon.Truly yours,(Signed)Thurlow Weed.

Albany, Feb. 19, 1861.

Dear Willard, — Mr. Lincoln will be your guest.

In arranging his apartments, please reserve nearest him apartments for two of his friends, Judge Davis and Mr. Lamon.

Truly yours,(Signed)Thurlow Weed.

Mrs. Lincoln and one son accompany him.

Hand written letter

This arrangement was reported to Mr. Lincoln, who said: "I fear it will give mortal offense to our friends, but I think the arrangement a good one. I can readily see that many other well meant plans will 'gang aglee,' but I am sorry. The truth is, I suppose I am now public property; and a public inn is the place where people can have access to me."

Mr. Lincoln had prepared his Inaugural Address with great care, and up to the time of his arrival in Washington he had not shown it to any one. No one had been consulted as to what he should say on that occasion. During the journey the Address was made an object of special care, and was guarded with more than ordinary vigilance. It was carefully stored away in a satchel, which for the most of the time received his personal supervision. At Harrisburg, however, the precious bag was lost sight of. This was a matter which for prudential reasons could not be much talked about, and concerning which no great amount of anxiety could be shown. Mr. Lincoln had about concluded that his Address was lost. It at length dawned upon him that on arriving at Harrisburg he had intrusted the satchel to his son Bob, then a boy in his teens. He at once hunted up the boy and asked him what he had done with the bag. Robert confessed that in the excitement of the reception he thought that he had given it to a waiter of the hotel or to some one, he couldn't tell whom. Lincoln was in despair. Only ten days remained until the inauguration, and no Address; not even a trace of the notes was preserved from which it had been prepared.

I had never seen Mr. Lincoln so much annoyed, so much perplexed, and for the time so angry. He seldom manifested a spirit of anger toward his children,—this was the nearest approach to it I had ever witnessed. He and I started in search of the satchel. We went first to the hotel office, where we were informed that if an employé of the hotel had taken charge of it, it would be found in the baggage-room. On going there, we found a great pile of all kinds of baggage in promiscuous confusion. Mr. Lincoln's keen eye soon discovered a satchel which he thought his own; taking it in his hand eagerly he tried his key; it fitted the lock,—the bag opened, and to our astonishment it contained nothing but a soiled shirt, several paper collars, a pack of cards, and a bottle of whiskey nearly full. In spite of his perplexity, the ludicrous mistake overcame Mr. Lincoln's gravity, and we both laughed heartily, much to the amusement of the bystanders. Shortly afterward we found among the mass the bag containing the precious document.

I shall never forget Mr. Lincoln's expression and what he said when he first informed me of his supposed loss, and enlisted my services in search of it. He held his head down for a moment, and then whispered: "Lamon, I guess I have lost my certificate of moral character, written by myself. Bob has lost my gripsack containing my Inaugural Address. I want you to help me to find it. I feel a good deal as the old member of the Methodist Church did when he lost his wife at the camp-meeting,and went up to an old elder of the church and asked him if he could tell him whereabouts in hell his wife was. In fact, I am in a worse fix than my Methodist friend; for if it were nothing but a wife that was missing, mine would be sure to pop up serenely somewhere. That Address may be a loss to more than one husband in this country, but I shall be the greatest sufferer."

On our dark journey from Harrisburg to Philadelphia the lamps of the car were not lighted, because of the secret journey we were making. The loss of the Address and the search for it was the subject of a great deal of amusement. Mr. Lincoln said many funny things in connection with the incident. One of them was that he knew a fellow once who had saved up fifteen hundred dollars, and had placed it in a private banking establishment. The bank soon failed, and he afterward received ten per cent of his investment. He then took his one hundred and fifty dollars and deposited it in a savings bank, where he was sure it would be safe. In a short time this bank also failed, and he received at the final settlement ten per cent on the amount deposited. When the fifteen dollars was paid over to him, he held it in his hand and looked at it thoughtfully; then he said, "Now, darn you, I have got you reduced to a portable shape, so I'll put you in my pocket." Suiting the action to the word, Mr. Lincoln took his Address from the bag and carefully placed it in the inside pocket of his vest, but held on to the satchel with as muchinterest as if it still contained his "certificate of moral character."

While Mr. Lincoln, in the midst of his suite of attendants, was being borne in triumph through the streets of Philadelphia, and a countless multitude of people were shouting themselves hoarse, and jostling and crushing each other round his carriage, Mr. Felton, the president of the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore Railway, was engaged with a private detective discussing the details of an alleged conspiracy to murder him at Baltimore. At various places along the route Mr. Judd, who was supposed to exercise unbounded influence over the new President, had received vague hints of the impending danger.

Mr. Lincoln reached Philadelphia on the afternoon of the 21st. The detective had arrived in the morning, and improved the interval to impress and enlist Mr. Felton. In the evening he got Mr. Judd and Mr. Felton into his room at the St. Louis Hotel, and told them all he had learned. Mr. Judd was very much startled, and was sure that it would be extremely imprudent for Mr. Lincoln to pass through Baltimore in open daylight, according to the published programme. But he thought the detective ought to see the President himself; and, as it was wearing toward nine o'clock, there was no time to lose. It was agreed that the part taken by the detective and Mr. Felton should be kept secret from every one but the President. Mr. Sanford, president of the American Telegraph Company, had also been co-operating inthe business, and the same stipulation was made with regard to him.

Mr. Judd went to his own room at the Continental, and the detective followed. The crowd in the hotel was very dense, and it took some time to get a message to Mr. Lincoln. But it finally reached him, and he responded in person. Mr. Judd introduced the detective; and the latter told his story again. Mr. Judd and the detective wanted Mr. Lincoln to leave for Washington that night. This he flatly refused to do. He had engagements with the people, he said, to raise a flag over Independence Hall in the morning, and to exhibit himself at Harrisburg in the afternoon,—and these engagements he would not break in any event. But he would raise the flag, go to Harrisburg, get away quietly in the evening, and permit himself to be carried to Washington in the way they thought best. Even this, however, he conceded with great reluctance. He condescended to cross-examine the detective on some parts of his narrative; but at no time did he seem in the least degree alarmed. He was earnestly requested not to communicate the change of plan to any member of his party except Mr. Judd, nor permit even a suspicion of it to cross the mind of another.

In the mean time, Mr. Seward had also discovered the conspiracy, and despatched his son to Philadelphia to warn the President-elect of the terrible snare into whose meshes he was about to run. Mr. Lincoln turned him over to Judd, and Judd told him they already knewabout it. He went away with just enough information to enable his father to anticipate the exact moment of Mr. Lincoln's surreptitious arrival in Washington.

Early on the morning of the 22d, Mr. Lincoln raised the flag over Independence Hall, and departed for Harrisburg. On the way, Mr. Judd gave him a full and precise detail of the arrangements that had been made the previous night. After the conference with the detective, Mr. Sanford, Colonel Scott, Mr. Felton, and the railroad and telegraph officials had been sent for, and came to Mr. Judd's room. They occupied nearly the whole of the night in perfecting the plan. It was finally agreed that about six o'clock the next evening Mr. Lincoln should slip away from the Jones Hotel at Harrisburg, in company with a single member of his party. A special car and engine was to be provided for him on the track outside the depot; all other trains on the road were to be "side-tracked" until this one had passed. Mr. Sanford was to forward skilled "telegraph-climbers," and see that all the wires leading out of Harrisburg were cut at six o'clock, and kept down until it was known that Mr. Lincoln had reached Washington in safety. The detective was to meet Mr. Lincoln at the West Philadelphia Station with a carriage, and conduct him by a circuitous route to the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore Station. Berths for four were to be pre-engaged in the sleeping-car attached to the regular midnight train for Baltimore. This train Mr. Felton was to cause to be detained until the conductor should receive a package,containing important "government despatches," addressed to "E. J. Allen, Willard's Hotel, Washington." This package was to be made up of old newspapers, carefully wrapped and sealed, and delivered to the detective to be used as soon as Mr. Lincoln was lodged in the car.

Mr. Lincoln acquiesced in this plan. Then Mr. Judd, forgetting the secrecy which the spy had so impressively enjoined, told Mr. Lincoln that the step he was about to take was one of such transcendent importance that he thought "it should be communicated to the other gentlemen of the party." Therefore, when they had arrived at Harrisburg, and the public ceremonies and speech-making were over, Mr. Lincoln retired to a private parlor in the Jones House; and Mr. Judd summoned to meet him there Judge Davis, Colonel Sumner, Major Hunter, Captain Pope, and myself. Judd began the conference by stating the alleged fact of the Baltimore conspiracy, how it was detected, and how it was proposed to thwart it by a midnight expedition to Washington by way of Philadelphia. It was a great surprise to all of us.

Colonel Sumner was the first to break the silence. "That proceeding," said he, "will be a damned piece of cowardice."

Mr. Judd considered this a "pointed hit," but replied that "that view of the case had already been presented to Mr. Lincoln." Then there was a general interchange of opinions, which Sumner interrupted by saying,—

"I'll get a squad of cavalry, sir, andcutour way to Washington, sir!"

"Probably before that day comes," said Mr. Judd, "the inauguration day will have passed. It is important that Mr. Lincoln should be in Washington on that day."

Thus far Judge Davis had expressed no opinion, but had put various questions to test the truthfulness of the story. He now turned to Mr. Lincoln, and said, "You personally heard the detective's story. You have heard this discussion. What is your judgment in the matter?"

"I have thought over this matter considerably since I went over the ground with the detective last night. The appearance of Mr. Frederick Seward with warning from another source confirms my belief in the detective's statement. Unless there are some other reasons besides fear of ridicule, I am disposed to carry out Judd's plan."

There was no longer any dissent as to the plan itself; but one question still remained to be disposed of. Who should accompany the President on his perilous ride? Mr. Judd again took the lead, declaring that he and Mr. Lincoln had previously determined that but one man ought to go, and that I had been selected as the proper person. To this Sumner violently demurred. "Ihave undertaken," he exclaimed, "to see Mr. Lincoln to Washington!"

Mr. Lincoln was dining when a close carriage was brought to the side door of the hotel. He was called, hurried to his room, changed his coat and hat, andpassed rapidly through the hall and out of the door. As he was stepping into the carriage, it became manifest that Sumner was determined to get in also. "Hurry with him!" whispered Judd to me; and at the same time, placing his hand on Sumner's shoulder, he said aloud, "One moment, Colonel!" Sumner turned round, and in that moment the carriage drove rapidly away. "A madder man," says Mr. Judd, "you never saw."

We got on board the car without discovery or mishap. Besides ourselves, there was no one in or about the car except Mr. Lewis, general superintendent of the Pennsylvania Central Railroad, and Mr. Franciscus, superintendent of the division over which we were about to pass. The arrangements for the special train were made ostensibly to take these two gentlemen to Philadelphia.

At ten o'clock we reached West Philadelphia, and were met by the detective and one Mr. Kenney, an under-official of the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore Railroad, from whose hands the "important parcel" was to be delivered to the conductor of the 10.50P.M.train. Mr. Lincoln, the detective, and myself seated ourselves in a carriage which stood in waiting; and Mr. Kenney sat upon the box with the driver. It was nearly an hour before the Baltimore train was to start; and Mr. Kenney found it necessary to consume the time by driving northward in search of some imaginary person.

As the moment for the departure of the Baltimore train drew near, the carriage paused in the dark shadowsof the depot building. It was not considered prudent to approach the entrance.

We were directed to the sleeping-car. Mr. Kenney ran forward and delivered the "important package," and in three minutes the train was in motion. The tickets for the whole party had been procured by George R. Dunn, an express agent, who had selected berths in the rear of the car, and had insisted that the rear door of the car should be opened on the plea that one of the party was an invalid, who would arrive late, and did not desire to be carried through the narrow passage-way of the crowded car. Mr. Lincoln got into his berth immediately, the curtains were carefully closed, and the rest of the party waited until the conductor came round, when the detective handed him the "sick man's" ticket. During the night Mr. Lincoln indulged in a joke or two, in an undertone; but with that exception the two sections occupied by us were perfectly silent. The detective said he had men stationed at various places along the road to let him know if all was right; and he rose and went to the platform occasionally to observe their signals, returning each time with a favorable report.

At thirty minutes past three the train reached Baltimore. One of the spy's assistants came on board and informed him in a whisper that "all was right." Mr. Lincoln lay still in his berth; and in a few moments the car was being slowly drawn through the quiet streets of the city toward what was called the Washington depot. There again was another pause, but no sound morealarming than the noise of shifting cars and engines. The passengers, tucked away on their narrow shelves, dozed on as peacefully as if Mr. Lincoln had never been born, until they were awakened by the loud strokes of a huge club against a night-watchman's box, which stood within the depot and close to the track. It was an Irishman, trying to arouse a sleepy ticket-agent comfortably ensconced within. For twenty minutes the Irishman pounded the box with ever-increasing vigor, and at each blow shouted at the top of his voice, "Captain! it's four o'clock! it's four o'clock!" The Irishman seemed to think that time had ceased to run at four o'clock, and making no allowance for the period consumed by his futile exercises, repeated to the last his original statement that it was four o'clock. The passengers were intensely amused; and their jokes and laughter at the Irishman's expense were not lost upon the occupants of the two sections in the rear.

In due time the train sped out of the suburbs of Baltimore, and the apprehensions of the President and his friends diminished with each welcome revolution of the wheels. At six o'clock the dome of the Capitol came in sight, and a moment later we rolled into that long, unsightly building, the Washington depot. We passed out of the car unobserved, and pushed along with the living stream of men and women toward the outer door. One man alone in the great crowd seemed to watch Mr. Lincoln with special attention. Standing a little to one side, he looked very sharply at him, and,as he passed, seized hold of his hand, and said in a loud tone of voice, "Abe, you can't play that on me!" We were instantly alarmed, and would have struck the stranger had not Mr. Lincoln hastily said, "Don't strike him! It is Washburne. Don't you know him?" Mr. Seward had given to Mr. Washburne a hint of the information received through his son; and Mr. Washburne knew its value as well as another.

The detective admonished Washburne to keep quiet for the present, and we passed on together. Taking a hack, we drove toward Willard's Hotel. Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Washburne, and the detective got out in the street, and approached the ladies' entrance, while I drove on to the main entrance, and sent the proprietor to meet his distinguished guest at the side door. A few minutes later Mr. Seward arrived, and was introduced to the company by Mr. Washburne. He spoke in very strong terms of the great danger which Mr. Lincoln had so narrowly escaped, and most heartily applauded the wisdom of the "secret passage."

It now soon became apparent that Mr. Lincoln wished to be left alone. He said he was "rather tired;" and, upon this intimation, the party separated. The detective went to the telegraph-office and loaded the wires with despatches in cipher, containing the pleasing intelligence that "Plums" had brought "Nuts" through in safety.

Mr. Lincoln soon learned to regret the midnight ride to which he had yielded under protest. He was convincedthat he had committed a grave mistake in listening to the solicitations of a professional spy and of friends too easily alarmed, and frequently upbraided me for having aided him to degrade himself at the very moment in all his life when his behavior should have exhibited the utmost dignity and composure. Neither he nor the country generally then understood the true facts concerning the dangers to his life. It is now an acknowledged fact that there never was a moment from the day he crossed the Maryland line, up to the time of his assassination, that he was not in danger of death by violence, and that his life was spared until the night of the 14th of April, 1865, only through the ceaseless and watchful care of the guards thrown around him.

If before leaving Springfield Mr. Lincoln had become weary of the pressure upon him for office, he found no respite on his arrival at the focus of political intrigue and corruption. The time intervening between his arrival at Washington and his Inauguration was, for the most part, employed in giving consideration to his Inaugural Address, the formation of his Cabinet, and the conventional duties required by his elevated position.

The question of the new Administration's policy absorbed nearly every other consideration. To get a Cabinet that would work harmoniously in carrying out the policy determined on by Mr. Lincoln was very difficult. He was pretty well determined on the construction of his Cabinet before he reached Washington; but in the minds of the public, beyond the generally accepted fact that Mr. Seward was to be the Premier of the new Administration, all was speculation and conjecture. All grades of opinion were advanced for his consideration: conciliation was strongly urged; a vigorous war policy; a policy of quiescent neutrality recommending delay of demonstrative action for or against war,—and all, or nearly all these suggestions were promptedby the most unselfish and patriotic motives. He was compelled to give a patient ear to these representations, and to hold his decisions till the last moment, in order that he might decide with a full view of the requirements of public policy and party fealty.[4]

As late as the second of March a large and respectable delegation of persons visited Mr. Lincoln to bring matters to a conclusion. Their object was to prevent at all hazards the appointment of Mr. Chase in the Cabinet. They were received civilly and treated courteously. The President listened to them with great patience. They were unanimous in their opposition to Mr. Chase. Mr. Seward's appointment, they urged, was absolutely and indispensably required to secure for the Administration either the support of the North or a respectful hearing at the South. They portrayed the danger of putting into the Cabinet a man like Mr. Chase, who was so notoriously identified with and supported by men who did not desire the perpetuation of the Union. They strongly insisted that Mr. Chase would be an unsafe counsellor, and that he and his supporters favored a Northern republic, extending from the Ohio River to Canada, rather than the Union which our fathers had founded. They urged another argument, which to them seemed of vital importance and conclusive,—that it would not be possible for Mr. Seward to sit in the Cabinet with Mr. Chase as a member. To think of it was revolting to him, and neither he nor his State could or would tolerate it.

These arguments, so earnestly put forth, distressed Mr. Lincoln greatly. At length, after a long pause, he replied that it was very difficult to reconcile conflicting claims and interests; that his greatest desire was to form an Administration that would command the confidence and respect of the country, and of the party which had placed him in power. He spoke of his high regard for Mr. Seward, of his eminent services, his great genius, and the respect in which he was held by the country. He said Mr. Chase had also great claims that no one could gainsay. His claims were, perhaps, not so great as Mr. Seward's; but this he would not then discuss: the party and the country wanted the hearty and harmonious co-operation of all good men without regard to sections.

Then there was an ominous pause. Mr. Lincoln went to a drawer and took out a paper, saying, "I had written out my choice and selection of members for the Cabinet after most careful and deliberate consideration; and now you are here to tell me I must break the slate and begin the thing all over again." He admitted that he had sometimes apprehended that it might be as they had suggested,—that he might be forced to reconsider what he regarded as his judicious conclusions; and in view of this possibility he had constructed an alternative list of members. He did not like the alternative list so well as the original. He had hoped to have Mr. Seward as Secretary of State and Mr. Chase his Secretary of Treasury. He expressed his regrets that he could not begratified in this desire, and added that he could not reasonably expect to have things just as he wanted them. Silence prevailed for some time, and he then added: "This being the case, gentlemen, how would it do for us to agree upon a change like this? To appoint Mr. Chase Secretary of the Treasury, and offer the State Department to Mr. William L. Dayton, of New Jersey?"

The delegation was shocked, disappointed, outraged. Mr. Lincoln, continuing in the same phlegmatic manner, again referred to his high appreciation of the abilities of Mr. Seward. He said Mr. Dayton was an old Whig, like Mr. Seward and himself, and that he was from New Jersey, and was "next door to New York." Mr. Seward, he added, could go as Minister to England, where his genius would find wonderful scope in keeping Europe straight about our home troubles. The delegation was nonplussed. They, however, saw and accepted the inevitable. For the first time they realized that indomitable will of the President-elect which afterward became so notable throughout the trying times of his Administration. They saw that "the mountain would not come to Mahomet, with the conditions imposed, and so Mahomet had to go to the mountain." The difficulty was accommodated by Mr. Seward coming into the Cabinet with Mr. Chase, and the Administrative organization was effected to Mr. Lincoln's satisfaction.

Mr. Seward was a Republican with centralizing tendencies, and had been a prominent and powerful member of the old Whig party, which had gone into decay.Mr. Chase was a State's Rights Federal Republican, not having been strictly attached to either the Whig or the Democratic organization; he had for years been a conspicuous leader of the Antislavery party, which had risen on the ruins of the Whig party, while Mr. Seward had cautiously abstained from any connection with the Antislavery partyper se. Mr. Lincoln adopted, whether consciously or unconsciously, the policy of Washington in bringing men of opposite principles into his Cabinet, as far as he could do so, hoping that they would harmonize in administrative measures; and in doing this in the case of Mr. Seward and Mr. Chase he entirely reversed the original arrangement,—by giving Mr. Seward, a Republican centralist, the post of Jefferson, a State's Rights Federal Republican; and to Mr. Chase, a Federal Republican, the post assigned to Hamilton, a centralist.

There was a prevailing opinion among a great many politicians that Mr. Seward had an overpowering influence with Mr. Lincoln; and the belief was general that he, in whose ability and moderation the conservative people at the North seemed to have the most confidence, would be the real head of the Administration. This supposition was a great mistake. It underrated the man who had been elected to wield the helm of government in the troubled waters of the brewing storm. Mr. Lincoln was as self-reliant a man as ever breathed the atmosphere of patriotism. Up to the 2d of March, Mr. Seward had no intimation of the purport of the InauguralAddress. The conclusion was inevitable that if he was to be at the head of the Administration, he would not have been left so long in the dark as to the first act of Mr. Lincoln's official life. When the last faint hope was destroyed that Mr. Seward was virtually to be President, the outlook of the country seemed to these politicians discouraging.

The 4th of March at last arrived. Mr. Lincoln's feelings, as the hour approached which was to invest him with greater responsibilities than had fallen upon any of his predecessors, may readily be imagined. If he saw in his elevation another step toward the fulfilment of that destiny which he at times believed awaited him, the thought served but to tinge with a peculiar, almost poetic, sadness the manner in which he addressed himself to the solemn duties of the hour.

There were apprehensions of danger to Mr. Lincoln's person, and extensive preparations were made for his protection, under the direction of Lieutenant-General Scott. The carriage in which the President-elect rode to the Capitol was closely guarded by marshals and cavalry, selected with care from the most loyal and efficient companies of the veteran troops and marines. Mr. Lincoln appeared as usual, composed and thoughtful, apparently unmoved and indifferent to the excitement around him. On arriving at the platform, he was introduced to the vast audience awaiting his appearance by Senator Baker, of Oregon. Stepping forward, in a manner deliberate and impressive, the President-electdelivered in a clear, penetrating voice his Inaugural Address, closing this remarkable production with the words, which so forcibly exemplified his character and so clearly indicated his goodness of heart: "I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break, our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."

The immense audience present was deeply impressed, and with awe viewed the momentous character of the occasion they were given to contemplate. The Address produced comparatively little applause and no manifestations of disapprobation. All were moved with a profound anxiety concerning their own respective States and the future of their country; and the sentiments they had just heard uttered from the Chief Executive foreshadowed the storm awaiting the nation.

After the oath of office was administered to him by the venerable Chief-Justice of the United States, Judge Roger B. Taney, Mr. Lincoln was escorted to the Presidential Mansion in the same order that was observed in going to the Capitol, amid the firing of cannon and the sound of music. Mr. Buchanan accompanied him, and in taking his leave expressed his wish and hope, in earnest and befitting language, that Mr. Lincoln'sAdministration of the government would be a happy and prosperous one.

The Inauguration over, every one seemed to have a sense of relief: there had been no accident, no demonstration which could be construed as portending disturbance.

The New York delegation, on the night of the Inauguration, paid their respects to the President. He said to them that he was rejoiced to see the good feeling manifested by them, and hoped that our friends of the South would be satisfied, when they read his Inaugural Address, that he had made it as nearly right as it was possible for him to make it in accordance with the Constitution, which he thought was as good for the people who lived south of the Mason and Dixon line as for those who lived north of it.

After the first shout of triumph and the first glow of exultation consequent on his Inauguration, Mr. Lincoln soon began to realize with dismay what was before him. Geographical lines were at last distinctly drawn. He was regarded as a sectional representative, elected President with most overwhelming majorities north of Mason and Dixon's line, and not a single electoral vote south of it. He saw a great people, comprising many millions and inhabiting a vast region of our common country, exasperated by calumny, stung by defeat, and alarmed by the threats of furious fanatics whom demagogues held up to them as the real and only leaders of the triumphant party. His election had brought the nation face to face with the perils that had been feared by every rank and party since the dawn of Independence,—with the very contingency, the crisis in which all venerable authority had declared from the beginning that the Union would surely perish, and the fragments, after exhausting each other by commercial restrictions and disastrous wars, would find ignominious safety in as many paltry despotisms as there were fragments.

On the 3d of March, 1861, the Thirty-sixth Congress had reached the prescribed period of its existence, and had died a constitutional death. Its last session of three months had been spent in full view of an awful public calamity, which it had made no effort to avert or to mitigate. It saw the nation compassed round with a frightful danger, but it proposed no plan either of conciliation or defence. It adjourned forever, and left the law precisely as it found it.

In his message to Congress, President Buchanan had said: "Congress alone has power to decide whether the present laws can or cannot be amended so as to carry out more effectually the objects of the Constitution." With Congress rested the whole responsibility of peace or war, and with them the message left it. But Congress behaved like a body of men who thought that the calamities of the nation were no special business of theirs. The members from the extreme South were watching for the proper moment to retire; those from the middle slave States were a minority which could only stand and wait upon the movements of others; while the great and all-powerful Northern party was what the French minister called "a mere aggregation of individual ambitions." They had always denied the possibility of a dissolution of the Union in any conjuncture of circumstances; and their habit of disregarding the evidence was too strong to be suddenly changed. In the philosophy of their politics it had not been dreamed of as a possible thing. Even when they saw it assume the shape of a fixed andterrible fact, they could not comprehend its meaning. They looked at the frightful phenomenon as a crowd of barbarians might look at an eclipse of the sun: they saw the light of heaven extinguished and the earth covered with strange and unaccountable darkness, but they could neither understand its cause nor foresee its end,—they knew neither whence it came nor what it portended. The nation was going to pieces, and Congress left it to its fate. The vessel, freighted with all the hopes and all the wealth of thirty millions of free people was drifting to her doom, and they who alone had power to control her course refused to lay a finger on the helm.

Only a few days before the convening of this Congress the following letter was written by Hon. Joseph Holt, Postmaster-General, afterward Secretary of War, under Buchanan:—

Washington, Nov. 30, 1860.My dear Sir, — I am in receipt of yours of the 27th inst., and thank you for your kindly allusion to myself, in connection with the fearful agitation which now threatens the dismemberment of our government. I think the President's message will meet your approbation, but I little hope that it will accomplish anything in moderating the madness that rules the hour. The indications are that the movement has passed beyond the reach of human control. God alone can disarm the cloud of its lightnings. South Carolina will be out of the Union, and in the armed assertion of a distinct nationality probably before Christmas. This is certain, unless the course of events is arrested by prompt and decided action on the part of the people and Legislatures of the Northern States; the other slave States will follow South Carolina in a few weeks or months. The border States,now so devoted to the Union, will linger a little while; but they will soon unite their fortunes with those of their Southern sisters. Conservative men have now no ground to stand upon, no weapon to battle with. All has been swept from them by the guilty agitations and infamous legislation of the North. I do not anticipate, with any confidence, that the North will act up to the solemn responsibilities of the crisis, by retracing those fatal steps which have conducted us to the very brink of perdition, politically, morally, and financially.There is a feeling growing in the free States which says, "Let the South go!" and this feeling threatens rapidly to increase. It is, in part, the fruit of complete estrangement, and in part a weariness of this perpetual conflict between North and South, which has now lasted, with increasing bitterness, for the last thirty years. The country wants repose, and is willing to purchase it at any sacrifice. Alas for the delusion of the belief that repose will follow the overthrow of the government!I doubt not, from the temper of the public mind, that theSouthern States will be allowed to withdraw peacefully; but when the work of dismemberment begins, we shall break up the fragments from month to month, with the nonchalance with which we break the bread upon our breakfast-table. If all the grave and vital questions which will at once arise among these fragments of the ruptured Republic can be adjusted without resort to arms, then we have made vast progress since the history of our race was written. But the tragic events of the hour will show that we have made no progress at all. We shall soon grow up a race of chieftains, who will rival the political bandits of South America and Mexico, and who will carve out to us our miserable heritage with their bloody swords. Themassesof the people dream not of these things. They suppose the Republic can be destroyed to-day, and that peace will smile over its ruinsto-morrow. They know nothing of civil war: this Marah in the pilgrimage of nations has happily been for them a sealed fountain; they know not, as others do, of its bitterness, and that civil war is a scourge that darkens every fireside, and wrings every heart with anguish. They are to be commiserated, for they know not what to do. Whence is all this? It has come because the pulpit and press and the cowering, unscrupulous politicians of the North have taught the people that they are responsible for the domestic institutions of the South, and that they have been faithful to God only by being unfaithful to the compact which they have made to their fellow-men. Hence those Liberty Bills which degrade the statute-books of some ten of the free States, and are confessedly ashamelessviolation of the federal Constitution in a point vital to her honor. We have presented, from year to year, the humiliating spectacle of free and sovereign States, by a solemn act of legislation,legalizing the theft of their neighbors' property. I saytheft, since it is not the less so because the subject of the despicable crime chances to be a slave, instead of a horse or bale of goods.From this same teaching has come the perpetual agitation of the slavery question, whichhas reached the minds of the slave population of the South, and has rendered every home in that distracted land insecure. This is the feature of the irrepressible conflict with which the Northern people are not familiar. In almost every part of the South miscreant fanatics have been found, and poisonings and conflagrations have marked their footsteps. Mothers there lie down at night trembling beside their children, and wives cling to their husbands as they leave their homes in the morning. I have a brother residing in Mississippi, who is a lawyer by profession, and a cotton planter, but has never had any connection with politics. Knowing the calm and conservative tone of his character, I wrote him a few weeks since, and implored him to exert his influence in allaying the frenzy ofthe popular mind around him. He has replied to me at much length, and after depicting the machinations of the wretches to whom I have alluded, and the consternation which reigns in the homes of the South, he says it is the unalterable determination of the Southern people to overthrow the government as the only refuge which is left to them from these insupportable wrongs; and he adds: "On the success of this movement depends my every interest,—the safety of my roof from the firebrand, and of my wife and children from the poison and the dagger."I give you his language because it truthfully expresses the Southern mind which at this moment glows as a furnace in its hatred to the North because of these infernal agitations. Think you that any people can endure this condition of things? When the Northern preacher infuses into his audience the spirit of assassins and incendiaries in his crusade against slavery, does he think, as he lies down quietly at night, of the Southern homes he has robbed of sleep, and the helpless women and children he has exposed to all thenameless horrors of servile insurrections?I am still for the Union, because I have yet a faint, hesitating hope that the North will do justice to the South, and save the Republic, before the wreck is complete. But action, to be available, must be prompt. If the free States will sweep the Liberty Bills from their codes, propose a convention of the States, and offer guaranties which will afford the same repose and safety to Southern homes and property enjoyed by those of the North, the impending tragedy may be averted, but not otherwise. I feel a positive personal humiliation as a member of the human family in the events now preparing. If the Republic is to be offered as a sacrifice upon the altar of American servitude, then the question of man's capacity for self-government is forever settled. The derision of the world will henceforth justly treat the pretension as a farce; and the blessed hope which for fivethousand years our race, amid storms and battles, has been hugging to its bosom, will be demonstrated to be a phantom and a dream.Pardon these hurried and disjointed words. They have been pressed out of my heart by the sorrows that are weighing upon it.Sincerely your friend,J. Holt.

Washington, Nov. 30, 1860.

My dear Sir, — I am in receipt of yours of the 27th inst., and thank you for your kindly allusion to myself, in connection with the fearful agitation which now threatens the dismemberment of our government. I think the President's message will meet your approbation, but I little hope that it will accomplish anything in moderating the madness that rules the hour. The indications are that the movement has passed beyond the reach of human control. God alone can disarm the cloud of its lightnings. South Carolina will be out of the Union, and in the armed assertion of a distinct nationality probably before Christmas. This is certain, unless the course of events is arrested by prompt and decided action on the part of the people and Legislatures of the Northern States; the other slave States will follow South Carolina in a few weeks or months. The border States,now so devoted to the Union, will linger a little while; but they will soon unite their fortunes with those of their Southern sisters. Conservative men have now no ground to stand upon, no weapon to battle with. All has been swept from them by the guilty agitations and infamous legislation of the North. I do not anticipate, with any confidence, that the North will act up to the solemn responsibilities of the crisis, by retracing those fatal steps which have conducted us to the very brink of perdition, politically, morally, and financially.

There is a feeling growing in the free States which says, "Let the South go!" and this feeling threatens rapidly to increase. It is, in part, the fruit of complete estrangement, and in part a weariness of this perpetual conflict between North and South, which has now lasted, with increasing bitterness, for the last thirty years. The country wants repose, and is willing to purchase it at any sacrifice. Alas for the delusion of the belief that repose will follow the overthrow of the government!

I doubt not, from the temper of the public mind, that theSouthern States will be allowed to withdraw peacefully; but when the work of dismemberment begins, we shall break up the fragments from month to month, with the nonchalance with which we break the bread upon our breakfast-table. If all the grave and vital questions which will at once arise among these fragments of the ruptured Republic can be adjusted without resort to arms, then we have made vast progress since the history of our race was written. But the tragic events of the hour will show that we have made no progress at all. We shall soon grow up a race of chieftains, who will rival the political bandits of South America and Mexico, and who will carve out to us our miserable heritage with their bloody swords. Themassesof the people dream not of these things. They suppose the Republic can be destroyed to-day, and that peace will smile over its ruinsto-morrow. They know nothing of civil war: this Marah in the pilgrimage of nations has happily been for them a sealed fountain; they know not, as others do, of its bitterness, and that civil war is a scourge that darkens every fireside, and wrings every heart with anguish. They are to be commiserated, for they know not what to do. Whence is all this? It has come because the pulpit and press and the cowering, unscrupulous politicians of the North have taught the people that they are responsible for the domestic institutions of the South, and that they have been faithful to God only by being unfaithful to the compact which they have made to their fellow-men. Hence those Liberty Bills which degrade the statute-books of some ten of the free States, and are confessedly ashamelessviolation of the federal Constitution in a point vital to her honor. We have presented, from year to year, the humiliating spectacle of free and sovereign States, by a solemn act of legislation,legalizing the theft of their neighbors' property. I saytheft, since it is not the less so because the subject of the despicable crime chances to be a slave, instead of a horse or bale of goods.

From this same teaching has come the perpetual agitation of the slavery question, whichhas reached the minds of the slave population of the South, and has rendered every home in that distracted land insecure. This is the feature of the irrepressible conflict with which the Northern people are not familiar. In almost every part of the South miscreant fanatics have been found, and poisonings and conflagrations have marked their footsteps. Mothers there lie down at night trembling beside their children, and wives cling to their husbands as they leave their homes in the morning. I have a brother residing in Mississippi, who is a lawyer by profession, and a cotton planter, but has never had any connection with politics. Knowing the calm and conservative tone of his character, I wrote him a few weeks since, and implored him to exert his influence in allaying the frenzy ofthe popular mind around him. He has replied to me at much length, and after depicting the machinations of the wretches to whom I have alluded, and the consternation which reigns in the homes of the South, he says it is the unalterable determination of the Southern people to overthrow the government as the only refuge which is left to them from these insupportable wrongs; and he adds: "On the success of this movement depends my every interest,—the safety of my roof from the firebrand, and of my wife and children from the poison and the dagger."

I give you his language because it truthfully expresses the Southern mind which at this moment glows as a furnace in its hatred to the North because of these infernal agitations. Think you that any people can endure this condition of things? When the Northern preacher infuses into his audience the spirit of assassins and incendiaries in his crusade against slavery, does he think, as he lies down quietly at night, of the Southern homes he has robbed of sleep, and the helpless women and children he has exposed to all thenameless horrors of servile insurrections?

I am still for the Union, because I have yet a faint, hesitating hope that the North will do justice to the South, and save the Republic, before the wreck is complete. But action, to be available, must be prompt. If the free States will sweep the Liberty Bills from their codes, propose a convention of the States, and offer guaranties which will afford the same repose and safety to Southern homes and property enjoyed by those of the North, the impending tragedy may be averted, but not otherwise. I feel a positive personal humiliation as a member of the human family in the events now preparing. If the Republic is to be offered as a sacrifice upon the altar of American servitude, then the question of man's capacity for self-government is forever settled. The derision of the world will henceforth justly treat the pretension as a farce; and the blessed hope which for fivethousand years our race, amid storms and battles, has been hugging to its bosom, will be demonstrated to be a phantom and a dream.

Pardon these hurried and disjointed words. They have been pressed out of my heart by the sorrows that are weighing upon it.

Sincerely your friend,J. Holt.

Within forty-eight hours after the election of Mr. Lincoln, the Legislature of South Carolina called a State Convention. It met on the 17th of December, and three days later the inevitable ordinance of secession was formally adopted, and the little commonwealth began to act under the erroneous impression that she was a sovereign and independent nation. She benignantly accepted the postal service of the "late United States of America," and even permitted the gold and silver coins of the federal government to circulate within her sacred limits. But intelligence from the rest of the country was published in her newspapers under the head of "foreign news;" her governor appointed a "cabinet," commissioned "ambassadors," and practised so many fantastic imitations of greatness and power, that, but for the serious purpose and the bloody event, his proceedings would have been very amusing. It was a curious little comedy between the acts of a hideous tragedy.

In the practice which provoked the fury of his Northern countrymen, the slaveholder could see nothing but what was right in the sight of God, and just as between man and man. Slavery, he said, was as old almost astime. From the hour of deliverance to the day of dispersion, it had been practised by the peculiar people of God, with the awful sanction of a theocratic State. When the Saviour came with his fan in his hand, he not only spared it from all rebuke, but recognized and regulated it as an institution in which he found no evil. The Church had bowed to the authority and emulated the example of the Master. With her aid and countenance, slavery had flourished in every age and country since the Christian era; in new lands she planted it, in the old she upheld and encouraged it. Even the modest of the sectaries had bought and sold, without a shade of doubt or a twinge of conscience, the bondmen who fell to their lot, until the stock was exhausted or the trade became unprofitable. To this rule the Puritans and Quakers were no exceptions. Indeed, it was but a few years since slavery in Massachusetts had been suffered to die of its own accord, and the profits of the slave-trade were still to be seen in the stately mansions and pleasant gardens of her maritime towns.

The Southern man could see no reason of State, of law, or of religion which required him to yield his most ancient rights and his most valuable property to the new-born zeal of adversaries whom he more than suspected of being actuated by mere malignity under the guise of philanthropy. All that he knew or had ever known of the policy of the State, of religion, or of law was on the side of slavery. It was his inheritance in the land descended from his remotest ancestry; recordedin the deeds and written in the wills of his nearest kindred; interwoven more or less intimately with every tradition and every precious memory; the basis of public economy and of private prosperity, fostered by the maternal care of Great Britain, and, unlike any other domestic institution, solemnly protected by separate and distinct provisions in the fundamental law of the federal Union. It was, therefore, as much a part of his religion to cherish and defend it as it was part of the religion of an Abolitionist to denounce and assail it. To him, at least, it was still pure and of good report; he held it as sacred as marriage, as sacred as the relation of parent and child. Forcible abolition was in his eyes as lawless and cruel as arbitrary divorce, or the violent abduction of his offspring; it bereft his fireside, broke up his family, set his own household in arms against him, and deluded to their ruin those whom the Lord had given into his hand for a wise and beneficent purpose. He saw in the extinction of slavery the extinction of society and the subversion of the State; his imagination could compass no crime more daring in the conception, or more terrible in the execution. He saw in it the violation of every law, human and divine, from the Ten Commandments to the last Act of Assembly,—the inauguration of every disaster and of every enormity which men in their sober senses equally fear and detest; it was the knife to his throat, the torch to his roof, a peril unutterable to his wife and daughter, and certain penury, or worse, to such of his posterityas might survive to other times. We smile at his delusion, and laugh at his fears; but we forget that they were shared by eight millions of intelligent people, and had been entertained by the entire generation of patriots and statesmen who made the Union,—by Jefferson who opposed slavery and "trembled" for the judgment, as by the New-England ship-owner and the Georgia planter, who struck hands to continue the African slave-trade till 1808.

Mr. Lincoln himself, with that charity for honest but mistaken opinions which more than once induced him to pause long and reflect seriously before committing his Administration to the extremities of party rage, declared in an elaborate speech, that, had his lot been cast in the South, he would no doubt have been a zealous defender of the "peculiar institution,"—and confessed, that, were he then possessed of unlimited power, he would not know how to liberate the slaves without fatally disturbing the peace and prosperity of the country. He had once said in a speech; "The Southern people are just what we would be in their situation. If slavery did not now exist among them, they would not introduce it: if it did now exist among us, we should not instantly give it up. This I believe of the masses North and South. Doubtless, there are individuals on both sides who would not hold slaves under any circumstances; and others would gladly introduce slavery anew if it were out of existence. We know that some Southern men do free their slaves, go North, and become tip-top Abolitionists;while some Northern men go South, and become cruel slave-masters."

Judge Jeremiah S. Black, in a paper written in response to a memorial address on William H. Seward, said: "The Southern people sprang from a race accustomed for two thousand years to dominate over all other races with which it came in contact. They supposed themselves greatly superior to negroes, most of them sincerely believing that if they and the African must live together, the best and safest relations that could be established between them was that of master and servant.... Some of them believed slavery a dangerous evil, but did not see how to get rid of it. They felt as Jefferson did, that they had the wolf by the ears: they could neither hold on with comfort nor let go with safety, and it made them extremely indignant to be goaded in the rear. In all that country from the Potomac to the Gulf there was probably not one man who felt convinced that this difficult subject could be determined for them by strangers and enemies; seeing that we in the North had held fast to every pound of human flesh we owned, and either worked it to death or sold it for a price, our provision for the freedom of unborn negroes did not tend much to their edification. They had no confidence in that 'ripening' influence of humanity which turned up the white of its eyes at a negro compelled to hoe corn and pick cotton, and yet gloated over the prospect of insurrection and massacre."

Further, emancipation was a question of figures as wellas feeling. The loss of four millions of slaves, at an average value of six hundred dollars each, constituted in the aggregate a sacrifice too vast to be contemplated for a moment. Yet this was but a single item. The cotton crop of 1860 was worth the round sum of a hundred and ninety-eight million dollars, while that of 1859 was worth two hundred and forty-seven million dollars, and the demand still in excess of the supply. It formed the bulk of our exchanges with Europe; paid our foreign indebtedness; maintained a great marine; built towns, cities, and railways; enriched factors, brokers, and bankers; filled the federal treasury to overflowing, and made the foremost nations of the world commercially our tributaries and politically our dependants. A short crop embarrassed and distressed all western Europe; a total failure, a war, or non-intercourse, would reduce whole communities to famine, and probably precipitate them into revolution. It was an opinion generally received, and scarcely questioned anywhere, that cotton-planting could be carried on only by African labor, and that African labor was possible only under compulsion. Here, then, was another item of loss, which, being prospective, could neither be measured by statistics nor computed in figures. Add to this the sudden conversion of millions of producers into mere consumers, the depreciation of real estate, the depreciation of stocks and securities as of banks and railways, dependent for their value upon the inland commerce in the products of slave-labor, with the waste, disorder, and bloodshedinevitably attending a revolution like this, and you have a sum-total literally appalling. Could any people on earth tamely submit to spoliation so thorough and so fatal? The very Bengalese would muster the last man, and stake the last jewel, to avert it.

In the last days of March, 1861, I was sent by President Lincoln on a confidential mission to Charleston, South Carolina. It was in its nature one of great delicacy and importance; and the state of the public mind in the South at that juncture made it one not altogether free from danger to life and limb, as I was rather roughly reminded before the adventure was concluded. Throughout the entire land was heard the tumult of mad contention; the representative men, the politicians and the press of the two sections were hurling at one another deadly threats and fierce defiance; sober and thoughtful men heard with sickening alarm the deep and not distant mutterings of the coming storm; and all minds were agitated by gloomy forebodings, distressing doubts, and exasperating uncertainty as to what the next move in the strange drama would be. Following the lead of South Carolina, the secession element of other Southern States had cut them loose, one by one, from their federal moorings, and "The Confederate States of America" was the result. It was at the virtual Capital of the State which had been the pioneer in all this haughty and stupendous work of rebellion that I was about to trust my precious life and limbs as a stranger within her gates and an enemy to her cause.

Up to this time, Mr. Lincoln had been slow to realize or to acknowledge, even to himself, the awful gravity of the situation, and the danger that the gathering clouds portended. Certain it is that Mr. Seward wildly underrated the courage and determination of the Southern people, and both men indulged the hope that pacific means might yet be employed to arrest the tide of passion and render a resort to force unnecessary. Mr. Seward was inclined, as the world knows, to credit the Southern leaders with a lavish supply of noisy bravado, quite overlooking the dogged pertinacity and courage which Mr. Lincoln well knew would characterize those men, as well as the Southern masses, in case of armed conflict between the sections. Mr. Lincoln had Southern blood in his veins, and he knew well the character of that people. He believed it possible to effect some accommodation by dealing directly with the most chivalrous among their leaders; at all events he thought it his duty to try, and my embassy to Charleston was one of his experiments in that direction.

It was believed in the South that Mr. Seward had given assurances, before and after Lincoln's inauguration, that no attempt would be made to reinforce the Southern forts, or to resupply Fort Sumter, under a Republican Administration. This made matters embarrassing, as Mr. Lincoln's Administration had, on the contrary, adopted the policy of maintaining the federal authority at all points, and of tolerating no interference in the enforcement of that authority from any source whatever.

When my mission to Charleston was suggested by Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Seward promptly opposed it. "Mr. President," said he, "I greatly fear that you are sending Lamon to his grave. I fear they may kill him in Charleston. Those people are greatly excited, and are very desperate. We can't spare Lamon, and we shall feel very badly if anything serious should happen to him."

"Mr. Secretary," replied Mr. Lincoln, "I have known Lamon to be in many a close place, and he has never been in one that he didn't get out of. By Jing! I'll risk him. Go, Lamon, and God bless you! Bring back a Palmetto, if you can't bring us good news."

Armed with certain credentials—from the President, Mr. Seward, General Scott, Postmaster-General Blair, and others—I set out on my doubtful and ticklish adventure.

While I was preparing my baggage at Willard's Hotel, General (then Mr. Stephen A.) Hurlbut, of Illinois, entered my room, and seeing how I was engaged inquired as to the object. He being an old and reliable friend, I told him without hesitation; and he immediately asked if he might not be allowed to accompany me. He desired, he said, to pay a last visit to Charleston, the place of his birth, and to a sister living there, before the dread outbreak which he knew was coming. I saw no objection. He hurried to his rooms to make his own preparations, whence, an hour later, I took him and his wife to the boat.

On arriving at Charleston about eight o'clock Saturday night, the Hurlbuts went to the house of a kinsman, and I went to the Charleston Hotel. It so happened that several young Virginians arrived on the same train, and stopped at the same hotel. They all registered from Virginia, and made the fact known with some show of enthusiasm that they had come to join the Confederate army. I registered simply "Ward H. Lamon," followed by a long dash of the pen.

That evening, and all the next day (Sunday), little attention was paid to me, and no one knew me. I visited the venerable and distinguished lawyer, Mr. James L. Petigru, and had a conference with him,—having been enjoined to do so by Mr. Lincoln, who personally knew that Mr. Petigru was a Union man. At the close of the interview Mr. Petigru said to me that he seldom stirred from his house; that he had no sympathy with the rash movements of his people, and that few sympathized with him; that the whole people were infuriated and crazed, and that no act of headlong violence by them would surprise him. In saying farewell, with warm expressions of good-will, he said that he hoped he should not be considered inhospitable if he requested me not to repeat my visit, as every one who came near him was watched, and intercourse with him could only result in annoyance and danger to the visitor as well as to himself, and would fail to promote any good to the Union cause. It was now too late, he said; peaceable secession or war was inevitable.

Governor Pickens and his admirable and beautiful wife were boarding at the Charleston Hotel. Early Monday morning I sent my card to the governor requesting an interview, and stating that I was from the President of the United States. The answer came that he would see me as soon as he was through with his breakfast. I then strolled downstairs into the main lobby and corridors, where, early as the hour was, I soon discovered that something wonderful was "in the wind," and, moreover, that that wonderful something was embodied in my own person. I was not, like Hamlet, "the glass of fashion and the mould of form," yet I was somehow "the observed of all observers." I was conscious that I did not look like "the expectancy and rose of the fair state;" that my "personal pulchritude," as a witty statesman has it, was not overwhelming to the beholder; and yet I found myself at that moment immensely, not to sayalarmingly, attractive.

The news had spread far and wide that a great Goliath from the North, a "Yankee Lincoln-hireling," had come suddenly into their proud city, uninvited, unheralded. Thousands of persons had gathered to see the strange ambassador. The corridors, the main office and lobby, were thronged, and the adjacent streets were crowded as well with excited spectators, mainly of the lower order,—that class of dowdy patriots who in times of public commotion always find the paradise of the coward, the bruiser, and the blackguard. There was a wagging of heads, a chorus of curses and epithets not atall complimentary, and all eyes were fixed upon the daring stranger, who seemed to be regarded not as the bearer of the olive-branch of peace, but as a demon come to denounce the curse of war, pestilence, and famine. This was my initiation into the great "Unpleasantness," and the situation was certainly painful and embarrassing; but there was plainly nothing to do but to assume a bold front.

I pressed my way through the mass of excited humanity to the clerk's counter, examined the register, then turned, and with difficulty elbowed my way through the dense crowd to the door of the breakfast-room. There I was touched upon the shoulder by an elderly man, who asked in a tone of peremptory authority,—

"Are you Mark Lamon?"

"No, sir; I am Ward H. Lamon, at your service."

"Are you the man who registered here as Lamon, from Virginia?"

"I registered as Ward H. Lamon, without designating my place of residence. What is your business with me, sir?"

"Oh, well," continued the man of authority, "have you any objection to state what business you have here in Charleston?"

"Yes, I have." Then after a pause, during which I surveyed my questioner with as much coolness as the state of my nerves would allow, I added, "My business is with your governor, who is to see me as soon as he has finished his breakfast. If he chooses to impartto you my business in this city, you will know it; otherwise, not."

"Beg pardon; if you have business with our governor, it's all right; we'll see."

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